Hamburger America

by George Motz

  In 1948 Millie and Russ Eagan opened a burger stand east of downtown Olympia and called it (coincidentally) In and Out. Millie took her inspiration for a drive-thru from a popular motor court across the street. For the original stand the Egans relocated a minuscule barbershop from another part of town. Since then, the stand has been rebuilt and changed names more than once, but has always been on the same spot. Through the decades the Egans expanded to nine stands in and around Olympia, but today only one remains.

  Big Tom was the son of Millie and Russ Eagan. Overweight and inventive, he was known to help himself at the griddle and created a large burger that was not on the menu. Today it’s a best seller at the burger stand that bears his name, a double meat, double cheese-burger with lettuce, tomato, chopped onion, and the famous Goop. Be prepared for the inevitable dripping Goop as you take your first bite. Chuck told me, “We are known for making a sloppy burger.” Chuck buys fresh ground 18 percent fat thin patties for the burgers at Big Tom. They are cooked on a flattop griddle that is usually filled to capacity with the sputtering patties.

  The interior of Big Tom, which is all kitchen, is a lesson in functionality. An astounding amount of prep and cooking is done in the 288 square feet that is populated by up to seven employees at peak times. Every square inch is utilized—think submarine galley.

  Chuck started working at the tiny burger stand in the ’50s when he was 15 years old peeling potatoes. “It was warm and dry and sitting in a cubicle did not appeal to me,” Chuck said about his longevity in the business. He is a true entrepreneur. The diesel pickup truck that makes the 90-mile round-trip to and from work each day is fueled by fry oil from Big Tom. “I used to have to pay to dispose of it.” Now he drives down the road smelling like burning French fries.

  Chuck, closing in on 53 years at Big Tom, is slowly turning the business over to his son, Michael, who literally grew up in the stand. Chuck pointed to a small space between the employee bathroom and slop sink. “We had the crib right there.” Michael jokingly describes the transition as “indentured servitude.” He told me, “I never thought I’d wrap myself around a hamburger joint,” but he seems to enjoy the life. Michael plans to run the burger stand for a long time, or as he put it, “At least until I reach dad’s age.”

  WISCONSIN

  RECIPE FROM THE HAMBURGER AMERICA TEST KITCHEN

  GOOP SAUCE, MY WAY

  Goop is the sauce that adorns just about every burger in the Pacific Northwest. All of the goop sauces I’ve had taste pretty much the same, yet all contain highly secret ingredients. I’ve attempted to re-create goop sauce here, but remain fully aware that the best place to try this heavenly condiment is at places like the Eastside Big Tom in Olympia, Washington, and Dick’s Drive-In in Seattle.

  MAKES ENOUGH FOR 12 BURGERS

  ½ cup mayonnaise

  ¼ cup sour cream

  4 teaspoons sweet relish

  4 teaspoons yellow mustard

  Mix contents. Spread on your favorite burger. The color should resemble a stock canary yellow Plymouth Barracuda. Tell your friends it’s not the real thing, but pretty damn close. I can hear Chuck from Big Tom laughing as he reads this recipe.

  41

  WISCONSIN

  AMERICAN LEGION POST #67

  133 NORTH MAIN ST | LAKE MILLS, WI 53551

  920-731-1265

  OPEN FRIDAYS ONLY, MAY–OCT, 10 AM–8 PM

  I had to make a special trip to Lake Mills, Wisconsin for a hamburger and timing was everything. When I discovered that this 85-year-old burger stand is only open on Fridays in the summer the planning began. I had only 23 Fridays to choose from.

  The American Legion Post #67 Hamburger Stand is a gem. It’s wedged between two larger buildings in the heart of downtown Lake Mills and has been there since 1950. For 24 years before that, the American Legion had a portable stand set up across the street. The stand today is walk-up service only with a severely limited menu, my kinda place. Hamburgers, cheeseburgers, and sodas are all you can spend your money on (with the exception of a must-have t-shirt that depicts a burger, or “slider,” midway down a playground slide). Your only option for condiments is with or without onions. Ketchup and mustard are available on an old typewriter table on the sidewalk. “The most popular burger is one ‘with,’” stand operator Randy told me, which is a burger with stewed onions. Typical for an old-time stand, cheese takes a backseat and makes up only a third of all burgers ordered.

