by George Motz
Fat Mo’s Locations are a mixed bag of restaurant types because each location is an independently owned franchise. A handful of them are sit-down restaurants with drive-thrus, a few are sit-down with no drive-thru, and some are tiny roadside drive-up windows. Five of these have a curious double drive-up system with two lanes, one on either side of the building. When you pull up to the large menu in the parking lot there is no speaker asking you for your order. You make a selection and drive up to a window to order, or an employee will emerge from the rear of the restaurant to take your order to bring to the kitchen. It’s all very low-tech but everything is made to order and very fresh.
Although most of the locations have been franchised, Mo and Shiva have retained the Smyrna location for themselves. They spend much of their time in the restaurant because as Mo put it, “People in Nashville want to see me, see that I’m alive, that I exist.” Mr. Mo, as he is affectionately known, most definitely exists and so do his amazing burgers.
ROTIER’S RESTAURANT
2412 ELLISTON PLACE | NASHVILLE, TN 37203
615-327-9892 | MON–FRI 10 AM–10:30 PM
SAT 9 AM–10 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY
Nashvillians are proud of Rotier’s and the burger that is served there on French bread. At first glance, the burger looks impossible to eat, a tower of edible elements that defy gravity, thanks, only to those, feathery sandwich toothpicks. And that bread—why the big loaf of French bread? “My father ordered some loaves of French bread from Sunbeam one day in the ’40s to serve with our spaghetti,” owner Margaret Crouse told me. One thing led to another and the famous Rotier’s cheeseburger on French bread was born. Despite how tall the burger looks, it’s a breeze to eat and the supersoft bread cradles the burger patty and condiments perfectly.
It should be a good burger. It has been on the top of every best burger list in Nashville for decades. Loretta Lynn, Tim McGraw, and Faith Hill are all fans of the cozy dive. Jimmy Buffett used to sit at the bar and write songs and eat burgers regularly back in the late ’60s when he lived in Nashville, prompting many to assume that he penned the famous “Cheeseburger in Paradise” at Rotier’s. Alas, he did not.
Evelyn and John Rotier opened their tavern and restaurant in 1945 just steps from the esteemed Vanderbilt University. Today, the giggly, effervescent Margaret Crouse, daughter of the Rotiers, owns the dark, comfortably broken-in tavern with her brother, Charlie Rotier. “I’ve worked here for 38 years,” she told me, but many of her employees can boast similar claims. Pamela has been in the kitchen for over two decades. Her mother gave her the job after she had flipped burgers there for over 30 years, starting in 1951.
There are three burgers on the menu at Rotier’s and the descriptions can be somewhat confusing. The well-known “cheeseburger on French bread” is self-explanatory, but order a grilled cheeseburger and it comes on white or wheat toast. Order just a cheeseburger and you’ll get the same patty on a white squishy bun. The six-ounce burgers are hand-pattied every morning from over 200 pounds of fresh-ground chuck. A burger with everything comes with lettuce, onion, and tomato. Order a “half & half ” and you’ll get a plate with both fries and onion rings.
Other than hamburgers and the surprisingly good spicy fried pickles, Rotier’s is also known for its plate dinners that come with Southern sides, like lima beans, broccoli casserole, and fried okra. And don’t miss Eddie Cartwright’s Lemon Ice Box Pie, a tangy, creamy dessert similar to key lime pie with a buttery graham cracker crust. Jack-of-all-trades Eddie and his pie recipe have been at Rotier’s for over twenty years.
My good friend from Nashville, Vadis Turner, told me once, “My dad took me here for my first burger. It is the kind of place where you bring your kid to get them their first real hamburger.”
Pamela, taking a break near the bar, smoking a cigarette, and waiting for the next rush told me, “This place is a home away from home for a lot of people. Once you sit down, you don’t want to get up.”
ZARZOUR’S CAFE
1627 ROSSVILLE AVE | CHATTANOOGA, TN 37408
423-266-0424 | MON–FRI 11 AM–2 PM
CLOSED SAT & SUN
Zarzour’s is one of the places I visited where I had wished this book wasn’t just about hamburgers. In addition to serving up one of the best burgers I’ve ever had, Zarzour’s also provides a meat-and-threes menu that the locals love. But even if burgers were the only draw, it’s worth a trip to this South Chattanooga food gem.
