Hamburger America (27 page)

I asked Judy how she was on skates as a carhop and she quickly pointed out, “No, no. There were no skates back then. Winstead’s opened in 1940, which predates skates.” True, carhops on skates were a fad and gimmick for some drive-ins of the 1950s. Winstead’s maintained carhops for 50 years until the popular drive-thru was installed.

Today there are ten Winstead’s restaurants in the Kansas City area but the mini-chain was actually started in Springfield, Illinois by sisters Katherine and Nellie Winstead. Their first location in Kansas City, located adjacent to the Midwest shopping mecca Country Club Plaza, remains the flagship restaurant in the chain.

The physical structure of Winstead’s is a stunning, well-preserved example of mid-century restaurant architecture. The entire building is sheathed in pastel pink, and yellow, glazed enamel brick. The dining room is large and seats 280 comfortably. The wide, clean, open space is a sea of well-laid-out booths sitting beneath enormous hot pink neon-rimmed ceiling light fixtures. On one of my visits, an entire elementary school (close to 75 kids) had comfortably taken over the restaurant for an early lunch and there was still plenty of room for regulars.

The menu at Winstead’s is split—one half lists food items, the other shakes, malts, and drinks, reminding one and all that ice cream is just as important as burgers to drive-in clientele. Winstead’s has built its reputation on the “Steakburger,” which served with “everything” includes a toasted white bun, a fresh-ground two-ounce patty, pickles, a very large slice of onion, and a “secret sauce” that is really just a mixture of mustard and ketchup. Make it a double and add cheese and you have a meal.

Bobby Chumley spends his entire morning at a patty maker in the restaurant’s basement making hundreds of the day’s burger patties. I met him as he emerged at noon one day to be greeted with a high five from the manager. The burgers are smashed thin and cooked on a flattop griddle. The result is a moist, loose burger with a salty, crunchy exterior. Order a limeade and fries with your Steakburger to round out the perfect diner eating experience.

Winstead’s today does a brisk business and employs over eighty people at the Country Club Plaza location. Judy told me as I took a sip from my ice-cold Mr. Pibb, “There are still a handful of us that have been working here for over 30 years.” Now that’s commitment to making and serving great burgers.

 

 

M
att’s Place is a drive-in on the edge of the boom-bust Old West mining town of Butte, Montana. As you approach the hillside town on I-90, you’ll notice first the abandoned copper mining equipment and the brick buildings of a somewhat underpopulated downtown. The streets of Butte are lined with vintage neon signage that reflects its colorful past—Irish pubs and Chinese restaurants among many others that existed to entertain and feed the large number of immigrant mine workers.

Matt’s Place opened in 1930 during the peak of copper mining in Butte. Through it all, Matt’s has survived, so much so that it can proudly boast that it has a spot on the National Register of Historic Places. Recognized as historically important for its contribution to early American road culture, Matt’s also serves amazing, fresh-beef burgers and milkshakes made from homemade ice cream. I visited Matt’s for all of these reasons, but mostly to sample their fabled “Nutburger.”

Of the thousands of burgers I have eaten across America, few piqued my interest like the
Nutburger. Maybe it was the remote, beautiful, Western locale, or the fact that Matt’s has been in existence for over 70 years, but it was the description of the Nutburger that had me planning a trip almost immediately.

In 1930, after a visit to Southern California, Matt Korn returned home and opened a small drive-up burger stand only a few feet from a busy railroad right-of-way. After a few years of hanging trays on car doors, Matt built a structure 25 feet away that would serve as a drive-in, a counter with 16 stools, and living quarters upstairs for him and his new wife, Betty. That structure still stands today, a vestige of car culture stuck in time that was placed on the National Register in 2002.

Today, nonagenarian Mabel Laurence, only the second owner in the burger counter’s long history, owns Matt’s. Mabel started at Matt’s in 1936 as a carhop, and in 1943 she and her husband bought the restaurant. Many people from “Mae’s” family have worked at the vintage burger counter and for the last 25 years Matt’s has been run by Laurence family member Brad Cockhill. Brad is proud of his family’s heritage and committed to quality burgers.