  I squeezed into the tiny stand while my burger was being made and immediately recognized a cooking method that is rapidly disappearing throughout the Midwest—the deep-fried burger. That’s right, the one-fifth-pound burgers at Post #67 are deep fried in a huge, shallow tank filled with canola oil. The fresh pattied meat comes in every Friday from Glenn’s Market in nearby Watertown and over 2,500 burgers are plopped in the hot oil on a busy day. Not too long ago the tank was filled with rendered lard and for health reasons they have switched to canola. These burgers are great but I can only imagine how sublime a lardburger must have been.

  The first went down fast so I ordered another. The hot oil soaks the soft, white-squishy bun and becomes a condiment to the peppery burger. If you ask for cheese, a slice is placed on the bottom half of the bun so the hot oil from the burger melts it on contact.

  The stand is run by a rotating crew of five, members of the American Legion Post #67 just down the street. Most of the crew members are in their seventies and eighties; each is a veteran who served in Korea or Vietnam. They have a great system worked out for delivering hot and tasty burgers to waiting customers. Someone takes your order at the tiny window and writes a code on a paper bag. The bag is passed back to another who shouts out the order. The cook pulls a burger out of the oil and hands it to another vet, who puts it onto a bun and wraps it up. The wrapped burger is then slid to the bag man who matches the wrapped burger to the code on the bag. When things heat up and the orders start pouring in, this system hums like a well-oiled machine.

  There was an awesome note near the tank of oil and onions that read, “On the first, third, and fifth Fridays take a minimum of 50 burgers to Post 67 for bingo at 7:30 p.m.” What a perk for those bingo players!

  Everyone seems to have a great time on their shift and no one minds that they are not getting paid. Most of the volunteers are retired military and are compensated in burgers and beer. Not the kind of beer you take home, the kind you enjoy on the job. Intrigued, I asked past Commander Don Hein, “When does the drinking start?” He told me bluntly, “Whenever we start working.” I gathered from the other vets hard at work that in most cases they are way too busy bagging burgers to drink themselves into oblivion. And as Don pointed out, “You really can’t come down here and get hammered.”

  ANCHOR BAR

  413 TOWER AVE | SUPERIOR, WI 54880

  715-394-9747

  WWW.ANCHORBAR/FREESERVERS.COM

  MON–THU 10 AM–2 AM

  FRI & SAT 10 AM–2:30 AM | SUN 10 AM–2 AM

  Turn off your cell phone, grab a pitcher of beer, and disappear into the Anchor Bar for a few hours. You’ll thank me later. That’s the type of place the Anchor is—a very comfortable, dark bar that is blanketed in the most amazing collection of nautical ephemera that you will find anywhere. The stuff is everywhere. Floor, walls, ceiling. “We have more stuff in the basement but there’s no room to put it up,” Adam Anderson, part owner and the son of the man that opened the place, told me. “It’s like a museum in here.” Superior, Wisconsin is a shipping town and a bar like the Anchor fits right in.

  Grab the table just inside the door on the right if you can. “We call that the library,” Adam said of the table, which is actually a tiny, semiprivate nook lined with books, board games, and more than one globe. Sitting here, separate from the rest of the bar, you actually feel as though you are enjoying the captain’s quarters on a tall ship.

  The centerpiece of the bar is a lifebuoy from the famous SS Edmund Fitzgerald, a Great Lakes freighter that me
t its demise one cold winter night in 1975. The tragic event was popularized in a song by Gordon Lightfoot, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.” A violent storm and a failed radar caused the ship to sink taking with it twenty-nine crewmembers who were never found. “There’s a group that comes in every year on the anniversary to toast the dead,” Adam told me.

  Adam’s dad, Tom, worked at the Elk’s Club in town and bought the bar when he heard it was for sale. His first move was to add food to the menu and started serving burgers. He and his manager of over 30 years collected from garage sales over the years the many rope nets, ships gauges, running lights, portholes, and shipping photos that make up the décor. That manager, Bean Pritty, continues to run the Anchor with Tom’s sons, Adam and Aaron. Tom passed away in 2008 and Adam decided to move back home and leave his job as a successful sous-chef near Minneapolis to run the Anchor. Thanks to the dedication of Bean Pritty, in Adam’s words, “The place kinda runs itself. If I’m here I’m just in the way.”

