Hamburger America (36 page)

The small patties, around three ounces apiece, come as singles or doubles on tiny Wonder buns. Chips and pop are offered, but that’s about it. If you were looking for variety, you came to the wrong place. If you were looking for one of the tastiest burgers in America, dig in.

The burgers at the Wagon are unique. The first thing you’ll notice upon first bite is the extraordinarily crunchy exterior and the pleasantly moist interior. Think chicken-fried burger. You also probably watched your burger being deep-fried in the enormous skillet through one of the Wagon’s windows. The reason for the super-crunch of the burgers is kept secret, but I’d venture to guess that one of the ingredients is some sort of breading. Adding bread to ground beef was a government-sanctioned method for stretching food during the Depression. It’s a method that a few old-time burger stands in America still operate successfully with.

An average order at the wagon is four burgers. A customer of over 60 years named Glenn makes the 40-mile round trip twice a week for
four of the tasty deep-fried burgers. One day when I was there he added a Diet Coke to his order. Rubbing his belly, he told me, laughing, “I’m watching my figure!”

Two employees work at lightning speed to prep, cook, and bag over 200 burgers an hour. One stands at the skillet managing the tiny bobbing and bubbling patties while the other preps buns and makes change. This sounds entirely ordinary except that it is accomplished in a space that is no more than four by five feet wide. The illusion of the small cart is perpetuated though by a large commercial kitchen across the street where the meat, onions, and buns are prepped and stored.

New owner Jack Sperry bought the Hamburger Wagon in 2007 and changed virtually nothing, except that now the Wagon is open year round. Jack told me, “Unless there’s a 10 foot snow drift we’re dragging out the Wagon.” This is a big change from the previous owners who would close down for the month of February much to the dismay of the regulars.

Jack is also working on building a second wagon that he can send out to fairs and festivals. Even though the new wagon will have the same menu, it’ll be twice the size and totally tricked out. Jack explained, “It’ll be like the Hamburger Wagon on steroids.”

 

 

O
n my first visit to this semi-suburban burger destination I was invited into the kitchen to interview the chef and I was sort of shocked by what I found. Although Johnnie’s is a tiny out of the way tavern they do manage to crank out a ton of burgers during the lunch hour and all of those burgers are prepped, cooked, cheesed, and placed on buns by the one-man hamburger machine Joe Lombardi.

“When I get real backed up it can take me a while,” the twenty something fourth-generation Lombardi told me. “I’m alone back here.” As he jumped from griddle to prep surface and back again with lightning speed, the band Phish poured out of a beat-up boom box. The only other employee during lunch, the bubbly server/bartender Brittney, burst into the kitchen with the next large order of burgers and announced, “You’re gonna HATE this order.” The order contained about nine burgers, all with different types of cheese and different toppings, not to mention that the order was hard to read. When I asked why she thought Joe would hate the order she told me, “Just because it’s a bunch of mumbo-jumbo.”

Joe’s grandfather, Dominic, opened the comfortable, broken-in bar in 1948 by turning his family’s local grocery store into a tavern. Joe’s great-grandfather emigrated from Italy to open the grocery store around the turn of the century. Johnnie’s sits near a busy freight rail crossing in the old-world Italian neighborhood of San Margherita, an attractive spot to Italian immigrants at the time due to its proximity to a large, nearby marble quarry.

As I stood talking to Joe in the kitchen at Johnnie’s, I saw him reach somewhere and toss what looked like perfectly pressed frozen burger patties on the griddle. My heart sank and I shouted out in disbelief, “Are your burgers frozen?” Fortunately, my trip to Johnnie’s was not in vain and Joe explained with a chuckle, “No, that’s fried bologna.” The fried bologna, which is clearly linked to the strong Ohio roots in European sausage making, is a local central Ohio favorite.

The “Super Burgers” are the only burger on the menu and they come in one size—huge. Every morning Joe and other family members hand-patty enough burgers for lunch and dinner. Joe told me, “I usually don’t weigh them but they are around a pound.” These burgers are beasts and after cooking they are still just north of three-fourths-pound. The fresh-ground chuck comes from two local sources and blended in the kitchen. Why two sources? “That’s just the way it’s always been done,” Joe told me with a straight face. I love those answers.

A burger with everything comes on a seeded, white squishy bun with your choice of cheese
(six to choose from), raw onion, a slice of tomato, and lettuce. The regular’s cheese of choice is Pepper Jack, which has a decent kick and is the perfect cheese for the Super Burger. Fried onions are also available, but you’ll have to ask for them.

