Hamburger America

by George Motz

  The most popular burger at Gordy’s is the double cheeseburger. Ask for everything, and you’ll get a burger with pickles, ketchup, mustard, and raw or grilled onion. Other condiments are available like tomato, bacon, and lettuce but you really need to follow history and appreciate the simplicity of this amazing burger. My wife, Casey, pointed out that she had never seen a better-constructed hamburger. Somehow this burger, even though it was soft, tasty, and loaded with cheese and more managed to not drip or fall apart before you finished. A perfect package of beefy goodness.

  The fresh ground beef comes from a supplier in Minneapolis and is hand-pattied daily using an ice cream scoop for sizing. Dan told me that they wear out the flattop griddle every 7 years.

  Today, Gordy’s is owned by Dan but his parents, both in their eighties, still come up from Florida to spend the summer working at the drive-in. When I was there (during a busy early dinner rush), Gordy was sweeping up with a broom and dustpan and Marilyn was at her post in the kitchen warming and prepping buns at a griddle. “I’ve been doing this 58 years,” Marilyn said with a smile as she gave multiple buns a squirt of ketchup without looking. “58 years!”

  The kitchen is alive with energy and dozens of employees (a lot of them Lundquists). During a rush, the kitchen kicks into high gear, working like a well-oiled machine. Everyone has a task and repeats that task over and over again as the orders come pouring in. Marilyn is the point person, calling out orders from tickets as they are handed to her, all the while toasting and prepping buns. It’s truly mesmerizing.

  Before there was the Hi-Hat, Gordy and Marilyn Lundquist opened the first A&W Root Beer stand in Minnesota in 1950, and after that the wildly popular London Inn of Duluth in 1955. In the ’40s Gordy did some research out in California and came across a little-known burger stand called McDonald’s Famous Hamburgers. He liked what he saw and immediately hatched a plan to replicate the stand in his home state of Minnesota. The London Inn became the spot to go in Duluth in the mid-fifties and Gordy told me, “It was a riot. I think we had every student from University of Minnesota–Duluth, every day!” Dan added, “My father used to always say, ‘If I had a nickel for every time someone burned rubber in the parking lot, I’d be a rich man.’” Gordy and Marilyn sold the London Inn in 1960 because, as Gordy put it, “Someone offered us too much money to stay.” They decided to move 20 miles west to the village of Cloquet to raise a family and set down permanent roots. Soon thereafter, Gordy’s was born.

  Gordy’s has expanded many times over the years and started as a tiny box with a walk-up window to order from. Today, the kitchen area is still where it was half a century ago, but many rooms have been added, bringing the seating capacity to over 100 inside and out. The efficient ordering system and enormous staff is all geared toward getting you a hot hamburger as fast as possible. This is the unwavering, 50-year-old mission at Gordy’s. Dan left me with these words: “We don’t do anything magical. We just keep it simple and don’t screw it up.”

  MATT’S BAR

  3500 CEDAR AVE SOUTH | MINNEAPOLIS, MN 55407

  612-722-7072 | WWW.MATTSBAR.COM

  MON–WED 11 AM–MIDNIGHT

  THU–SAT 11AM–1 AM | SUN NOON–MIDNIGHT

  “We had a bad Sunday,” waitress Devon told me on my first visit. Before I realized what she was talking about, I assumed that things were slow at this South Minneapolis bar. Devon pointed out that the bad Sunday was attributed to the large number of “Jucy Lucys” that had exploded on the griddle that day. If one explodes, the grill cook starts over. There’s no way to mend a broken Lucy.

  If you have no connection to or have never visited the Twin Cities then there’s a good chance you have never met the beloved Jucy Lucy. The famed burger concoction can be found all over Minneapolis, but the epicenter of the Jucy Lucy legacy is a small, friendly, stuck-in-a-time-warp bar on the south side of town. In 1954, then owner Matt cooked up the first Jucy Lucy for a customer sitting at the bar who asked for “something special.” The result was two fresh quarter-pound patties crimped together with a folded slice of American cheese hiding inside. What happened next was pure science.

  Over 50 years have passed and the burger recipe remains unchanged. The burger is griddled and closely monitored (much like a science project), delicately flipped, then pinpricked to prevent it from exploding. As it nears doneness, it resembles a large clam wobbling on the griddle.

