Hamburger America (30 page)

 

 

A
t one time in north Jersey the slider reigned supreme. As the homogenization of burger culture in America swept over the tri-state area, the tiny slider
emporiums started to disappear. Many of these gleaming, stainless-steel-and-porcelain diners had the word “white” in their names no doubt as a nod to the most famous slider joint of them all—White Castle. Places like White Diamond, White Manna, and White Tower were all trying to share the limelight with the more successful Wichita chain. What’s incredible is that after all of these years, unlike White Castle, the places that survived have remained virtually unchanged and still serve the same classic slider that they always have. So if you really want to see what White Castle was like back in the day, you’ll need to drop into a place like White Rose System in Linden, New Jersey.

The idea of a “system” in hamburgers was basically started by White Castle as a way to promote the uniformity of the product. Today, there are a few White Rose Systems in north Jersey but they are all owned separately. The Linden White Rose, according to the authority on Jersey sliders, Nick Solares, may be the best example. The first time I ate there with him I heard him quietly exclaim, “This is a great fucking hamburger,” and he is absolutely right.

The White Rose sits on the edge of residential Linden on an industrial stretch that used to be dotted with automotive shops. “This used to be body shop row,” Rich said. Rich has owned the White Rose since 1992 when he purchased the diner from Jack and Bobby Hemmings, the family that started the mini-chain. The White Rose was moved to this location at some point in 1967, its origins unknown.

The menu has expanded slightly since Rich took over, but the original griddle still sees its share of sliders. Rich uses the same local butcher that he has for years, whose 75/25 ground beef comes from steak trimmings. They arrive in 2-ounce wads of beef that Rich presses thin on the flattop. You can order a “slider,” which is one wad, or a “large,” which is two wads pressed together. There is also a quarter-pound burger on the menu (three wads) that’s served on a very soft Kaiser roll. Although it tastes amazing, I go to White Rose for the large slider, which has the best beef-to-bun ratio. The burger is served with a pile of pickle slices on the side on a small porcelain plate.

After the wads have been pressed, Rich tosses some thin-cut onion onto the patty. When the patty is flipped, the onions cook into the burger and both halves of a white squishy bun are placed on top to steam. The result is a soft, hot, simple burger that explodes with flavor.

The burgers at White Rose, with caramelized onions and gooey cheese, basically melt in your mouth. It really makes you concentrate on the simplicity of these elements and wonder why so many chefs overthink the hamburger. This slider, for me, is hamburger perfection.

Rich grew up in the restaurant business and you could say that owning a classic lunch counter was his destiny. “After college I was looking for something other than sitting in an accounting office,” he told me with a smile. But his father, who had owned five luncheonettes in north Jersey, may have been a major influence. Rich told me that when he was a kid, “Every chance I got, I worked there. I loved it.”

In 2010, White Rose became the subject of a
CBS Sunday Morning
episode with Bobby Flay. After the show aired, the tiny, out-of-the-way diner started to get visitors from near and far. Rich was so perplexed by the influx of new customers that he started keeping a log. “We have been getting people from all over.” He then pointed to a regular at the counter named Teddy and continued, “But these are my friends. Teddy has been coming here for 18 years,” and Teddy nodded quietly. “I think that’s why I have been successful.”

 

 

A
visit to the Bobcat Bite for a green chile cheeseburger results in what I like to call the “Whole Burger Experience.” The restaurant, the people who work there, the relaxed environment, and a stellar burger all coalesce into a perfect hamburger moment.

I was tipped off to the Bobcat by my father-in-law, Don Benjamin, a man whose only red meat intake is at this burger spot. He had a perfect burger moment there, sitting on the porch watching the sunset. It was a perfect moment that turned into a decision to move to Santa Fe.

The Bobcat Bite is way out of town, southeast on the long, lonely Old Las Vegas Highway. The low adobe structure sits on a rocky washboard incline at the foot of what once was a large quarterhorse ranch. The interior is cozy New Mexican with a low viga ceiling and a large picture window that looks out toward the old ranch and a hummingbird feeder. Seating is limited—
there are only eight stools at the counter, five tables, and just recently added, three tables on the front porch (weather permitting). The restaurant got its name from the bobcats that used to come down from the surrounding mountains to eat scraps that had been tossed out the back door. Co-owner Bonnie Eckre told me, “People used to come down and watch the bobcats eat.”

In 1953, Rene Clayton, owner of the Bobcat Ranch, turned a gun shop into a restaurant. Today, Bonnie and her husband, John, keep tradition alive by serving a green chile cheeseburger that has been on the menu since the place opened. Fresh chuck steaks are ground and pattied by Bonnie’s brother nearby. In 2006, John decided to switch over to naturally raised antibiotic- and hormone-free beef. He made one of the best burgers in America even better.

A green chile cheeseburger at the Bobcat is a beauty. Steamed and diced Hatch, New Mexico, green chiles are held in place atop a nine-ounce patty by a slice of melted white cheddar. The well-seasoned cast-iron griddle creates a crunchy exterior and leaves the interior perfectly moist. John is also a master of cooking temperatures, so if you ask for your burger medium-rare it’ll be medium-rare. He employs a complex system of bacon weights to manage the different temperatures of the burgers.

I beg of you, please do not pollute this burger with ketchup and mustard. The simplicity of the green chile cheeseburger should not be tampered with. The chiles, hot and flavorful, enhance the beefiness, creating one of the greatest marriages of flavors and textures in the burger world.

The decades-old cast-iron griddle is one of the secrets to the Bobcat’s success. John Eckre once told me, “I’ve tried to find another like it, but it’s impossible.” John stands at the grill making perfect burgers while Bonnie takes orders, makes change, and delivers food to the tables. Bonnie knows just about everyone who walks into the restaurant and greets them by name with a smile.

The Bobcat has strange hours so check before you go. They are open 5 days a week (and only 4 days in winter), and only until 7:50 p.m. Why 7:50? “Apparently there was a curfew in Santa Fe years ago,” Bonnie told me. “You had to be home by 8.”

John Eckre

 

 

T
he Owl Bar & Cafe seems an unlikely candidate for producing a world-famous burger. The bar sits at a crossroads deep in the dry desert of central New Mexico. Its adobe structure has barely a window and is one of only a handful on the main drag in the tiny town of San Antonio. Even though you have to wait until your eyes adjust after entering, and there is a large supply of booze behind the bar, the Owl is a friendly place, a family saloon with an excellent burger on the menu.