Hamburger America (53 page)

Brad Dickens

 

Guy’s has been open since 1939 but the smoked burger only made its first appearance in the mid-eighties. “I tried it and it went crazy,” Brad explained of the burger’s swift popularity with his regulars. There are no tables at Guy’s and most burger consumption is done in the parking lot. Dee explained, “Everybody tailgates.” There are a few spots inside where you can stand and eat. Brad motioned for Robb and I to shove a few packages of buns out of the way and plop down on a counter in the grocery section of the market. “Just shove that bread outta the way—I don’t care.”

Today, expect a line of customers that starts at 11 a.m. on the nose and does not abate until the last burger has been wrapped. And there’s always a shortage because Brad only makes 200 burgers a day. He almost always sells out. Why only 200? “That’s all we have time for.” I think I like this logic.

 

 

A
bout an hour and a half northwest of Fort Worth, deep in rolling Texas ranchland dotted with oil rigs and cows, is a family-run burger joint in the tiny town of Jacksboro. They have no phone and the place is only open five-and-a-half hours a day, five days a week. But if you hit it just right (for lunch only) you’ll get to experience one of the more unique burgers in Texas, the amazing “Herdburger.”

What you won’t get at Herd’s is a big, juicy, classic Texas-sized burger, one that you can barely lift to your face and, like so many other Texas burger joints serve up, a thick patty weighing in at over a half pound. Instead what you’ll find at Herd’s Hamburgers is definitively the flattest burger in America, cooked to perfection by the third-generation owner, Danny Herd.

When I say flat I mean flat. The method for cooking burgers at Herd’s is one that I’ve never witnessed anywhere else in America. When I told the forty-something, moustached Danny this he replied, “Others don’t do this?”

Erase any notion that a burger should start as a patty. Picture a beautifully seasoned flattop griddle from the ’40s that has a 3-pound pile of ground chuck sitting on the upper left corner. To make a burger, Danny slices an appropriately sized wad of beef from the pile with a concrete trowel, and then with a lightning-fast move, under the weight of the trowel, turns that wad into a flat patty 6 inches wide that is so paper-thin you could see through it. Danny works fast to fill, empty, and refill the griddle every few minutes, warming the buns on the flipped patties. The finished product is transferred to a station where most burgers are dressed “all the way,” which is mustard, pickle, chopped onion, tomato, and lettuce.
If you ask for a “double meat, double cheese,” expect a glorious burger that weighs in at just under a half pound and whose loose, crumbly meat is falling out of the waxed paper bursting with a jumble of ingredients.

There are no plates at Herd’s. There are also not many seats (except for a few upside-down soda crates and a strange, long row of old school desk chairs). And thankfully there not many other food options, either. Burgers are the focus at Herd’s so don’t come here looking for things like fries or malts. Danny’s father, Claude, who owned and ran the place with his wife, Orlene, from 1971 to 2008, told me, “This was the way it was back in 1916 when my aunt started. I thought about [adding fries] but it’s easier to pull a bag of chips off the rack.” I asked Danny why there was no phone and his answer was perfect. “We really don’t need it. That way we don’t have to take phone orders.” He’s absolutely right—why take phone orders when the line is out the door most days by noon? And why close by 4 p.m.? It was Claude who started that practice. He explained flatly with a smile, “I wore out my patience, my back, and my knees at about the same time.”

Claude and Orlene moved Herd’s to its current location just north of downtown Jacksboro. They bought a small two-story apartment house and turned the garage downstairs into the restaurant. But this was not the only move in Herd’s nearly 100-year history. From what I could glean from conversations with Claude and from inspecting photos on the walls Herd’s may have
actually moved over seven times. Claude’s first response when I asked about the moves was, “Gosh. I don’t know.” What we do know was that Herd’s started as a tiny canvas shack downtown by Claude’s aunt Ella Gafford. Apparently, in almost 100 years the method for making burgers at Herd’s has never changed.

When Danny got word that his dad was planning to retire he knew he was the only one who could continue the tradition. “I worked here as a kid,” Danny explained, and after 21 years in Denton, Texas as an employee at UPS he moved home to run the business. Danny likens the twenty-seven-and-a-half-hour workweek at Herd’s to a vacation compared to his life with the delivery giant. “I think I’ll get more mileage out of my body here than I would at UPS.”

807 WEST 6
^TH
ST | AUSTIN,
TX
78703
512-472-0693 |
WWW.HUTSFRANKANDANGIES.COM
OPEN DAILY 11 AM–10 PM

 

 

H
ut’s Hamburgers is not on the party drag in downtown Austin, Texas, where the crowds migrate to East 6th Street. This out-of-the-way burger restaurant is on the quiet west end of 6th Street, identifiable from blocks away by its vintage green and red neon sign. Follow the arrow on the sign to the odd-shaped 1930s red, white, and blue building.

The history of Hut’s is so convoluted that I’ll spare you the details and give you the skinny version. Basically, Homer “Hut” Hutson opened Hut’s Hamburgers on South Congress in 1939. Across town the same year, Sammie Joseph opened Sammie’s Drive-In on West 6th Street. In 1969, after numerous owners, Sammie’s became Hut’s.

The Memorial Day Flood of 1981 devastated downtown Austin. A witness to the aftermath described it as looking like a week of hurricanes had rambled through town. The west side of town, particularly where Hut’s is situated, was destroyed. A local newspaper noted that through all the death and destruction, Hut’s remained standing, prompting the phrase “God Bless Hut’s.”

Since 1981 Hut’s has been owned and run by Kim and Hutch Hutchinson. Kim told me, “Since we bought Hut’s very little has changed. We make everything from scratch.” The Hut’s they purchased was still selling burgers and chicken-fried steak, but the Hutchinsons updated the menu. The restaurant now offers salads and daily blue-plate specials like fried catfish on Fridays, but every time I’ve been to Hut’s, I’m there to consume one of their award-winning burgers.

If you are looking for variety, you have come to the right place. Hut’s serves high-quality, fresh-meat burgers with just about any topping you can think of. The menu is loaded with cute names for the burgers like the “Alan Freed” (with hickory sauce) and the “Beachboy” (with pineapple). Stick to the basics like the “Hut’s
Favorite,” a bacon cheeseburger, and be rewarded with an unforgettable burger experience.

A rarity in the burger world, Hut’s gives you the option to choose the type of meat for your burger. Hut’s offers traditional fresh ground beef, buffalo, or Texas Longhorn. “We added buffalo and Longhorn to the menu for health reasons,” Kim told me. Both Texas Longhorn beef and buffalo meat are superlean, and in the case of Longhorn beef, low in the type of fat that causes bad cholesterol. The one-third-pound patties are cooked on a well-seasoned flattop griddle. The Longhorn beef and buffalo meat come from a nearby ranch, and the traditional cow beef comes to Hut’s as 90 percent lean ground chuck.

By noon most days, the restaurant is packed. On game days (the University of Texas is nearby) expect to be waiting on line or at the bar surrounded by fans decked out in UT orange. Use the time you’ll spend waiting for a table to browse the flood photos on the wall. By the time you bite into your burger, you’ll be glad Hut’s was saved too.