Photograph by Katherine Bish
7. O’Connell’s Pub
Beef does not typically scare us. (After two weeks spent downing one charbroiled patty after another, we do get mild heart palpitations at the sight of anything with grill marks, but that’s more an unfortunate side effect of diligent research than proof of fear.) The burger at O’Connell’s, though, was a frightening protein beast. Lift up the bun to add your condiments, and you’ll actually hear Robert Mitchum’s voice: “I’m what’s for dinner ... and lunch tomorrow.” Reputedly 9 ounces—at least that’s what the little laminated one-page menus that hang from hooks next to the pub’s barroom tables claim, but it seems like a conservative estimate—it actually looks and feels like a full-sized meatloaf on a bun.
Bigger doesn’t automatically mean best (there’s no spice added to this mountain of finely ground chuck), but the line cooks know what they’re doing, because this behemoth gets grilled just long enough to cook it through and keep it exceptionally juicy—not an easy task when you’re dealing with a patty that’s at least an inch-and-a-half thick. Gourmet? Hardly. But it is the best two-hands hunk of expertly cooked beef you’ll find in St. Louis for $5.
6. The Royale
If ever there were a more overrated trend in cattle coddling than Japan’s Kobe beef phenomenon, we’re unaware of it. (The mere fact that one can use the words “beef” and “trend” in the same sentence is slightly upsetting.) All this gibberish about feeding the cattle beer and giving them massages sounds suspiciously more like the accidental genius of a lonely farmer than a New-Agey philosophy for making cows comfortable before leading them to the slaughter, but inexplicably it caught on with American foodies. (If it weren’t for the less-than-happy ending, you could almost blame the local love affair with Kobe on our overworked and hyperstressed nation’s subconscious jealousy over the idea of spending the day getting rubdowns in the sun.)
And so it goes at The Royale, that hitching post for hipsters and wannabe politicos, where the $10 Kobe beef burger gets a lot of hype but fails to live up to it. (There’s a sausage-patty snap to it that just doesn’t feel right.) On the other hand, we’re more than happy to endorse the 8-ounce Angus-based Kingshighway. Thick, juicy and tasting almost as if it just came off a charcoal grill, it’s the quintessential backyard burger. Throw in a side of sweet-potato chips, enjoy the scenery and quiet your jealousy by remembering that even though you’re not getting daily massages, at least you don’t eat grass.
5. Trainwreck Saloon
If you want to enjoy the exceptional bison burger at the Trainwreck Saloon in Rock Hill, here’s a helpful little piece of advice to improve the experience: Sit with your back to the door so as to avoid finding yourself in an uneasy staring contest with the stuffed bison head that hangs nearby. It might make for a kitschy piece of bar art, sure, but you don’t see a lot of cow heads hanging in your typical burger joint, and there’s a reason for that. Two, actually: (1) A Hereford’s face ain’t all that attractive to begin with, and (2) the manager at your typical burger joint knows there’s something slightly creepy about having a decapitated animal head watching you while you gnaw on its cousin’s ground-up undercarriage. (Longhorn skulls at barbecue shacks don’t count—they don’t have eyes.)
Given a less squirm-inducing seating arrangement, though, the Trainwreck’s bison burger is hard to beat, as far as four-legged cow alternatives go. (Read between the lines to figure out what we think of turkey burgers.) Considerably leaner than its fellow cud-chewer, the bison makes for a less juicy burger, but that just accentuates the richer—and, strangely—cleaner taste of the meat. Here it gets a good charbroiling that creates just enough of a smoky carbon crust to add texture. For the perfect accompaniment, skip the overly salty seasoned fries in favor of the batter-dipped sweet-potato variety. And, at all costs, avoid eye contact.
4. Busch’s Grove
There’s something strangely satisfying about ordering a hamburger at Busch’s Grove. Maybe it’s the fact that you can find such an everyman item on the menu that’s littered with more-refined foodstuffs like lobster tail, lamb chops and swordfish, or maybe it’s that you can ask for it at the same bar where the after-work crowd sips specialty martinis and discusses the chilling effect of the estate tax, but in either case, it’s the great class equalizer. In fact, here’s an idea:
The next time you go with a friend, let them order that Maine lobster while you opt for the comparatively more prosaic but no less spectacular 10-ounce sirloin burger. While they’re dipping their dinner in drawn butter, you’ll be getting your hands greasy on the best burger you’ll eat in an $11 million restaurant this year. While they down one forkful after another of that sweet, bland meat, you’ll be savoring bite after bite of a peppery patty that’s been well seasoned inside and out. (The massive brioche bun is a tad overpowering, but if it bothers you that much, pull out the burger and eat it with a knife and fork—it’s better than any filet you’ll find at a chain steakhouse.) This isn’t one of the juiciest burgers you’ll eat, but your dining partner doesn’t have to know that—and even if he does, just point out that it’s proof that Busch’s is grinding up a lean, high-quality sirloin.