  There are more than a few burger options at the Anchor, seventeen to be exact. All start with a griddled, hand-formed, one-third-pound patty made from fresh ground 83/17 chuck. The beef comes to the bar from a local butcher and Adam told me, “If I run low during the day, they’ll bring us more.” Most of the burgers sound pretty wacky but good (like the “Sour Cream and Mushroom” or the “Oliveburger,” the most popular). I opted for another favorite, the “Cashewburger,” topped with Swiss cheese and a copious amount of whole, roasted, salted cashews that have been warmed on the griddle. A young grill person named Tom (who incidentally is named after the former owner and is the son of Tom’s best friend) explained, “They get a little softer when you put them on the grill.” Naturally, the idea for the Cashewburger was born over beers. According to Adam, “My dad liked cashews so he put them on a burger one day.” When a friend asked why, Tom responded, “Don’t you like cashews?” The texture of the Cashewburger is unusual but amazing. No other condiments are necessary. The grease from the burger mixes with the chunky nuts and the Swiss cheese creating a salty, cheesy, beefy flavor profile. And hey, cashews are good for you! The fries are also really good. There’s a French fry press next to the deep fryer and when an order comes in the grillperson grabs a potato, slams it through the press and tosses the fries in the hot oil. The fries are that fresh.

  The Library

  There are a few easy-drinking beers on tap (like Keystone Light and the local beer, Grain Belt) that can be purchased by the pitcher ($2.50 pitchers all day Monday) but don’t miss the Anchor Bar’s amazing selection of microbrews. There are over 90 flavors to choose from. “That’s our dessert menu,” Adam joked, pointing to a box of candy bars behind the bar.

  “It’s a likable dive,” a longtime regular named John told me sitting at the bar. “It doesn’t pretend to be anything that it isn’t.”

  DOTTY DUMPLING’S DOWRY

  317 NORTH FRANCES ST | MADISON, WI 53703

  608-259-0000

  WWW.DOTTYDUMPLINGSDOWRY.COM

  MON–WED 11 AM–11 PM

  THU–SAT 11 AM–MIDNIGHT | SUN NOON–10 PM

  Dotty’s is in its fifth location in over 35 years. “Goddamn eminent domain was the reason for the last move,” Jeff Stanley mumbled when I asked him about the moves. It seems the latest incarnation of Dotty’s is working for him though. The exterior resembles a working-class Irish pub complete with black paint, small-paned windows, and the bar’s name in gold. The interior is impressive—quality-crafted dark wood, large inviting bar, and an astounding collection of model aircraft dangling from the ceiling. There is even an eight-foot scale model of the Hindenburg positioned over the grill area.

  Friend and columnist Doug Moe, who referred to Jeff as “The Hamburger King of Madison” directed me to Dotty’s. Jeff’s bigger-than-life persona is infectious, and he is a well-liked underdog around town. He is damn proud to hold the title of king and knows his burgers. The first time I walked into Dotty’s, Jeff announced without warning, “Hey everybody! This is the guy who made that hamburger film!”

  “We only use the highest-quality ingredients,” Jeff said as I took a big swig from my beer. His burgers are made from six ounces of fresh-ground chuck, pattied in-house. They are grilled on an open flame in plain sight of all customers and placed on specially made local buns that have been warmed and buttered. Grill master David explained, “Jeff requests that the buns are not cooked fully so they remain soft.” David is a bit of an anomaly in the burger world. Not that other burger chefs don’t have his love of the craft, but none to date have been comfortable quoting celebrity chef Anthony Bourdain. “Have you read his stuff on kitchen cleanliness?”

  This attention to detail and Jeff’s public persona have put Dotty’s on the top of local hamburger polls for decades. Being a stone’s throw from the University of Wisconsin’s Kohl Center and Camp Randall Stadium doesn’t hurt either.

