One time Bourdain sat at the bar at Bacchus. Then there were those two fat-ish drunken guys, supposedly “comedians,” on a way-down-the-guide channel we didn’t know we got called Esquire, who were getting bombed on boots from Mader's and mouth-breathing clichés and bad jokes between cocktails at Bryant’s. And of course, who can forget Adam Lucks, of Comet Cafe fame, metaphorically fist-bumping Fieri over some meatloaf? Aside from that, out of the billion hours of roadshow food porn on cable every year, it seems Milwaukee has had exactly one appearance on TV. And everybody still talks about the Travel Channel's 2010 Food Wars episode between Sobelman’s and AJ Bombers in hushed, reverent tones. Like it was the Alamo of Angus. Like we’re all Uncle Rico, waxing over the bygone patties of yesteryear.
When it comes to food broadcasting, Milwaukee is no Chicago or New York. Hell, we're not even St. Paul. But certainly more is going in the flattop and flame world of 2015, where even Wendy’s has experimented with a pretzel bun and every other new joint in town is a gastropub. When any restaurant that has napkins seemingly also has a housemade aioli, ready to spurt inside a roll. Yes, Sobelman’s continues to nail the bun-cheese-jalapeno love fest, one that would encompass and render a griddled rat turd as meltily scrumptious. And Bombers beef, with short rib infusion, so we’re told, can still throw a football over those taste mountains. But here we’re on the look for the unsung best of the many rest.
6. Oscar's – “Big O”
Named for the owner, a graduate of the Sobelman’s staff, the Big O also shares a handle with maybe the greatest athlete to ever don a Milwaukee uniform. But really, this place has kind of become like the John Kuhn of the local burger scene: Oscar’s has been underrated for so long, it now may in fact really be overrated. It’s out of the way enough to inspire in-the-know notions, but we’ve all been here, know about it—they even had to ditch the ping pong table for more seating space. And that's because it's a good place with an almost-great burger, drenched in the Gospel of Sobelman's. Flattery is the highest compliment, and this is a close, sometimes, even better take. It’s got a pillowy bun. It's got an expertly melty cheese combo – chipotle jack, smoked gouda. There’s bacon, a conservative smattering of fried onions, jalapenos. Familiar, yes, but then, that chorizo. That subsequent grease. The whole dense package is indeed a gut bomb of Sobelmanity, hulking, dripping fatty leakage out the back, onto your plate and over the fries if you’re expert enough to know how to hold it. Subtlety is overrated anyhow, as is serenity of the stomach. Sometimes your appetite just needs a single, plodding, hard-fought yard. Followed by that familiar, guttural growl from way down in the stomach. Every community needs a fan favorite. If only the name rolled off the tongue like Kuuuhhhhhn...
5. Christie's – “Chuy Burger”
We feel like Bob Dylan in full on, old man creeper-mode, describing his love of Alicia Keys, but there is nothing about Christie’s we don’t like. From the low-lit, corner bar old-schoolness, to the small but manicured and smart beer selection, to the welcoming handshakes and friendliness, from one of the best chicken sandwiches in town to the higher end foodie fare like prosciutto-wrapped scallops. From the way the bartender runs through the menu like we’re at Sanford, to the way his mom eavesdrops on your selection from said menu because, once you decide, she’s going to leave her perch at the bar, and her root beer, and go back to the kitchen to cook what it is you just ordered. And out of all these things, we like the burger better. The Chuy is a behemoth, a half-pounder of crumbly and spicy man meal, held together, barely, by a pretzel-y crown of a bun, set afloat on something referred to as “Texas Caviar” – bean dip, essentially, with creamy texture and deep, raw jalapeno pop. The salsa and avocado wedge are almost moot, as is any intended desire for the excellent carrot cake dessert afterward. A special burger, and another piece that adds up to our favorite overall dining experience in town.
4. Mazo's – “Double Cheeseburger” with American cheese, fried onions, and bacon
In 1934 Hitler became Fuhrer, Hank Aaron was born, and Daniel Hoan was a mayor, not a bridge. And John Mazos started slinging patties at five cents a pop. They should have it down by now, and do. Though it’s not immediately clear why. It’s an old school thing, but not exceptionally greasy. It’s not exceptionally cooked either, with no pink and floppy bacon, or that well delivered – the wait is interminable, there’s no beer, and the pickles are thrown on the side like an afterthought. But there’s something about the beef, ground daily, and the way the cheese is overwrought and swims through a double like delicious seepage. It’s a simple meat powerhouse, really, with a pillowy, sheeny bun. And it’s somehow a burger we recently got halfway through before noting there were no toppings, and none necessary. That’s a nothing that says everything.
