Hamburger America (5 page)

 

 

I
rv’s was saved, thank God, and Sonia Hong was responsible. When I found a worn leather stool at the ramshackle burger spot 10 feet from the traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard, my first impression was that Sonia was not an Irv. “I am NEW Irv,” she said and let out a chuckle.

Korean-Americans Sonia and her brother Sean bought the business, with every penny they had, in 2000 from Irving Gendis, who had flipped burgers there from 1978 to 2000. Before it was Irv’s, the tiny stand on old Route 66 opened as Queen’s Burgers in 1948. Typical of post–World War II burger ventures along the “Mother Road,” Irv’s remains as an icon of a quickly vanishing component of the early automobile age in Southern California. Over the decades, many Hollywood stars and musicians became regulars, including Jim Morrison and Janis Joplin, cementing
the popularity of this burger destination. Irv’s also made a great backdrop for the inner sleeve of Linda Ronstadt’s
Living in the USA
. Open the record album and you’ll see a nighttime snapshot, two feet wide, taken in 1978 at Irv’s, with Linda and her band posing.

Linda grabs a bag of chips at Irv’s in 1978.

 

The most significant event in Irv’s nearly 60 years in operation was a day in 2005 when Starbuck’s West Coast nemesis Peet’s Coffee tried to push Sonia off her little slice of prime real estate in West Hollywood. The regulars were appalled, the neighborhood was empowered, and cute little Sonia was not going down without a fight. The locals petitioned Peet’s. “We were on the news and received thousands of letters,” Sonia told me. The mission to save Irv’s became a public issue. Sonia set up multiple meetings at city hall, and after a year of fighting, Los Angeles County declared Irv’s a historical monument.

The burger at Irv’s is a California classic: tucked into waxed paper, on a soft, toasted white bun, and served on a paper plate. A wad of fresh ground beef is slapped on the tiny griddle and smashed HARD with a bacon weight once. Somehow Sonia, or whoever is at the grill, manages to whack the ball of meat with just the right amount of force to create the perfect-sized patty.

Usually three people are hard at work at Irv’s, including Mama, Sonia’s mother. In all of the craziness that goes on inside the little shack Sonia still has time to write personalized messages on everyone’s paper plate. On my last visit she drew, down to the color, the shirt I was wearing and included the message, “Just for George.” She positions the burger on the plate so that both the burger and the art can be admired simultaneously. I believe the shirt drawings are her way of matching the burger to the customer—one of the more unique methods of order management.

Opt for a double with cheese because a single thin patty will not sate your appetite. Available condiments are the standard lettuce, tomato, onion, and pickle. Mayo, ketchup, and mustard are also available, and the menu lists a burger that comes with “special sauce.” When I asked Sonia what the sauce was, she replied, without pause, “Love! Love is the special sauce.”

The next time you visit Irv’s, meet Sonia and Mama and feel proud to be an American. Eat your waxed paper–wrapped burger, take in the vibe of old Route 66, and remember the fight that saved this tiny burger spot from the wrecking ball—each bite will taste that much better.

 

 

F
or its first 40 years Jim-Denny’s was never closed. From 1934 to the late ’70s the tiny ten-stool hamburger stand in downtown Sacramento was open 24 hours. Most of those odd late night/early morning hours fed bus drivers from the Trailways depot just across the parking lot and late-night revelers at the long-gone dance hall across the street. The bus depot is no longer active and the restaurant’s hours have been reduced, but Jim-Denny’s survives thanks to its fourth owner and chef, Patsy Lane. “We call these the ten hottest seats in town,” Patsy said referring to the cramped but cozy seating in the burger stand she bought with her daughter and son-in-law in 2005. Upon taking the helm at Jim-Denny’s the first order of business was removing decades of grease and grime that had almost rendered the place unusable. “The ceiling had almost caved in, it was caked with so much grease. If you put your hand on the wall it would just stick there!” Patsy told me as she flipped my burger.

