Hamburger America (12 page)

A pan of high-quality, fresh ground round sits to the left of the small flattop griddle. The grillman takes a guesstimated quarter-pound wad of the fresh beef and swiftly forms it into a patty, and it hits the griddle with an audible splat. The griddle only holds 18 burgers at a time, so expect to wait for a stool during peak times. Eli told me that during the summer, the line can go out the door and down the street. “When it’s busy, we are behind all the time.”

Hudson’s serves what could be considered a nearly perfect burger. Relish the moment and plot your return because you’ll be forever changed. The simplicity of the elements and the burger’s ideal proportions will win your heart (and stomach).

One unique feature of the burger experience at Hudson’s is a proprietary “spicy ketchup” that locals and regulars put on their burgers. Fair warning: this stuff is HOT and looks like regular ketchup in its traditional squirt bottle. Todd explained that the ketchup was invented not for culinary reasons but for economic ones. “During the Depression, some people would come in and load up their burgers with ketchup to stretch the meal.” Todd’s grandfather added fiery spice to discourage the practice. Over 70 years later, Hudson’s still does not offer the classic red stuff.

Today, brothers Todd and Steve Hudson run the historic burger counter. They each take a three-day shift and do their share of burger flipping. Burgers have not been the sole passion of the Hudson family, though. Their proximity to the lake has led to a lifetime on the water. Great-grandfather Harley flipped burgers in the early part of the century, but also owned a steamboat that he rented for excursions on the lake. During the decade that speedboat racing was allowed on the lake, it was the Hudson family’s unofficial job to set up the racecourse markers. When you have finished your burger at Hudson’s, wander into the back of the restaurant, where you’ll find one of the most impressive collections of hydroplane racing ephemera and memorabilia anywhere.

A few years ago, a McDonald’s Express opened four doors down from Hudson’s and it lasted only two years. Seems as though the fast-food empire was no match for a 100-year-old burger institution. Todd told me that people would ask if they could go buy McDonald’s fries and eat them with their burger at Hudson’s. He repeatedly told them, “Sure, as long as you bring enough for everybody.”

“The secret is our longevity,” Todd explained as he smiled and shrugged. In 2007, that longevity was recognized when the state of Idaho issued a proclamation to honor the Hudson family for a hundred years of business. 100 years of great burger making is definitely cause for celebration.

The Goat enjoys a beer with Billy Goat Sianis and his nephew Sam.

 

 

T
he Billy Goat is responsible for one of the most famous lines in hamburger history, delivered by John Belushi on
Saturday Night Live
on January 28, 1978. But the Goat is more than just “Cheezborger! cheezborger! No Pepsi, Coke! No fries, cheeps.” The Goat is steeped in history, so much that it makes you wish you were a Chicagoan, and probably makes many Chicagoans proud. All this from a tavern opened in 1934 by Greek immigrant William “Billy Goat” Sianis.

No one is really sure if the Billy Goat got its name from the far-fetched story of how a goat wandered into the bar one day and became a mascot/pet, or if the name came from the gray goatee Sianis sported, but the nature of its origins
is part and parcel of all stories emanating from the Goat. The famous “Curse of the Billy Goat” was also dreamed up by Sianis, a curse that has endured and still exists today: a curse that has spiritually kept the beloved Chicago Cubs out of the World Series for over 65 years despite Sianis’s nephew Sam’s attempts to “remove” it. And it’s all because the media-friendly tavern owner and his smelly goat were denied entry to the 1945 World Series.

The history of the Goat, carried on today by Sam Sianis and his son, Bill (Billy Goat Jr.), along with the 8x10 glossies of past newspapermen who drank and debated there and the bizarre subterranean location, actually add a different type of flavor to the burger. The Goat has what I like to call the “whole burger experience”—it’s not just about the burger. It includes the place you are eating it, and who you are eating with.

The “cheezborgers” at the Billy Goat start as fresh beef that is machine pattied into quarter pound slivers. “Triple much better!!” is the call you are likely to hear as the countermen take your order. Just try and order a single cheeseburger. A “Sosa” is four patties, named after the home run king of the Cubs. There really are no fries so don’t even ask. You remember the call “No fries, cheeps, no Coke, Pepsi!” They actually do have Coke, no Pepsi; Belushi flipped that in the skit. You dress your own burger with onions and specially made pickle slices, then take a seat at the bar, one of the longest I’ve ever seen. There are so many things to look at that it would take days to read all of the clippings and photo captions. Not a problem here, since the Goat is open every day, 20 hours a day.