Until recently, Zarzour’s burgers were not even listed on the menu. Local lunch patron Blythe Bailey told me, “I came here a few times before I realized they even made burgers.” I asked Shannon Fuller, a Zarzours family member, grill chef, and master of ceremonies, why the burgers were not advertised. “Because I hate making them!” she said laughing hard, “Just kidding! But in the summertime it gets real hot in here because of the burgers.”
It couldn’t be a friendlier place. Everyone knows one another and some descendant of Zarzour is always in the restaurant either eating or working. “They come here to eat and I put every damn one of them to work—go clear that table,” Shirley Fuller told me.
Shirley is the matriarch of the family, owner, and third-generation Zarzour. Her grandfather, Charles Zarzour, a Lebanese immigrant, opened the café in 1918. Shirley is in charge of the desserts for the three hours a day the restaurant is open. If a pie is running low, she’ll spot a regular with a favorite and tell them so.
The burgers are large. How large? Shannon made an air patty with her hands “about this big” and burst out laughing. “And the large burger is this big!”and she made a bigger air patty. Each burger is pattied to order. Shannon scoops ground chuck out of a Tupperware dish next to the grill, hand-forms a patty and places it on the small, flattop griddle in the front part of the restaurant, surrounded by customers. No burger is the same, though she gets pretty close. If you ask for grilled onion, a thick slice is cooked like a burger patty on the griddle. A cheeseburger with everything comes with pickles, lettuce, tomato, onion, mayo, and mustard on a bun that comes from a bakery across the street.
From the outside, Zarzour’s doesn’t look like much. Look for the small painted-brick structure with heavily fortified windows. The only warmth on the exterior is the red-checked curtain hanging in the window of the front door. Inside you’ll find just the opposite—a warm country café with tables of all sizes covered with the same red-checked fabric and a capacity crowd happy to be there.
Besides burgers, I watched plates of great Southern food be dispatched to tables. Butter beans, collard greens, and skillet corn bread are on the menu, as is the local favorite, lemon ice box pie.
The tables all have clear bottles filled with odd science experiments: things like homemade chow chow relish and pickled okra. One bottle’s contents even the waitress could not identify, but I’m sure it was tasty.
It would be easy to miss out on a lunch at Zarzour’s if you showed up, for example, after 2 p.m., or on a weekend. I asked Shirley why they are only opened for fifteen hours a week and she explained succinctly with a smile, “That’s all I want.”
36
TEXAS
105 GROCERY
17255 TEXAS 105 | WASHINGTON, TX 77880
936-878-2273 | MON–THU 11 AM–7:30 PM
FRI & SAT 11 AM–8 PM
This is not a burger joint. It’s not really even a well-stocked grocery store. 105 Grocery is a tiny country store, a place to meet and buy beer, lotto tickets, and a bag of chips. They also happen to serve one of the best burgers I’ve ever had in Texas.
105 Grocery is way out there. Far beyond the sprawl of Houston and a healthy 80-mile drive northwest is a burger spot that is barely on the map. Inside and out, the 105 is a friendly, classic, functioning rural country store. Mismatched chairs and tables fill the area by the register and people come and go, paying for gas and hauling away beer by the 12-pack. At the 105 Grocery, the beer in the coolers far exceeds the space allotted for soda.
The best-loo
king seat in the house is a community table in the rear of the store near the beer coolers. The table is surrounded by a bunch of random chairs and one comfortable, high-backed leather office chair on wheels. As I eyed the chair at the empty table I heard a voice say, “Nobody better sit in that chair.” One of the grill cooks, Sherrie, explained to me that, like clockwork, the owner’s brother, Sam, shows up every day at 8 a.m. and 4 p.m. to sit in that chair. Sure enough, at exactly 4:01 a guy in a dusty John Deere hat walked in, helped himself to a can of Miller Lite and slipped into the chair. A friend in suspenders, jeans, and cowboy hat joined him with a Bud in hand and all I could think of was how fortunate I was to be in this authentic joint. Most people never get to see this side of the country.