Regardless of the rebuild and deep cleansing that the restaurant went through, Patsy still serves beautifully greasy griddled burgers that are slightly larger than those that Jim Van Nort and subsequent owners served for the first 70 years. And with the exception of new curtains on the windows, everything else is pretty much the same.
The wooden candy and cigarette shelves behind the counter labeled with features of the old menu (Fancy Cheeseburgers and a Fancy Cube Steak Sandwich for 25 cents) remain intact. The original red leather swivel stools are still anchored at their spots facing the worn Formica counter. The griddle continues to occupy the same spot just inside the front window.

Jim and a friend Denny started Jim-Denny’s just before World War II. After the war, Jim and Denny parted ways and Jim opened a new restaurant with the same name around the corner. That location (also known as #2) is the only one that remains, and thanks to the efforts of Jim in 1988, this classic American burger stand has been designated a historic landmark by the city of Sacramento.

“We use the same butcher for fresh ground beef that Jim used since the early days,” Patsy pointed out. The burgers come in two sizes—a smaller three-ounce patty and a larger six-ounce. Both arrive at Jim-Denny’s daily as fresh, preformed patties.

The burger menu is extensive. You can order a Megaburger (two half-pound patties), a Superburger (one half-pound patty), or the Five Cent Burger, the original price for the quarter-pound burger. Each is served on locally made
fluffy white rolls with lettuce, tomato, onion, pickle, mayo, and mustard standard.

A tradition that disappeared with Jim along with his “my way or no way” attitude was one of the restaurant’s most endearing qualities—if you sat at the last seat at the counter you had to answer the phone and take the orders. The rule was created based on the seat’s proximity to the phone. Fortunately for lovers of tradition like myself, I was glad to see that Jim’s original note to diners at the seat remains, right next to the nonfunctioning pay phone. “If you sit near the phone you must answer it. Take the order, or ask them to hold.” This was followed by sample greetings: “Jim-Denny’s may I help you?” or “Jim-Denny’s, please hold.”

 

 

T
he meat grinder is in the window—what more can I say? “It’s there mostly for dramatic reasons, but it’s there so the customer can see what they are getting,” says Joe Obegi, owner for over 40 years and the man responsible for some of the freshest burgers on the West Coast. The grinder is only five feet from the huge flattop griddle.

Joe emigrated from Armenia to Brooklyn, NY in the early 1960s and jumped a Greyhound for San Francisco the next day. He found his way to what was at the time a small walk-up diner resembling a cable car. In 1965, after working there for a while, Joe bought the restaurant, added his name to the marquee, and has held court daily since. “I see grandchildren now of customers from way back,” Joe told me as I inhaled my burger. Since the early days, Joe has renovated and expanded more than once and continually upgrades the service. Over the decades the restaurant slowly added indoor seating, beer and wine, parking (Joe spends half his day chasing off interlopers), and a larger state-of-the-art kitchen. It’s an impressive little empire.

The restaurant décor is an eclectic mix of custom neon, oil paintings of butcher shop scenes, an artist’s rendering of retail cuts of beef, and a sea of Polaroids taken of regular customers. The black linoleum floor is polished to an impossible shine and a wall of windows into the kitchen gives you the sense that there’s nothing to hide here.

Joe takes his burgers very seriously. Don’t look for half-pounders and other fractional designations here. Joe prefers to use what he calls “actual sizes,” four-, six-, and eight-ounce “fresh ground beef steaks.” The burgers are cooked medium-rare unless specified. The menu explains, “Order your beef steak the way you would like your steak cooked.”

About halfway through my “beef steak,” Joe made a strange but characteristically brazen
move. He grabbed a fork and delicately pried loose a small portion of meat from the center of my burger. “Eat that, just like that with no bun or other stuff.” My burger experience had been altered and I had seen the light—Joe’s burgers really were ground steaks.