Hamburger America

by George Motz

  Pete’s is a tiny, neat burger stand right in the center of the quaint southwestern Wisconsin town of Prairie du Chien. Little has changed at Pete’s in the last century, except for the size of the place, which has gone from very small to small. “In 1909, Pete Gokey started selling burgers from a cart at fairs and circuses,” his granddaughter Colleen explained. He then set up a table to sell burgers on a corner only a few feet from where the stand now sits. Colleen is one of many Gokeys that work at Pete’s, which is still owned and operated by the Gokey family. The tiny stand is filled with Gokeys. When I was there great-grandson Patrick Gokey was working the griddle.

  The burgers at Pete’s are not your standard American hamburger. A visit to Pete’s is a must because the burgers at Pete’s are cooked in a way that I’ve never seen anywhere else. They are boiled. I know that sounds strange, but local hamburger expert and friend Todd McElwee told me once, “I like to think of them as ‘poached.’” And poached they are. Most have never had a burger quite like this.

  A large, flat, high-lipped griddle or “tank” is filled with about an inch of water and a pile of quarter-pound balls of beef are dumped into the tank. In the center sits a mountain of thinly sliced onion, stewing in the hot water. The beef balls are pressed into patties that bob in the water like little boats and are flipped and ready in 15 minutes. The griddle can hold up to 70 patties and remains completely silent as the patties boil, bubble, and bob. I can only imagine that if this had been a standard griddle with that many burgers on it and no water, it would be a loud, sizzling mess.

  The buns, soft white squishies from a local bakery, are not toasted. If you want onions, the grillperson scoops a bunch from the pile and transfers to a bun taking a moment to drain any remaining water. Cheese? Not at Pete’s. In 101 years a burger has never seen a slice of cheese at Pete’s. In fact, a burger with or without onions is your only option.

  As you’ve probably surmised, this burger is not a big, charred, grease bomb. Quite the opposite, the burger at Pete’s is moist, ridiculously hot, and not greasy. The limp onion, soft bun, and steamy hot beef package is surprisingly tasty. Your options for toppings are ketchup, mustard, and horseradish mustard.

  Although Pete’s is small, the stand employs a dual window system to service customers. One Gokey makes burger magic at the griddle while two others work the windows, wrap burgers, and make change. The dual window setup makes for an excellent study in line dynamics. Most of the time both lines have an equal number of patient customers. But every once in a while a line grows with over 25 tourists and newbies that don’t realize there’s a second window. Without fail, a regular spots the imbalance and goes for the empty window. When I saw a regular named Ernie Moon briskly approach the empty window I asked why. “If they want to stand in line,” gesturing to the opposite window, “that’s fine with me!” He then explained, “I guess that’s what you’d call having ‘experience.’ I’ve been coming here for 60 years.” The reality is that the lines move very quickly. Assuming the griddle is full of burgers ready to go, you can step up to place your order and be walking away in 30 seconds with a steaming bag full of hamburger history.

  One curious item I spotted for sale at the stand was “Pete’s Secret Ingredient,” a clear liquid in a bottle bearing the image of Pete himself. Rumor has it that years ago a Chicagoan passing through town asked Pete what he was cooking his amazing tasting burgers in and Pete told him, “Hamburger oil.” He then proceeded to sell him a gallon of water. The bottled water for sale at the stand today is a prank that still gets chuckles today but the tiny bottles of water sell for $2 with all proceeds going to a Gokey family charity that supports cancer and mental health research.

  Don’t make the mistake of showing up in Prairie du Chien in the cold months looking for a burger at Pete’s. The tiny stand is seasonal and only open for six months of the year. And even during that time they are only open three days a week, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

  “This stand put all the grandkids through college,” Mary told me, which numbered fifteen. “I think my grandfather would be amazed that it’s still here.” And how fortunate we are that Pete’s thrives.