Your choices for burgers are with or without cheese and single or double patty. As tempting as a double sounds deep in the heart of Texas, beware. The fresh, hand-pattied burgers seem to be close to half a pound, making a double-meat burger one full pound of beef. I opted for the half-pound single patty and that was sufficient. The girl on the grill, Beaujolais, told me, “Some folks come in and order double meat with bacon . . . that’s big.” A burger with everything comes with mayo, pickles, mustard, iceberg lettuce, a slice of tomato, and raw onion. The whole package is delivered on a toasted, buttered, soft white bun in a plastic basket and is an absolutely tasty belly bomb.
The flavor was peppery and I’m assuming that Beaujolais (named by her mother, who worked in a wine store) sprinkled a liberal amount of seasoning on the patties. Customers and employees pointed out that Beaujolais was the one who makes the best burger at the 105. Everyone who works here does it all, and Sherrie said it best: “Cook, cashier . . . whatever.” The tiny flattop griddle can be seen though a small pass-thru behind the register and on busy days there’s a wait due to the limited capacity of the griddle.
An older, outgoing regular named Donald, sitting at a table sipping a beer, told me that the 105 has been around forever and remembers the place from his youth, when it was called Jensen’s Store. “I damn near own the place,” he declared. “I’m here every day!”
The actual owners are Betty and John Eichelberger, who own a ranch nearby. Betty’s aunt and uncle Minnie and Melvin Jensen opened the grocery many decades ago. The progression of ownership still exists in the signage outside, making the 105 look like it has an identity problem. One sign reads B&J’S GAS and another across the parking lot calls the place D&K GENERAL STORE. When you call, they answer the phone, “105.” My favorite sign, though, is on the front door and lists tworules—NO SMOKING CIGARS—NO SAGGING PANTS. I wonder if they are enforced.
As Sam sat in his leather office chair and watched the activity at the register, he told anyone who would listen, “Can’t get a bad burger here.” He then turned to me. “I eat burgers here every day,” he said, then added with a chuckle, “I eat all my meals here.”
ADAIR’S SALOON
2624 COMMERCE ST | DALLAS, TX 75226
214-939-9900 | WWW.ADAIRSSALOON.COM
OPEN DAILY , 11 AM TO CLOSING
Down in Deep Ellum, a section of Dallas just north of downtown known for its honky-tonk nightlife, is a comfortably broken-in bar called Adair’s Saloon. If you walk in off the street out of the blazing Texas sun, it’ll take a while for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. But when they do, you’ll find a place that is hard to leave. There are happy hour specials all day, old-timey country tunes on the jukebox, instant friends lining the bar, and they just happen to serve one of the best burgers in Texas.
Adair’s is full of beer neon and other signage but most noticeable is the graffiti, which is everywhere. It’s on the floor, walls, and tables and there’s a lot of it. Cute bartender Tarah, who has a tattoo that spirals up her leg, told me, “We encourage it,” and handed me a few black Sharpies. Adair’s is the perfect spot if you need to let loose with a pen after a few beers. Just ask the bartender for a marker.
Settle into a booth or belly-up to the bar and order a burger and a local favorite beer (one of my favorites), Shiner Bock. If you need a menu there’s one posted behind the bar but the choices are limited. You can order a cheeseburger or hamburger, and at Adair’s they only come in one size—huge.
This classic Texas burger is a thing of beauty. It comes in a plastic basket, wrapped in checked wax paper and speared with a fat, whole jalapeño pepper. The contents are bursting from its wrapping, begging you to grab hold and take a bite. A burger with everything comes with a thick slice of tomato, shredded lettuce, a slice of raw onion, pickles, and mustard. They also offer grilled onion, available upon request. The whole thing is sandwiched between two halves of a soft, white squishy bun that has been warmed in a steaming tray. A bite that includes all of these elements is blissful.