On my first weekday visit to Johnnie’s, the place was full by 11:30 a.m. and there were beers on every table. A pool table dominates the dining area, leaving only enough room for about 28 hungry patrons. The bar is also an option with its 13 stools but a wait seems inevitable after 11:45. On one wall is a poster of grandpa Dominic standing at the bar, a mug of beer in front of him with a strange contraption protruding. I asked local friend and burger expert Jim Ellison about the beer and he explained that more than once Johnnie’s has been awarded the “Coldest Tap Beer in Columbus.” The thing sticking out of the beer? A thermometer.

People who love Johnnie’s really love the place. A guy in the booth next to me announced, unprovoked, “I’ve been coming here for 25 years.” That’s the kind of burger-love I’m looking for across America. Jim pointed out that for most people who live in Columbus a trip to Johnnie’s is not serendipitous because it’s way out by itself in a quiet part of town surrounded by homes with perfectly trimmed lawns. “If you are coming here you are making a choice to be here.”

Joe plans to keep Johnnie’s in the family and eventually buy the place from his dad. When his dad asked him to step into the business, Joe told me, “I took about a month to decide.” Let’s hope a Lombardi runs this American icon for at least another four generations.

 

 

I
n the center of Lima, Ohio, sits a slice of Americana that is impossible to ignore. A well preserved Art-Deco restaurant with a big history, this 1920s hamburger tradition once existed throughout the Upper Midwest with over 200 locations that competed with White Castle and outlived White Tower. Today there are only six Kewpees remaining, and of those, three are in Lima.

Owner Harry Shutt hasn’t done much to his enameled-brick burger restaurant that was built in 1938 (and replaced a version built in 1928). “We have tried to maintain our image and not change much.” That’s a good thing because this Kewpee has been turning out tasty square-patty burgers for over 80 years.

Yes, the burgers at Kewpee are square, not
round. Sound familiar? In 1969, Dave Thomas, the founder of the ubiquitous Wendy’s chain, introduced a square burger to America. It may have been a new concept to some, but both Kewpee and White Castle have been serving square burgers since the 1920s. Dave was clearly influenced by the local Kewpee in his hometown of Kalamazoo, Michigan. But unlike both White Castle and Wendy’s, the burgers at Kewpee are made from fresh ground beef, not frozen.

Step into the Kewpee of downtown Lima and instantly step back in time. Very little has changed from the food to the 1930s fast-food décor. The restaurant’s original curved white enamel steel wall and ceiling panels look as clean as if it were opening day. Newish orange plastic booths, a low counter with stools, and random tables fill the small terrazzo-floored restaurant. In the dining area two large Kewpee dolls stand watch over customers enjoying their burgers and thick shakes. Fortunately, Harry has held on to these icons of a forgotten age and has even had the priceless dolls refurbished recently. The Kewpee name comes from the popular early twentieth–century doll of the same name (but different spelling), the Kewpie doll.

The burgers are fresh. “I buy boneless carcass beef and grind it here,” Harry told me. The beef comes from a Lima slaughterhouse that uses local cows only. Harry said it best when he explained, “The worst thing you can do to meat is haul it. These animals have never been more than 40 miles from Lima.” This makes Harry and Kewpee an anomaly in fast-food America. The hamburger über-chains today, with their cross-country shipments and city-sized warehouses, could not even begin to imagine this sort of localized business plan.

Two separate griddles work full-time during the lunch rush; one services the drive-thru and the other walk-up customers inside. All of the women working behind the counter slinging patties and dressing burgers have been at the Kewpee for over 30 years. Amazingly, grill cook Nancy has been employed at Kewpee since the Kennedy administration.

The burgers are super-thin and so fresh they are almost falling apart. The usual condiments like mustard, ketchup, and pickle are available, but most order “The Special,” which is a burger with mayonnaise, lettuce, and tomato. The produce for Kewpee comes from a local farmer and is hydroponically grown. One menu item, the vegetable sandwich, appears to be a late addition for a health-conscious America, but this is not the case. On the menu for decades, the sandwich was probably added during World War II to make up for the lack of available burger meat. “We’ve had a vegetable sandwich for over 70 years,” Harry pointed out. Harry has been at Kewpee for over 50 years and owns the rights to the franchise, as well as two other “contemporary” Kewpees in Lima. He started flipping burgers at the downtown Kewpee when he was 25 and became the owner in 1980. Harry has a lot to say about the “Wal-Marting” of America.
He feels the crush of commercial fast food and the lack of support for small business in America. Coincidentally, one of his Kewpees is threatened by highway expansion designed to accommodate . . . a new Wal-Mart! Regardless, Kewpee does a brisk business and is hardly fazed by the seven McDonald’s restaurants in Lima.