  THE PLAZA TAVERN

  319 N. HENRY ST | MADISON, WI 97213

  608-255-6592 | WWW.THEPLAZATAVERN.COM

  OPEN DAILY 11 AM–10:45 PM

  The sauce is the draw and its ingredients are most definitely kept secret. Only a handful of insiders know the 40-plus-year-old recipe. “A bunch of restaurants claim they serve a Plaza Burger but they don’t,” grillman Mick told me with assurance. “Hey, I don’t even know the recipe!” Which is a little strange for a guy who probably made over a thousand of the thin patty wonders that week alone. Owner Dean Hetue sequesters himself in a locked room in the kitchen to concoct the creamy white, tangy sauce the Plaza has been putting on their burgers since the mid-1960s. “All I can tell you,” Mick went on, “is that it’s a sour cream and mayo-based sauce, and the rest is a secret.” Whatever it is, this unique topping is good. Very, very good.

  The Plaza is a tavern first, so the burgers at this popular watering hole seem like an afterthought. Cooked on a tiny griddle next to the long rows of hard booze, their unique arrangement of elements suggests that this is more than just another bar burger (fresh beef, wheat bun, and salad dressing). And regardless of the Plaza’s standard collegiate look and feel, the burger is anything but standard. Fresh, thin quarter-pound patties are grilled in plain sight of bar patrons, placed on incredibly soft wheat buns, and served with a dollop of the secret dressing/sauce. The presence of a wheat bun actually makes it feel like you could have one or two more, guilt-free.

  The bar feels like an enormous romper room for adults, complete with endless diversions for the buzz-addled, ranging from darts to pool and with pinball and video games for the solo drinkers. There are TVs everywhere and The Plaza’s sheer size suggests that large, boisterous crowds can fill the place (with the University of Wisconsin around the corner that’s not difficult to imagine, and it’s been rumored that Joan Cusack was once tossed from the bar). But the few times I’ve been there (during lunch), I pretty much had the place to myself.

  The Plaza has been a bar for over a century, with a stint as a speakeasy during Prohibition. In 1963 Mary and Harold Huss bought the bar and introduced their burger. Mary concocted the now-famous sauce and placed her burger on a half-wheat bun that is still used today.

  Dean started working at the Plaza in 1980 in hopes that one day he might own the place. “I figured that if I stuck around long enough . . .” His patience paid off, and in 2003 the second generation of the Huss family sold Dean the tavern—and the recipe for the secret sauce. “I have a great photo of me handing Tom Huss the check and he’s handing me the recipe,” Dean told me laughing. “It almost looks like we are in a tug-of-war.” That recipe now rests in a safe deposit box, and in Dean’s head. “My wife knew the recipe, but it’s been five years since she’s made the sauce. I’ll bet she forgot.”

  The menu at the Plaza is limited to things you might eat while drinking, i.e. “bar food.” Hot dogs and a fishwich are available, but you’d be wise to indulge in a few Plaza Burgers. They also serve one of my favorite sides, a not-to-be-missed treat of the upper Midwest, the fried cheese curd. Imagine a rustic, homespun version of the processed mozzarella stick and you’ll get the picture. Impossibly good, these deep-fried, random-sized wads of breaded fresh cheese are worth every calorie.

  The Plaza sits on a bizarre little street near the state’s capitol building and among the bustling stores catering to Madison’s large student population. “There’s so little parking out front,” Dean mused, “so it’s amazing that so many people find their way here.” Dean has noticed, in his nearly three decades at the tavern, students turn into alumni and continue to patronize the Plaza. “It’s the sauce that brings them back.”

  SOLLY’S GRILLE

  4629 NORTH PORT WASHINGTON ROAD

  MILWAUKEE, WI 53212

  41
4-332-8808 | MON 10 AM–8 PM

  TUE–SAT 6:30 AM–8 PM | SUN 8 AM–4 PM

  For the burger purist and lover of the things that make America unique, a visit to Solly’s is imperative. Pure and simple, Solly’s serves one of the last real butter burgers in the nation. When I say “real” I’m referring to the copious amounts of creamy Wisconsin butter that is used on their burgers, as opposed to what their surrounding competition calls a butter burger. To everyone else who peddles this great Wisconsin treat, the burger bun is coated with a thin swipe of butter, much in the way you might butter your toast if you were on a diet. Solly’s dramatically bends the rules and treats the butter as a condiment. In other words you actually won’t believe how much butter goes on the burger. The first time I visited Solly’s, I stood and watched that which I had only heard about from disbelieving past patrons. Could they really use upwards of two to three tablespoons of butter on one smallish cheeseburger? Oh yes, they do, and have been for over 70 years.