  The delivery of the burger to your table always comes with a warning. Bartender of 18 years Margaret Lidstone said to me sternly, “You will burn your mouth off if you bite into it too soon. Let it sit.” The phrase FEAR THE CHEESE printed on the waitstaff’s shirts was warning enough. I tried to wait, but became a victim instantly. The molten goo was HOT, really hot, and kept the burger moist all the way through. Everyone who ordered the Jucy Lucy got the same stern speech. “I know,” a regular responded, “not my first time.” A woman sitting at the next table had no problem saying to me, “You’re doing it all wrong. Just nibble at it, take small bites while it cools down.”

  The Jucy Lucy comes on waxed paper— no plate, no utensils. Onions, fried or raw, are optional and pickles are standard. No tomato, no lettuce. Coke? Sure, no ice. Diet Coke? No lemon. Matt’s is bare-bones dining at its very best.

  The griddle is positioned behind the bar in full view. The grill cook told me, “We can sell up to 500 on a good day.” The staff, and whoever is available, spend hours a day pinching and stuffing Jucy Lucys. “It’s endless,” said Margaret, and opened a low bar fridge to reveal hundreds of prebuilt Jucys ready for their turn on the grill that day.

  The only menu is the one on the wall behind the bar and it has not changed in over five decades (with the exception of the prices, of course). It’s on this menu that the “Jucy Lucy” is misspelled. “I think it was a mistake that just stuck,” Margaret told me.

  Matt Bristol worked at the bar, then named Mr. Nibb’s, before purchasing the quiet corner tavern in 1954 and changing the name to his own. Scott Nelson bought the bar from Matt’s daughter in 1998 and changed nothing. Even the crazy ’50s wallpaper (which can be viewed on the tavern’s website) remains. “It’s quite tacky, actually,” Scott explained, “but people don’t want change.” In a time when so many restaurants, and even bars, all look the same from city to city because of franchising, Scott believes that there is a place for Matt’s. “Everything looks like a chain. We don’t.”

  Matt’s commitment to hamburgers starts with a concept that has its roots in the 1950s, and the simple menu is a testament to the fact that great burgers are immune to fads. Scott said it best when he pointed out, “Burgers and fries don’t go out of style, and neither do we.”

  THE 5-8 CLUB

  5800 CEDAR AVE SOUTH

  MINNEAPOLIS, MN 55417

  612-823-5858 | WWW.5-8CLUB.COM

  MON–WED 11AM–11 PM

  THU–SUN 11 AM–12 AM

  “5-8” was the address for this former speakeasy in south Minneapolis on the corner of 58th and Cedar Avenue. In 1928 when it opened illegally, it was a small stucco house out in the country where the owners had constructed a secret underground garage to make smuggling booze easier.

  Today the 5-8 is a crossroads restaurant that is no longer rural. The dirt road that ran beside the building is now a highway, and the end of the runway for the Twin Cities airport is only half a mile away. It is not uncommon to get a close-up view of the belly of a Northwest jumbo jet as you walk from your car to the restaurant.

  The 5-8 is home to the “Juicy Lucy,” the same cheese-stuffed burger concoction made famous by Matt’s just up Cedar Avenue, though Matt’s spells theirs “Jucy Lucy.” Regulars and waitstaff were reluctant to talk about the origins of south Minneapolis’ favorite burger. “Oh, I don’t know,” said one regular, “they both make pretty good Lucys.” The only person willing to talk was the kitchen manager at the time, coincidentally named Matt. He was still pretty vague saying, “It’s always been a thing between here and Matt’
s on who invented it.”

  Regardless, the 5-8 makes a great “upscale” Juicy Lucy, because there’s a twist to the recipe—you can order one stuffed with classic American cheese, Swiss, pepper Jack, or blue cheese. Matt told me, “People love them—we sell tons.” As a burger hits the grill, it is marked with a colored fuzzy-tipped sandwich toothpick to identify its corresponding molten cheese core. Yellow for Swiss, blue for blue cheese . . . you get the idea. Has Matt ever gotten them mixed up? “Never.” That’s pretty impressive for cranking out over 300 Juicy Lucys a day for the large sit-down lunch and dinner crowd. All of the Juicy Lucys are made from fresh-ground Angus chuck. Two large patties are pinched together and stuffed in-house daily. The buns seem too large to fit in your mouth but are superlight, locally made, and fresh.