Like all classic Texas hamburgers the burger at Adair’s weighs in at a half pound. The way the grill cook arrives at this measurement is one of the more unique methods I have ever seen. Fresh ground beef arrives at Adair’s in long tubes that just happen to share the same circumference as Mrs. Baird’s enriched buns. Sergio Perez, who has manned the griddle at Adair’s for a decade, lays out the beef tube and slices, with the plastic still on, half-pound patties. Each slice is identical (thanks to years of practice) and when the plastic is peeled off—voilà!—perfect patties! There’s an art to slicing the patties and as bartender Tarah put it, “If I had to do it, it’d be a mess.”
The burgers are cooked on a flattop in a spotless kitchen that in no way resembles the rest of the grungy bar. “I keep it very clean in here,” Sergio told me with a smile. The only piece of graffiti in the spartan kitchen is over the door and reads, “Sergio’s burgers are the best!” When he showed me the bun steamer, I remembered that the bun on my burger had been toasted. “Only for special people,” Sergio pointed out. Everyone else gets a steamed bun. The fries are peculiar, long potato wedges that resemble truck stop jo-jos. Even though they are frozen and come out of a bag they are not bad. There is no deep fryer in Sergio’s kitchen so the jo-jos get tossed onto the flattop to cook, making the exterior very crunchy.
Seven nights a week patrons enjoy live music at Adair’s with no cover charge. There is a full-sized tabletop shuffleboard that is addictive and will allow you to channel your inner-Olympic curler. The walls are covered with framed photos and one very large one stands out. Look for the enlarged snapshot of Elvis Presley in a deep embrace with former owner Lois Adair. Apparently, during a live show in the ’50s Lois broke through security to lay a big hug on the King. Thankfully, someone had a camera.
Friend and local burger expert Wayne Geyer led me to Adair’s when I told him I was looking for a quintessential Texas burger in Dallas. I caught him mumbling to himself as we enjoyed our burgers, “There’s something about a Texas burger. . . .” And he’s right. There is something special about burgers in Texas, and it’s not just because Texas is the land of beef. I think it’s because a true Texas burger is a simple thing, but it’s large. Simplicity and size are what make a burger a Texas burger, and Adair’s has it right.
ARNOLD BURGER
1611 SOUTH WASHINGTON ST | AMARILLO, TX 79102
806-372-1741 | WWW.ARNOLDBURGERS.COM
MON–FRI 9 AM–5:45 PM | CLOSED WEEKENDS
Arnold Burger’s reputation far exceeds its physical size. The tiny, beat up burger joint may look worn out, but this burger destination has cranked out very large, tasty burgers to happy customers for decades.
Owner Gayla Arnold is a hoot. Loaded with energy, this transplanted Hoosier took over when her parents had finally had enough 10 years ago. Ann and Dinzel Arnold opened the restaurant in 1985, moving into an old barbeque joint in the center of Amarillo. The Arnold family today is huge and it’s not uncommon to find a few family members helping out around the restaurant. Gayle’s nephew Perry, who worked at Arnold’s as a teenager and is now a chef at a nearby Olive Garden told me, “Everything I know about the kitchen I learned here.”
The menu boasts a dizzying selection o
f patty-and-cheese combinations, over 30, and the choices are based on patty size and quantity. The standard-sized patty at Arnold is three-fourths of a pound but to add to the confusion you can also order a Junior, a Baby, or a Small burger. Naturally, I had to ask how much each patty weighed and Gayla explained with a straight face, “The Baby is smaller than the Junior, the Small is smaller than the Baby . . . ,” and so on. Each size can come in up to four patties, with or without cheese. “It looks like a lot of burgers but it’s really not,” Gayla assured me. When I asked why the menu was like this, Gayla said in her defense, “Our customers have dictated our menu. It’s their fault!” My advice would be to stick to the basics, avoid the confusion, and get the most popular burger on the menu—the “Arnold Burger.”
The restaurant’s namesake burger is not to be taken lightly. This burger is a monster. Assuming you were hungry when you walked in, you most certainly will not be when you leave. The Arnold starts with two, three-fourths-pound patties that are stacked with four slices of American cheese on a toasted, wide, white squishy bun slathered with mayo and mustard. Lettuce, tomato, raw onion, and pickles are standard but come on the side.