Before you’re done, we’ll wager your friend will ask for a bite.
3. Michael’s Bar & Grill
Let’s make this real simple: If you have the nerve to order the Michael Burger at Michael’s Bar & Grill without the cheddar ball, you deserve to have your Burger Consumer card revoked. No trial. No appeal. No weepy, self-effacing hearing in front of the Joint Burger Consumer Oversight Committee. No more patties for you.
That’s not to say that the burger itself is one of those gristly dried-up pucks of yesterday’s chuck; that’d be an unfair shot at the cooks, who obviously know a thing or two about grilling beef. The Michael Burger is actually an exceptionally juicy sirloin monster with plenty of flavor and a finely chopped texture that puts it a notch above what you’ll find at most bars. But it’s the cheddar ball—that little glowing fluorescent-orange orb of spreadable processed cheese—that elevates this patty from “bar burger” to “bar none.”
We’re no doubt courting accusations of culinary depravity by suggesting that something one step up the food chain from Easy Cheese is an acceptable accompaniment to a well-cooked burger, but if hot Spanish chef of the moment Ferran Adrià can get away with putting Rice Krispies in his paella, we can stump for cheese spread on grilled meat. And, for the record, this isn’t your grandma’s cheddar ball. It’s soft and smooth, with the consistency of cream cheese—a far cry from those rock-hard, sliced-almond–covered medicine balls that tend to pop up at family get-togethers—but its sharp, tangy flavor makes it a topping worth risking your foodie credibility for.
2. Cardwell’s
This is going to require some fancy backpedaling. Here goes: Two years ago, we named Joe’s Burger at Cardwell’s in Clayton the best burger in St. Louis. It seems that we may have steered you wrong. See, we kind of unfairly dismissed the other burger on the menu, the much simpler sirloin burger, and as it turns out, we should not have done that. Upon further reflection, we’ve come to the conclusion that the sirloin burger is in fact the preeminent patty at Cardwell’s. We apologize for the confusion. Taste is a fickle mistress.
It’s not that Joe’s Burger is bad—if caramelized onions, blue and Swiss cheeses, barbecue sauce and bacon are enough to tip your cow, that is—it just can’t out-burger the stripped-down version of itself that puts the beef front and center. Even if you prefer mountains of messy toppings, you’ll have a hard time arguing that the rich flavor imparted by chef Joe Hovland’s wood-burning grill isn’t enough on its own to make this a truly tasty burger. (Hovland’s pretty enamored of that grill—so much so that it’s kind of fun to imagine him crouched over it, wickedly coaxing up the flames Jimi Hendrix–at–Monterey style.) The only topping, aside from your choice of cheeses, and the standard lettuce, tomato and onion, are those caramelized onions from Joe’s Burger, but here, without the overwhelming blue cheese to mask their flavor, they add just enough bite to make this a pick we won’t soon retract. Honest.
1. Annie Gunn’s
The legend of the off-menu miniburgers at Annie Gunn’s is, like most legends, much better if you add your own creative flourishes in the retelling: A group of the restaurant’s regulars descended on the bar one night1 after attending a self-help seminar titled “A Womb With a View: Rediscovering the Innocence of Childhood”2 and decided to order a spread of items off the kids’ menu3, one of which was the 3-ounce “just the right size” hamburger. They fell silent—some say blissfully meditative—as they ate, and their eyes were glazed when they finished4. Then, drunk on the juiciest, tenderest ground-chuck patty he’d ever tasted, a member of the party climbed onto the bar, began crooning “Unchained Melody” to chef Lou Rook and wept.5
Unembellished word of the cupcake-size burgers spread, and Rook decided to add an extra ounce of beef, but he never officially put them on the standard menu. It’s better that way, because there’s something unassailably cool about giving your server a conspiratorial wink, declaring, “I’ll have the miniburgers” and watching your dining companions scan the menu again in confusion. But that moment of insider swagger doesn’t compare to the joy of actually taking your first bite. Grilled just to the point of charring, draped with Australian white cheddar and placed on a soft white roll that gets the slightest toasting, this is nirvana with hatch marks. You’ll finish it in four bites—but that’s OK. You’ll have room for another.
1 True. | 2 Not true. | 3 True. | 4 Mostly true. | 5 Not even remotely true.