  I kid you not when I say that a butter burger at Solly’s, as gross as it may sound, is an absolutely sublime experience in the gastronomic fabric of America and should be experienced by all. You may also catch yourself doing what I did subconsciously on my first visit—dipping the last bite of your burger back into the pool of butter on your plate. You quickly discover that whatever guilt you harbored while taking your first bite has dissolved by your last.

  In 1936 Kenneth Solomon bought Bay Lunch in Milwaukee a clean sixteen-stool diner that served coffee, hamburgers, and bratwurst, and changed the name to his own. In 1971, he relocated Solly’s Coffee Shop a few miles north to the Milwaukee suburb of Glendale. He left the restaurant to his second wife, Sylvia, and she in turn sold the business to her son and current owner Glenn Fieber.

  The cheery and cherubic Glenn, fresh from a successful construction business, was faced with an unusual dilemma early in his ownership—move or perish. In 2000, the city government actually assisted Glenn in moving the entire restaurant a few hundred yards south to make way for, of all things, an outpatient heart clinic.

  The interior of Solly’s is a comfortable blend of yellow Formica horseshoe counters, swivel stools, and wood paneling. As they have been for decades, the burgers, fries, and shakes are all prepared in view of the counter patrons.

  The fresh-ground 3-ounce thin patties show up at Solly’s daily and are cooked on a large flattop griddle. The toasted buns are standard white squishy, but a soft “pillow” bun is also offered. There are many burger combinations and sizes (like the impressive two-patty “Cheese Head” that an ex-Navy Seal friend of mine devours with ease), but I suggest doing what my good friend and butter burger devotee Rick Cohler has been doing for over 50 years at Solly’s—just order a butter burger.

  Rick introduced me to Solly’s. On our first visit together he begged me to try a burger “without” which is a burger on a bun with butter only, no onions. I obliged and immediately understood what all the fuss was about. As you bite into a freshly built butter-burger you actually have the opportunity to experience the texture of soft butter before it melts into a pool on your plate. Unlike Rick, my “usual” at Solly’s is a burger with onions. The stewed onions at Solly’s are like none other I have experienced. They are both sweet and salty, and full of flavor. I could eat a bowl of them with a spoon.

  Glenn is one of my truest allies in the burger world. He understands his place in American history and his duty to supply hungry burger lovers with a treat as unique as the butter burger.

  WEDL’S HAMBURGER STAND AND ICE CREAM PARLOR

  200 EAST RACINE ST | JEFFERSON, WI 53549

  920-674-3637 | MON–SUN 10:30 AM–9:30 PM

  FRI & SAT 10:30 AM–10:30 PM

  Somewhere south of Route 94 on a lonely stretch of highway between Madison and Milwaukee sits a gem of a burger stand. I was tipped off to Wedl’s by good friend and burger icon himself, Glenn Fieber of Solly’s Grille in Glendale, Wisconsin. He told me, “Ya gotta go out there, they are making a great little burger.”

  The stand at Wedl’s is actually 8 × 8 feet, which is 65 square feet—small for a place that can move up to 600 burgers on a busy day. When I asked former owner Bill Peterson the size of the minuscule, nearly century-old stand, he went inside the larger adjacent ice cream parlor and produced a tape measure. The parlor, formerly a grocery store and at one time a hat shop, is over 800 square feet larger than the separate stand that sits proudly on the corner. In 1999 the stand was leveled by a reckless drunk driver while two kids were inside flipping patties. Miraculously, the employees survived with only grease burns but parts of the stand were scattered for blocks. The original griddle, a perfectly seasoned, low-sided, cast-iron skillet was recovered from the debris two blocks away. A small hole was patched and it was put back into service. After much cajoling the stand was rebuilt on the same spot. I asked former owner Bill Peterson why he wouldn’t just move the burger operation into the larger ice cream parlor but I knew the answer. “The people of Jefferson won’t allow me to change anything. I can’t break tradition.”

  In 2007, Eric and Rosie Wedl became the eighth owners of the burger stand and ice cream parlor after buying the business from the Petersons. As Bill was looking to sell, he asked his faithful 20-year-old burger flipper Bert Wedl if he was interested in buying the place. Bert in turn talked his parents into it, and in doing so he secured his own job and possibly the future of the historic burger stand. And he told me recently, “I hope to take over one day.”