  In a nod to Matt’s Bar’s T-shirts (which ask you to “Fear the Cheese”) the 5-8 sells tees that ask you to “Free the Cheese.” It’s recommended that you wait to eat your burger after it shows up in the basket at your table. The hot cheese interior will burn your mouth if you are impatient. I made the mistake of cutting mine in half to let it cool; I was left with a cheese-goo mess.

  Don’t do what I did and enter the 5-8 through the welcoming front door, complete with a lawn, low hedges, and a flag. True to its speakeasy heritage, the back door is the way to enter. And don’t be put off by its clinical looking rear entrance—behind the door is a comfortable dining room with a large outdoor patio.

  The 5-8 may be known for its burgers but don’t miss out on its long list of comfort food like jojo potatoes, pork tenderloin sandwiches, and the Midwest’s own fried cheese curds. And if you order a drink with that, the 5-8 guarantees “free refills ‘till you float.” I don’t think this applies to beer, though.

  19

  MISSISSIPPI

  BILL’S HAMBURGERS

  310 NORTH MAIN ST | AMORY, MS 38821

  662-256-2085 | SUN–FRI 7:30 AM–5:30 PM

  SAT 7 AM–5 PM | BAR OPEN TILL MIDNIGHT

  The drive to Amory is quintessential backcountry Deep South—miles of two-lane roads lined with cotton fields, cotton gins, and, when I visited, lots of loose cotton all over the road. Amory is a small town and Bill’s is a small restaurant at a spot where Main Street bends. Locals affectionately refer to this spot as “Vinegar Bend.”

  Bill’s has twenty-three stools and about two tables, so chances are you’ll probably be sitting at the counter. Nothing fancy here—in keeping with tradition, burgers are still served at your spot at the counter on waxed paper.

  Before it was Bill’s, it was Bob’s. In 1929 Bob Hill borrowed $48 from a local baker named James Toney to open a hamburger restaurant. A stipulation of the deal was that Bob had to buy all of his hamburger buns from Toney’s bakery.

  One year after opening, Bob hired Bill Tubb to help slice and prep buns with the only two condiments available in the ’20s at Bob’s—mustard and onion. World War II meat rationing forced Bob’s to close, but after the war Bob reopened and later sold the business to Bill in 1955. Naturally, Bill changed the name to his own, then turned around and sold it in 1957 to another Bill, who then rehired Bill to work there. After a string of Bill’s relatives owned and operated the small burger stand, Bill’s was sold to the current owners, Reid and Janice Wilkerson.

  “I grew up eating here. It was such a big part of my childhood. When it came up for sale, I had to buy it,” Reid told me as he emerged from the back room of the restaurant. He grinds fresh beef there every day for the burgers as it has been done since 1929. Another tradition Reid and Janice adhere to—mustard and onion only—also dates back to the beginning. “Not much has changed here, except that the burgers got bigger,” grill girl Amy told me. Toney’s bakery closed in 1970, which led Bill’s to start using standard four-inch buns. The new burger size was determined by the size of the buns.

  The burgers start as quarter-pound balls of beef that are pressed onto a well-seasoned flattop griddle. The burgers at Bill’s are unbelievably tasty, beefy, and rich with grease flavor. The mustard, onion, beef, and bun combination is heaven. Cheese is unnecessary, though available, but tomato and lettuce are nowhere to be found. If you really need ketchup or mayo, Amy hides packets behind the counter. “They’re really only for takeout orders.”

  Ever had a burger for breakfast? Bill’s opens at 7:30 most mornings and does not serve eggs or bacon. “We serve burgers all day. People do come in here first thing and order burgers, especially the third shift at the local factories,” Amy told me as I polished off my double.

  On the front of the restaurant is a large painted portrait of the beloved former employee Junior Manasco, a gently disabled fixture at Bill’s for over 20 years starting in 1977. On a wall opposite the counter is a framed resolution from the State of Mississippi presented to Junior “for his service to his community.” Reid recalled, “He knew and greeted everyone that came in the door.”

