Hamburger America (57 page)

The Texas Tavern is a rare specimen of a bygone era because nothing has changed since it opened. “Everything is original,” Matt told me. The dented countertop, worn footrest, and ten lumpy red leather stools all feel so real. Some repairs to the griddle in 1975 are the extent of any “renovations,” outside of the frequent paint jobs that keep the place looking as fresh and inviting as it may have in 1930.

A quote posted in the restaurant calls the tiny burger counter “Roanoke’s Millionaire’s Club.” Matt explained, “We get all types in here. Whether you are the governor or a hobo, you’ll be treated like a millionaire at the Texas Tavern.”

 

 

A
t first glance Dick’s looks like it might be a tired old drive-in serving frozen hockey pucks for burgers. But Dick’s is anything but tired, and as the locals know, it’s as vibrant as ever, serving excellent fresh-beef burgers, addictive fries, and hand-dipped milkshakes. The ’50s have come and gone, but Dick’s remains over five decades later, proving that simplicity and good food are the keys to longevity.

Dick’s is a drive-in. There are five locations around town and only one has indoor seating. It’s the sort of drive-in where you park your car and walk up to the window to order and pay. General manager Ken Frazier told me, “Dick’s has always been a walk-up. Originally there were three separate lines, one for shakes and ice cream, one for burgers and soft drinks, and one for fries.” In the’60s Dick’s streamlined the system selling, all products at all windows. At the 45th Street location there’s no seating anywhere and Maria, the longtime manager, told me, “In the summertime people bring picnic tables and chairs and set up in the parking lot. It’s really cute.”

The first Dick’s was built in 1954 in the Wallingford neighborhood of Seattle just west of the University of Washington. On my first visit to the popular burger stand I arrived 15 minutes before opening to find workers inside scurrying to ready the griddle and cook the fries. There was no one in the parking lot. But within five minutes a hungry mob had gathered. When the first window called, “May I take your order?” I counted 45 people waiting to get their “Dick’s Fix,” a phrase a regular left me with.

The efficiency of Dick’s is mind-boggling. Twenty-four employees, all wearing crisp paper caps and clean aprons, are set to repetitive tasks, such as weighing the fresh ice cream that goes into the shakes or prepping the buns with their secret sauce.

The menu is simple—hamburgers, cheeseburgers, fries, shakes, and soda. The thin patties of fresh beef are delivered to all locations in the chain every morning. The burgers, cooked on a flattop griddle, can be ordered plain or as the preferred Dick’s Deluxe. The Deluxe comes with two quarter-pound patties, cheese, lettuce, mayo, and their special chopped pickle and mustard sauce. The sauce, a tangy, sweet, and creamy proprietary blend, should not be missed. All burgers are served on the perfect, white squishy bun wrapped in waxed paper.

If you love fries, you’ll be in French fry heaven at Dick’s. The fries are lightly greasy, thin, and fresh, not frozen. The shakes, also incredible, only come in the three classic flavors of chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry.

If you ask for extra sauce for your burger or ketchup for the fries you’ll get a little serving in a small condiment cup, but expect to pay. Ketchup and other condiments are five cents
extra and the reason is mostly environmental, not financial. “We feel that the cup is much nicer to use for dipping than some foil pouch,” Ken explained, “and by charging a nominal amount we feel we are minimizing waste.” Gotta love a burger joint with a conscience.

The people of Seattle love Dick’s. I was hard-pressed to find a carnivore that didn’t frequent the place. Bill Gates visits frequently. “Last week he had a Deluxe, fries, and a shake,” Maria told me. Even Sir Mix-A-Lot, Grammy Award winner and Seattle native, immortalized the Broadway location in his first hit song. In the lyrics, his posse skips Taco Bell for Dick’s. The truth is, if there were more places like Dick’s, serving wholesome, fast food, we’d all be skipping Taco Bell.

 

 

B
ig Tom could easily be the most nondescript burger stand in America. If it were not for the large menu on the street side of the building, you’d think you had arrived at a construction trailer that had been haphazardly dumped in a parking lot. But the long lines of cars on each side of the structure are a hint that something good is happening inside. Indeed there is. Big Tom daily sells over 500 fresh thin-patty wonders to loyal drive-up customers. But that’s not all. Big Tom’s trademarked “Goop” is dispensed here, a salad-type dressing that, in varying forms, is a Pacific Northwest mainstay for burgers.

“Goop is essentially mayo, mustard, and pickle relish with a secret salad dressing mixed in,” longtime owner Chuck Fritsch told me. “What’s the saying? ‘If I told you I’d have to kill you’?” he said with a laugh. “It’s really not a big secret,” he admitted, “But if you are not making it in huge batches it doesn’t taste the same.” I can see why someone might want to copy the recipe—the taste is addictive. Besides adorning the Big Tom special double-double, Goop is also offered as a dip for the tater tots and fries. What could be more appealing or more American than “Tots ’n Goop”?

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.”

 

 

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.