  The burger at Wedl’s is a classic one-sixth-pound patty griddled and served on a white squishy bun. Bert grinds chuck steaks in the basement of the parlor, throws in some “secret seasonings” (tastes peppery) and rolls the grind into small golf ball–size balls. The balls are smashed thin on the 90-year-old griddle and cooked until the edges are crispy.

  Bert is barely 25 now and has flipped burgers at the tiny stand since he was 15. I couldn’t help but notice that when things got slow behind the grill Bert would step out of the stand and sit on the steps of the ice cream parlor. Do you think he was subconsciously trying to avoid being the next victim of a hit and run? I do.

  ZWIEG’S

  904 EAST MAIN ST | WATERTOWN, WI 53094

  920-261-1922 | MON–THU 5:30 AM–8 PM

  FRI 5:30 AM–9 PM | SAT 5:30 AM–7 PM

  SUN 7 AM–2 PM

  The first time I visited Zwieg’s, the McDonald’s down the street had just suffered a bad fire. “I swear I didn’t do it!” Mary Zwieg joked. Mary is married to Glenn Zwieg and Glenn’s parents opened this local favorite burger counter in a defunct Bartles-Maguire filling station. It is positioned perfectly at the east end of town and still looks a lot like a vintage gas station, minus the pumps.

  Grover and Helen Zwieg (pronounced like “twig”) saw opportunity in converting the station into a hamburger joint to feed the late-night revelers when the bars let out at 1 a.m. “We used to be open until two thirty in the morning, though I don’t know if they remember eating here.” Glenn told me. “Every Sunday night there was a Polka fest in town and they’d all end up here afterwards, still Polka-ing!” In the 1950s, Glenn’s parents added a dining room to the twelve-stool counter and pretty much nothing has changed since. “We did replace the griddle in 1998,” Mary pointed out, but it had been in use for 50 years, since the beginning. It was such a big deal that the replacing of the griddle made the local newspaper.

  The Zwiegs are not big on change and their customers are happy about that. They’ve been using the same butcher for their patties forever and Mary told me, “If they go out of business I don’t know what we’ll do.” The burger starts as a thin one-sixth-pound patty that is cooked on the flattop in full view of the counter patrons. Sliced onion is placed on the patty. When the burger is flipped, the onion is grilled between the griddle and the patty. The patty, with its onion, is transferred to a soft white bun that has been toasted with butter on the griddle. The most popular burger (and the best beef-to-bun ratio) is the
double with cheese. Many are ordered with pickles and ketchup, but everyone gets theirs with onions.

  The burger has been on the menu since the beginning. “That’s ALL that was on the menu!” Glenn joked. Today, Zwieg’s actually has an extensive menu with soups, sandwiches, and fish-fry Fridays. “I have forty-five sandwiches on the menu but most people order the burgers,” Mary told me. One tasty curiosity is the hamburger soup, which is basically a chicken soup with browned hamburger meat in it. When I asked what was in the soup Mary told me with a laugh, “I can tell you, but I’d have to kill you! It’s a secret.”

  Glenn, now 67, started working at his parent’s restaurant when he was in seventh grade. “I used to run down, empty the dishwasher, and eat,” he told me. From that point on he has always worked at Zwieg’s. He bought it in 1976, and has dedicated his entire life to the restaurant. He told me, “This is what I know.”

  Thank God there are still places like Zwieg’s around. It’s a comfortable, happy place where a counter full of regulars are really just friends waiting to be met. I’ll never forget walking into Zwieg’s the first time. By the time I left I knew everyone. That kind of hospitality is what makes great burgers taste even better.

  Todd

  Kris

  EXPERT BURGER TASTERS

  In the past few years, a small group of dedicated fans of Hamburger America has emerged hailing from every corner of the country. Some wrote e-mails to me saying they would do anything to have my job and, not surprisingly, they all wanted to help me with future research. Most were already established food bloggers in their respective cities and dedicated local hamburger addicts. I found this new network of burger experts to be unquestionably indispensible and saw them as first responders to new discoveries. It may sound silly, but they became my EBTs, or Expert Burger Tasters, a job they all took very seriously.