Hamburger America (42 page)

It’s no secret what goes into a Meersburger. Joe proudly displays, inside and out, the key ingredient to his success—the lean Texas longhorn cattle. What’s better, Joe raises the longhorns himself (with the help of his son, Peterhood) at a ranch nearby, and they are free of antibiotics and hormones. During the summer, Peterhood and Joe send at least 2,500 pounds of longhorn to slaughter every six days. “We sell A LOT of Meersburgers. They wait in line for the burgers,” one of the grill cooks told me. On a busy day, Joe can sell over 400 burgers. That’s quite a feat, considering the burger is a half-pound of lean Texas longhorn beef served on a specially made seven-inch bun. Joe claims, and is correct, that longhorn beef is lower in cholesterol than chicken or turkey, especially since he is raising them the old-fashioned way—on grass, not grain.

Joe Maranto and Bonnie

Recently, Joe decided that the Meersburger was not large enough to feed his hungry patrons. The “Seismic Burger” was created to fill this need. The Seismic is a gut-busting one pound of ground longhorn beef on the same seven-inch bun, topped with cheese, onions, lettuce, tomato, sweet relish, pickles, jalapeño slices, and bacon. Whoa. I finished one without trouble, just some sweat and a full belly. The grease was in the bacon, not the burger.

The store’s proximity to the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Preserve, where the Texas longhorn was saved from extinction in the 1920s, is a little odd. But the cattle in the preserve and on Joe’s ranch have quite the life. Joe said it best when he told me once, “These are happy cows. Happy cows taste better.”

 

 

O
n a Saturday in early May, 2008, Kent Crook, the owner of the Pak-A-Sak, put a sign on the door saying that he was retiring. He then locked the door and walked away. Fortunately, an electrical engineer named Terry Washburn drove by two days later and read the sign. Terry had included his e-mail address on the sign and within a day they had struck a deal. Five weeks later, the restaurant reopened and the only thing that had changed was the ownership. “It was kind of a fluke,” Terry admitted. But this “fluke” saved a landmark hamburger joint. “Enid went into a panic when this place closed,” Terry told me. “There were people cheering when they walked in the door on opening day.”

“Enid is a hard place to start a new business,” Terry told me, “but buying this place was a nobrainer.” He should know since he grew up in this sleepy northern Oklahoma town. “It was this little bitty stand right here on the corner,” Terry explained. Crook’s grandparents had opened the burger stand in 1954 and after 2 years of success built a larger building on the same corner. When Terry bought Pak-A-Sak he was wise to have Crook stay on for a while until Terry had the business figured out. Kim, an employee and longtime friend of Terry’s, told me, “[Crook] wanted to make sure everything was cooked and prepped the exact same way. We’ve kept the burger the same. Shoot, all of us have grown up eating here!”

The burgers at Pak-A-Sak basically come in two sizes, the regular and the bigger burger. The regular starts as a 10-1-pound patty and the bigger as a 5-1-pound patty. The regular was the basis for the name of the restaurant because seven of them would “pack a sack.” Today all of the burgers still go out in white bags and are the equivalent of a “basket.” Ask for a “white bag” and you’ll get burgers, fries or tater tots, and a
drink. A burger comes standard with mustard, pickle, and fried onions. “This place was founded on onions and I hate onions,” Terry admitted.

The most popular burger on the menu is an American classic—the double with cheese. The burger is perfect, cooked on a very seasoned flattop griddle and served on a toasted, white squishy bun. The patty is pressed thin, cooked fast, and develops a crunchy exterior. The simplicity of beef, bun, pickle, mustard, and onion is hard to beat. I couldn’t stop eating them. Add tater tots and you’ll be in burger heaven.

A guy walked into Pak-A-Sak once and asked for everything on his burger and Kim explained that everything meant pickle, mustard, and onion. “But he wanted everything so we gave it to him,” Kim told me. “We put bacon, lettuce, ranch dressing, honey mustard, you name it on there. We watched him, in his truck, take the first bite and he gave me thumbs up.”

Pak-A-Sak is strictly takeout so you’ll have to eat in your car or at one of the picnic tables outside. “A lot of people take them to the park,” Kim told me. I broke the rules and ate right at the order window.

Like most places of its ilk across America, Pak-A-Sak has dedicated regulars that stop in on a daily basis. “We have about eight or nine customers that come in every day,” Terry told me. Kim added, “At eleven thirty Delvert comes in, at noon, Richard, then Heather after him . . .” Kim knows what they all eat and places their order as they are stepping out of their cars. Delvert has been such a devoted regular that his absence can trigger worry. “If he doesn’t show up at eleven thirty, there’s something wrong,” Terry told me. “Once he didn’t show up so I drove by his work and, sure enough, he was in the hospital.”

The walls near the order window are covered with photocopies of Bible passages that are for sale behind the counter. My first thought was that Terry was clearly a missionary spreading the word of God to people in search of greasy nourishment, a bit of a disconnect. “Oh no, those came with the place,” Terry pointed out. He really didn’t want to change a thing about Pak-A-Sak and still
sells about $4 worth of the passages a week (at 25 cents a pop). There are also romance novels for sale on a rack near the photocopies.

“People call all the time to tell me how much they love the burgers,” Terry told me. My guess is that they are actually calling to tell him how much they love Pak-A-Sak and that they are happy to see that someone saved this hamburger destination from the wrecking ball.

 

 

S
tep into Robert’s and step back in time. Much like the Texas Tavern in Roanoke, Virginia, or the Cozy Inn of Salina, Kansas, very little has changed at Robert’s Grill in the last 80 years. Maybe the stools and the red Formica counter are new, or the front door was moved about a half-century ago, but Robert’s is a perfect example of what all hamburger stands looked, felt, and smelled like in the 1920s. Robert’s is, historically speaking, one of America’s most important treasures.

Don’t expect warm hellos, pictures on the walls, or a large menu. Robert’s is a tiny, clean, utilitarian place—a counter with fourteen stools facing a flattop griddle surrounded by a wall of stainless steel. It’s the kind of counter where you don’t linger long, and the burgers come fast and go down even faster. The exterior is sparse as well. The building is a bright-white box with small windows and red trim—the visual effect may be off-putting to the untrained gourmand but believe me, you have come to the right place.

Robert’s menu is limited to Coneys (chili dogs), grilled cheese, fries, tater tots, and the burger that made El Reno famous, the onion-fried burger.

Located in the burger belt of El Reno, Robert’s is only a few hundred feet from Johnnie’s and Sid’s, and across the street from the spot where the onion-fried burger was born. “The Hamburger Inn was right where that bank is now,” owner of almost two decades, Edward Graham, told me. It was at the eight-stool Hamburger Inn that a man named Ross Davis tried to stretch his burger meat by pressing in sliced onions, appealing to cash-strapped, out-of-work railroad men. The Hamburger Inn was situated on old Route 66, an outpost at the onset of the auto age, so you can imagine the brisk business. Imitators were born and a legendary burger was embraced.

The hamburger at Robert’s, as it is all over town, is an onion burger. Edward smashes a ball of fresh-ground chuck on the hot griddle with a sawed-off mason’s trowel, and a pile of shredded onions is placed on top. The onions are pressed hard into the patty. The contents fuse, creating a beautiful, caramelized, onion-beef mess. Edward places a white squishy bun on the patty as it finishes so that the bun soaks up the onion steam. The result is a flat, odd-looking burger that tastes incredible.