Probably every old hamburger joint has its share of stories and lore, but none wears it on its sleeve like the Billy Goat. There are so many stories to hear that you’ll have to go there and ask Sam or Bill yourself. I’m sure they’d be glad to tell a few—ask about the butter on the ceiling, or the goat that ate the $20 bill.

 

 

T
here’s a sign behind the bar at Charlie Beinlich’s that says, “Business hours subject to change during fishing season,” and I believe them. This 60-year-old bar in the suburbs north of Chicago is filled with an impressive collection of mounted fish, most of them caught by Charlie himself. “Grandma caught that one,” third generation owner Linda Rainey told me, pointing to what looked like the largest in the collection. Her father, John Barnes, who retired after running Beinlich’s for over 30 years, is also a fisherman and can claim two of
the large fish on the walls as well. John told me, “Charlie used to say, ‘The time you spend fishing doesn’t count against your lifespan.’” In his retirement, John spends a fair amount of time in Florida . . . fishing.

Linda recently assumed ownership of the bar with her husband, Tom. “He [Tom] got this place the same way I did,” John joked loudly sitting at the bar, “the old fashioned way: he married the boss’s daughter!” The bigger-than-life former owner married Charlie’s daughter, Karen, and helped run the business side-by side with him. Over the decades virtually nothing has changed at Charlie Beinlich’s. “We added an ATM and switched to a soda gun from canned soda,” John told me. “That’s about it.”

The interior of Charlie Beinlich’s looks more Northwoods tavern than suburban hangout. The long bar sports 13 very comfortable stools and the dining area is a sea of no-nonsense black tables. The place is spotless and attracts a slightly older crowd that come for Bleinlich’s famous shrimp cocktail and of course, the burgers. Families and kids are welcome but Beinlich’s offers no booster seats. “We have phone books and duct tape for the kids,” Tom pointed out. The servers all wear white oxford shirts and crisp maroon aprons that have their names embroidered on them. They can
be seen rushing through the packed dining room with up to five burger plates up their arms.

Burgers were introduced to Beinlich’s customers a few years after Charlie opened the place. “He used to give food away,” John told me. “He’d have big platters of cold cuts out.” Tom told me there used to be a sign near the bar that stated simply, “Food is served for the convenience of our customers drinking alcoholic beverages.” Eventually, a kitchen was constructed off the back of the bar and a booming burger business was born.

There’s only one burger to order and your choices are with or without cheese, Swiss, American, or cheddar. Lettuce and onion are available but you’ll have to forgo the tomato. In the half-century that Beinlich’s has been serving burgers not one has ever seen a tomato and probably never will. If you ask for a “deluxe” burger you’ll get coleslaw and fries on the side, and longtime customer Jeff Goldman told me, “I put the coleslaw on the burger.” Slow-cooked and very tasty sautéed onions are also available.

The beef for the burgers is, as John described it, “a sirloin and chuck combo, supposedly,” and is amazing. It comes to them daily, ground in bulk from a supplier that they have worked with for decades called Lakeside Foods in Winnetka, Illinois. There’s a huge sign behind the bar proudly declaring this. As John explained, “It’s just a local grocery store and sometimes they deliver twice a day.” In the early seventies John switched from hand-pattying to pressing the patty and purchased a patty maker. “I wanted a third-pound burger but the guy cut the mold too big,” John explained, leaving Beinlich’s with a burger that still today is something closer to a half pound.

As you’ve probably guessed at this point, there are a lot of great signs to read at Beinlich’s. One of my favorites hangs just inside the front vestibule and says, “No tank tops, muddy boots.” The suburban setting and mall across the street are hardly the place to find hungry burger-seekers wearing muddy boots so there had to be a story. As construction began nearby on what was the first expressway out of Chicago in 1950, workers would naturally find their way to Beinlich’s. “They were building the Edens when this place opened,” Linda told me. “My grandmother wanted to have none of that.” Although the Edens Expressway has been finished for over half a century the rule is still enforced.

Charlie is long gone but one of his more curious legacies remains. On the bar you’ll find little wooden red birdhouses with HADLEY SCHOOL FOR THE BLIND printed on their sides. You can make a donation to a charity that has been the been the recipient of loose change dropped into these boxes for well over 50 years. “Charlie was deathly afraid of going blind,” John explained.