3. Vanguard – “Dirty Burger”
For a place that makes its own cheese whiz – fantastic, by the way, and highly recommended – you'd think the kitchen would be well beyond the realm of processed Velveeta. It's a testament to chef Shay Linkus’ restraint, and adherence to what actually tastes good, that they aren’t. At least when it comes to the best sausage spot in town's only burger. We’ve heard this compared to the Minnesota specialty Juicy Lucy, and some have said it’s a bit like Shake Shack. To us, that melty, goopy kinda-cheese substance just brings us back to grandma's house. Maybe that speaks to our childhood and such, but there’s just a simple, unmistakable goo factor. It’s reminiscent of the smacky bites of satisfaction that used to come from a time of eating for pleasure, after working up an appetite from running in the yard or something, before 'specialty' burgers were primped to pimp an Instagram feed. But there’s also evidence of the good hipster/foodie/whatever derogatory term for craft-conscious-kitchen-types aspects. Pickles, for instance. Also, a sausage and beer patty. And there’s bacon, which is simply and sparsely crumbled for snappy biting texture. And there’s an ironically titled ‘ok sauce’ for a distinct mayo-y personality. And there’s the clincher - out of everywhere, this is the bun. The brioche one we’d most like to lay our heads on for a long winter’s nap. A nap which would certainly be enhanced had we just eaten one of these burgers.
2. Merriment Social – “Merriment Burger”
Get that dim sum tray out of our way. Try to mention pricey 20-buck rum punches, and someone might get an elbow to the face. We’re not looking at any of the art on the wall, either. Just let us get to the bar on an empty stomach, so we can hunker down with a beer and this near heroic $14 burger. Yes, it’s pricey, and sounds like “Portlandia” on paper: the thin, double patties are a combo of cheek, chuck, short rib, and brisket; the milk bun is homemade; the American cheese is house-churned; the sauce swirls mayo, BBQ, and mustard. We didn’t ask as to the provenance of the bacon, but you’d have to assume there’s a freshly dead pig somewhere not too far off. But it’s perfect – satisfying, at once delicate and robust, easy to handle and neat enough, but with satisfying creamy drippage for the fries. Every element sings, to the point those Yelp-conscious jerks who take cell phone pics of their food before first bite (us, at least here) can and should authoritatively deem it “well-executed.” Call it what you will, and they can charge what they want, but the finest product of the entirety of the craft movement is a burger that goes down like this.
1. Kopp's – “Double Cheeseburger” w/ fried onions, mayo, jalapenos, hot sauce (bacon optional)
Sometimes food writing is impossible, and oftentimes, life makes no sense. Like, you’re sitting in the car with the heat on, hungrily tearing into a fast-foodish lunch bag rife with onion essence, after ordering at the counter from a 14-year-old in a paper hat, in a strip mall parking lot across from an Olive Garden. It almost seems like everything wrong with America, like diabetes and a Scott Walker sticker is your next step. And then the waft of bun steam hits you, and you get the first wrapper peel back. And there she is, sheeny, piping in all her meat and cheese glory. Of course, you could call the simple bun “bullshit,” and be right. But it’s flat and part of an unintentional bit of architectural genius: this is more of a horizontal than vertical job – which leads to saucy, sandwich-y bites, and never too much bread. The toppings are by-the-book Americana, basic, but so very generous, so slathery, so whatever you want. We recommend the fat guy-stinky breath-diahrrhea inducing combo outlined above. But to each their own. The cheese is American (and if research proved anything, it’s that the least complicated yellow cheese is always best for a burger), and melted between the patties in slimy, steamy rivulets.
We get it - your neighborhood gastropub does it better. Or you like Solly’s because butter. Or whichever Greek gyro stand you grew up with or got college munchies near. But this is simply the best iteration of an old-timey, ever-satisfying grease sandwich. Like a great version of what they might serve at an Edward Hopper scene. The kind you drive to Greenfield for. The kind you drive to Greenfield after a game or a bad day at work to eat an order in your car for. The kind rife with completely inexplicable, intangible, beyond verbiage experience. This is a number 1 declaration bound to start an argument, but that’s proof that the best burger experiences are deeply personal. That's why we so often like to be alone, in our car.
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