  The name Dotty Dumpling’s Dowry comes from an Arthur Conan Doyle short story, the same writer who brought us Sherlock Holmes. Dotty’s menu is extensive, including an ostrich dish and the bar has an impressive twenty-four beers on tap. But please don’t leave Dotty’s without trying their excellent deep-fried cheese curds—they are indeed a necessary evil.

  KEWPEE HAMBURGERS

  520 WISCONSIN AVE | RACINE, WI 53403

  262-634-9601 | WWW.KEWPEE.COM

  MON–FRI 7 AM–6 PM | SAT 7 AM–5 PM

  CLOSED SUNDAY

  When the first version of this book came out, I went on a book tour and did lots of promotion. On a talk show in Wisconsin, a deejay surprised me and announced live on the air, “Go ahead, give us a call and tell George what he left out of the book!” One of the overwhelming responses was that I had omitted a Racine, Wisconsin favorite, Kewpee Hamburgers. Needless to say, I was on my way to Racine almost immediately.

  At one time Kewpee Hotel Hamburgs were all over the Upper Midwest. The first Kewpee opened in Flint, Michigan and was one of the first hamburger chains in America. Like many of the great burger chains of the ’30s and ’40s, Kewpee downsized during the Great Depression and saw further decline as the owners experimented with franchising. Today, only five Kewpees in three states remain and are all privately owned. The Racine location is the sole surviving Kewpee in the Dairy State.

  On my first visit to Kewpee I sat at one of the low horseshoe counters and was happy to see that at 10 a.m. the griddle was already filled with burgers. The place is huge and could easily seat fifty people. This version of the restaurant is relatively new, but over the last nine decades the building has been replaced three times.

  Kewpee does not use a patty machine like its sister restaurant in Lima, Ohio. In fact, there are very few similarities between the two Kewpees. Owner and lead grillperson Rick Buehrens told me, “Here, you’ll get a totally different burger than at the Ohio Kewpees.” For starters, Rick has eschewed the original Kewpee method of forming square patties in favor of the even more traditional method of smashing balls of beef. He uses an ice cream scoop to form loose balls of fresh-ground beef and can produce six balls to the pound. In the morning, trays are filled with the balls and kept cold in the back. During a busy rush, Rick will take an entire tray, dump it onto the large flattop griddle, then sort and smash the mess into perfect patties.

  An entirely separate flattop nearby is used to toast the buns. Ask for a cheeseburger and watch what happens. Rick does not sully the burger side of the griddle with cheese. Instead he’ll toss a cold slice on the left side of the flattop for a few seconds to melt. Like magic, the cheese doesn’t stick to the surface (or the spatula) and is transferred smoothly to your cheeseburger.

  The burger options at Kewpee are basic—a single or double, with or without cheese, served on locally made, soft white buns. A burger with everything has pickle, chopped onion, mustard, and ketchup. I couldn’t help but notice that the ketchup was clearly more prominent than the mustard. “That’s based on what customers were telling me,” Rick explained. �
�It seems like I put less mustard on these days.”

  Rick should know about changing tastes over time. He started working at Kewpee in 1976 as a dishwasher and became the owner after 27 years of sweat equity.

  While waiting for your burgers, make sure to check out the enormous display case that contains hundreds of vintage Kewpie dolls of all shapes, sizes, and colors. The inspiration for the restaurant’s name came from the popular turn-of-the-century doll. The display lends a touch of history to an otherwise modern diner. Though the space has been updated, the burger has remained faithful to its roots and is made with the freshest ingredients. Sink your teeth into a classic and slip back in time with a Kewpee burger.

  PETE’S HAMBURGERS

  118 BLACKHAWK AVE | PRAIRIE DU CHIEN, WI 53821

  NO PHONE | WWW.PETESHAMBURGERS.COM

  OPEN MID-APRIL THROUGH MID-OCTOBER

  FRI–SUN 11 AM–8 PM

  CLOSED MONDAY THROUGH THURSDAY

  “Don’t tell mom we stopped here,” I overheard a woman say to her brother. When I asked why, she told me, “We are heading to our family reunion.” That’s the kind of place Pete’s is—a 101-year-old institution that makes you want to stop even though you shouldn’t. The draw is too great, the burgers amazing.