  As I was leaving an old-timer at the counter told me, “The first time I came here the burgers were 25 cents.” When I pressed for just how long ago that was he said, “A long time ago.”

  PHILLIPS GROCERY

  541 EAST VAN DORN AVE

  HOLLY SPRINGS, MS 38634

  662-252-4671 | MON–FRI 10 AM–4 PM

  SAT 10 AM–6 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY

  Downtown Holly Springs, Mississippi, looks like it may have looked 70 years ago. American flags and freshly painted turn-of-the-century storefronts line the streets. Phillip’s Grocery is not here though. Phillip’s is down the road by the train tracks across from a semi-restored 150-year-old ornate train depot, and the area looks a lot like William Eggleston’s photography of the South—gritty and real. I got lost trying to find this burger destination, and you will too.

  Phillips serves one of the best burgers in America. Not just because I said so; their burgers have been the subject of many journalistic accolades, including being awarded, “Best Burger In America” twice by USA Today.

  The restaurant was first established as Phillips Grocery in 1948 when the Phillips family bought an existing grocery that sold hamburgers. Current owner Larry Davis told me, “The burger’s been made here since the ’30s.” Mrs. Phillips had planned to do away with the burger when they bought the store, but changed her tune when she saw how many they were selling. “She put her kids through college with burger money.”

  Their success is no accident. The secret lies in the mixture of ground beef and other “secret” ingredients. Adding breading to ground beef was popular in the South during the Depression, and I suspect the burger at Phillips may be a vestige of this lost art. I arrived at Phillips before it opened and interrupted Larry’s morning ritual of making the ground beef mixture for the day’s burgers. He actually disappeared behind a closed door and reappeared a few minutes later with rubber gloves and large stainless mixing bowls filled with ground beef. “It’s the same recipe since the ’30s,” Larry said of the secret recipe he purchased with the store in 1989. “I do this every day, sometimes 40 to 50 pounds on Saturdays.”

  A burger at Phillips can be ordered as a single one-third pound patty, a double with two quarter-pound patties, or a deluxe half-pound patty. That sounds confusing, but not to the kitchen staff who electronically weigh and portion each ball of ground beef. The balls are pressed on a well-seasoned flattop griddle and served on white buns with only mustard, pickle, and onion. Mayo, ketchup, cheese, and bacon are offered (but unnecessary). The burger is so tasty as is you could eat it with only a bun and emerge contented.

  Phillips no longer sells groceries. The business shifted in the ’50s when supermarkets killed the corner store. The décor is pure country store kitsch today—Coke advertising from every decade is represented, as well as old grocer’s scales, saws, and a vintage John Deere bicycle dangling from the ceiling.

  You can sit at one of the random tables offered or find an old school desk to enjoy your burger and one of Larry’s homemade fried pies. Look out the window of this 120-year-old buildi
ng toward the train crossing and savor the sounds of locomotive whistles and the clanking of the active Mississippi Central Railroad rumbling by.

  20

  MISSOURI

  TOWN TOPIC

  2021 BROADWAY ST | KANSAS CITY, MO 64108

  816-842-2298 | OPEN DAILY, 24/7

  Most people might drive by Town Topic and see a cute old hamburger stand, an icon of the past, or a relic in a rundown neighborhood. Not me. The people who know better see a vibrant keeper of the flame, a lesson to learn from, and a restaurant that knows its place in history. I couldn’t drive by anyhow. Every time I try, I need to stop for a burger.

  There are three Town Topics left in Kansas City where there once were seven. Today, only the Broadway location, also known as #3, is open 24 hours. At one point all of the Town Topics were open 24/7, as were many other ten-stool mid-century hamburger joints across America.

  When I approached the Town Topic for an interview for this book, I had already been there a few times. The night I chose to visit I hit the jackpot—Bonnie Gooch was at the grill. Bonnie should be defined as a hard-boiled sweetheart. She’s just what you’d want from a short-order lifer—a woman who takes no crap but takes care of the regulars. “See that guy down there?” she said to me, pointing down the counter to an older man. “He’s been like a daddy to me. I’ve known him since the day I started so I try to take care of him.” With that she slid an unordered slice of lettuce onto his burger and sent it off.