Matt’s is split in two; one half is a horseshoe counter, the other an efficient short-order kitchen. A server works the counter while Brad flips patties at the freestanding griddle in the kitchen. “This is the original cast-iron griddle from the 1930s,” Brad told me. “There’s nothing like cast-iron.” He’s right. Very few burger restaurants in America cook on vintage cast-iron because they are impossible to find.

The Nutburger

 

Brad uses an ice cream scoop to make balls out of the fresh, lean ground round. When I asked Brad about the size of the burgers, he shrugged and showed me the scoop. “They’re this big. We should probably have better portion control, but we don’t.” Brad believes the burgers are around a quarter pound each.

The most popular burger at Matt’s is the double cheeseburger deluxe, which comes with mustard, pickle, onion, lettuce, and tomato. But do yourself a favor and indulge in a Nutburger.

“We don’t really sell many Nutburgers anymore,” former employee Paula told me. “Maybe six a day?” Just then the phone rang and in came an order for two Nutburgers.

The counterperson spoons chopped salted peanuts from the sundae bar into a coffee mug and adds Miracle Whip. It’s that simple. The texture of the nuts and the creamy sweetness of the Miracle Whip synthesize perfectly with the salty, greasy meatiness of the burger. Standard condiments
are available to dress up the Nutburger, but why mess with the simplicity? I understand if you are a little squeamish at the concept, but after your first bite, you’ll be a convert.

The interior of Matt’s is worth the price of admission alone. Grab a seat at the small horseshoe counter and take in the décor. You’ll be hard pressed to find a single fixture not dating back to the 1950s. Everything, from the knotty pine walls to the Coke dispenser, is original. Even the cash register dates back to simpler times—it only goes up to $5, so they have to ring up big orders $5 at a time.

A carhop at Matt’s will still take your order from your car if you drive up and toot your horn. “We’ll still go out and hang a tray on a window,” Brad told me as he dumped out a basket of fresh-cut fries. Imagine that. A functioning drive-in where you can pull up and order a fresh-beef Nutburger with a side of nostalgia. Can it get any better than that?

 

 

T
he Missoula Club is not the only bar in town. In fact, there are more great bars and vintage neon signage in this western Montana town than I’ve ever seen in such close proximity to one another. Having 10,000 students at nearby University of Montana probably helps, but the Missoula Club is a local institution that has been serving beer and burgers to students and regulars, some believe, since 1903.

If you were expecting a cozy, dark pub, you’ll be shocked by the Missoula Club’s first impression. During the day, the “Mo Club” (as it’s affectionately known) looks like any well-worn watering hole, but at night the daylight seems to linger. Thanks to super-bright bluish overhead fluorescent lighting, the place is lit up like an operating room in the midst of triple bypass surgery. There’s no hiding at the Mo Club, and the lighting allows one to observe every detail of the bar. The lighting also seems to make patrons overly sociable, so expect to be involved in a random conversation with a stranger almost immediately. The first time I visited the famous burger and beer destination, I walked in with my friend Greg Ennis and we were greeted by a group of rugby players and a boisterous “Hello, LADIES!” It’s a rowdy, drinker’s bar that serves great burgers. You have been warned.

The burger at the Mo Club is legendary. “The hamburger is the best thing on the menu!” employee Jim Kelly told me. Of course the joke is that the hamburger is the only thing on the menu, aside from chips and milkshakes.

Tell the bartender what kind of burger you want. The choices are single, double, or the absurd triple known as the “Griz” (named after the
University of Montana’s sports teams, the Grizzlies). American, Swiss, “white,” horseradish, and hot pepper cheeses are available and the burger is served with a slice of raw onion and a pickle. The preferred burger at the Mo Club is the double with hot pepper cheese, a tasty pepper jack that doesn’t really melt, but softens on the burger. Add some of the Mo Club’s signature hot mustard and you’ll be in burger heaven. As my friend Greg, a Montana native, squirted copious amounts of the fiery mustard onto his double cheeseburger, grillman Tyler warned, “Whoa, have you had this mustard before?” Greg just laughed and said, “Oh yeah, the hotter the better!”