[Photographs: Denise Sakaki]

Lunchbox Laboratory

989 112th Ave NE, Bellevue WA 98004 (map); 425-505-2676; another location at 1253 Thomas St, Seattle WA 98004 (map); lunchboxlaboratory.com
Cooking Method: Grilled
Short Order: Juicy burgers may not be the beefiest, but they're stacked with flavorful toppings
Want Fries with That? Regular fries are fine, but try the tater tots for a crispy, nostalgic fit
Price: Burger of the Gods, $12.99

There are burger purists who want nothing to come between the beef and bun, and those who don't mind piling on the toppings to push the hamburger envelope. Lunchbox Laboratory falls in the latter category, experimenting with flavor combinations and encouraging diners to do the same.

Lunchbox's Dork Burger has been mentioned before on AHT, made with a custom blend ground pork and duck patty, Monterey Jack cheese, caramelized onions, and aioli. I highly recommend it—it's deliciously moist, flavorful, and rich—but today I'm here to tell you about the beef.

The loftily-named Burger of the Gods ($12.99) includes a 1/3-pound "super beef" patty, onions caramelized with balsamic vinegar, chunks of blue cheese, and a spread of creamy gorgonzola sauce. On the side comes their standard burger toppings: lettuce, pickle, onion, and tomato. Their burgers are served on organic Kaiser buns from Essential Bakery, which have a good sturdy crust and a tender, porous interior good for soaking up the burger's sauce and beef juices—juices that will probably end up coating your hands anyway (they need bigger napkins; the retro drive-in napkins are cute but not up to the task).

The Lab's default "super-beef" patties (there don't offer "normal beef" patties) are described on the menu as American Kobe-style beef, which isn't so much the beer-massaged Japanese cows of legend, but a domestic crossbreed that has some of the favorable attributes of the original Wagyu cattle, namely a healthy dose of fat. The patties are hand-formed with freshly coarse-ground sirloin that's well salted and char-broiled with enough intensity to create a crust around the surface and stay juicy inside. They list medium to medium rare as a baseline, but on this visit, it was more like medium well. Thankfully, it remained juicy enough despite the overcooking. (This was at their newer location in Bellevue, where they may had still been perfecting the technique, so consider hitting their South Lake Union spot in Seattle.) The patty didn't taste especially beefy, at least not under all the strongly flavored toppings, but the smoky char managed to cut through the toppings.

Although overwhelming at first bite, a few bites in and I could better appreciate the different flavors. The beef's smoky char was strong enough to stand up to the blue cheese crumbles, rich Gorgonzola spread, and buttery-soft, sweet caramelized onions. The cold vegetable toppings were less strong, though, and didn't offer much in the way of flavor, more just fresh crunch.

Obviously, if you're a burger purist who likes to keep things minimal, the Burger of the Gods will feel overdone. But if you're like me and love the flavor of strong, aged cheese, this burger is for you.

The burgers come with a choice of fries (regular or sweet potato), tater tots, potato salad, or homemade potato chips. While the regular crispy shoestring fries are fine, I recommend the tater tots as a more flavorful side to go with the burgers. They're served hot and crispy and they're the perfect blank canvas to play mad scientist with their specialty salts like garlic, habanero, or bacon.

If you want something simpler than the Burger of the Gods, you can Build Your Own Burger, customizing a meat of your choice (beef, lamb, duck/pork, vegetarian or cut meats like turkey and roast beef) and as many toppings as you want.

Their burgers range from $12 to $14, with the Build Your Own Burger starting at $10 and going up, based on customization. (It's probably not worth it to go too simple; this is a spot for people who want intense flavor combinations.) It's not a cheap everyday burger, so save it for special occasions and go big.

Scotty's Classic Drive-In.

Order one of their specialty hand-dipped shakes like the Boston Crème Donut, which is garnished with chunks of Top Pot doughnuts. Or stop by for their "Kick Ass" happy hour (3 to 6 p.m. and 9 p.m. to closing, daily), where you can get smaller burgers called Scotty's Classic Drive-In, which go for $2.49 each, using their same beef mixture and a downsized bun.

About the author: Denise Sakaki is a freelance writer, photographer and designer, blogging and eating her way through as many adventures as her stomach can handle. When she's not exploring the world of hamburgers for AHT, she's thinking about what burger she wants to tackle next...

Love hamburgers? Then you'll Like AHT on Facebook! And go follow us on Twitter while you're at it!

[Photographs: Chris Hansen]

Lola

2000 4th Ave, Seattle WA 98121 (map); 206-441-1430, tomdouglas.com
Cooking Method: Grilled
Short Order: A super moist and flavorful burger made of 100 percent house-ground lamb
Price: Lamb burger w/chick pea fries and house made ketchup, $15
Notes: The Greek-inspired starters and sides are certainly worth a look as well

Tom Douglas is a chef that can't be contained. For the past decade, the famed Seattle restaurateur has re-invented his repertoire over and over again, starting with modern Pacific Northwest food at Dahlia Lounge and then branching out to a seafood centric eatery at Etta's. He slings high brow pizzas at Serious Pie, and I've read that his wood fired grilled items at Palace Kitchen are quite good as well. He's also doing interesting riffs on Greek fare at Lola in the Belltown neighborhood of Seattle, including a very successful lamb burger.

The burger, which when requested medium rare, arrives beautifully juicy with welcome background notes of char and the right amount of salt. It's a wallop of lamb-y richness—a boon for people that love the funkiness of the animal. But if you're on the fence on lamb, you might want to order with a more conservative bent.

It's served with a perfunctory pickle and grilled onions, the perfect foil for the richness of the meat, as well as a jumble of wilted arugula that on my visit had seen better days. But it's also accompanied by a house-made ketchup that tastes like the most intense bowl of tomato soup that you've ever had, and not the overly saccharine stuff that lesser eateries get away with. The burger normally comes with chickpea fries, but we subbed that (at no additional cost) for Lola's straightforward Greek salad, composed of juicy cherry tomatoes, crumbled feta, and hints of mint.

There's interesting food beyond the burger as well. Kopinasti ($3.75), a cheese native to the Cyclades islands in Greece (and apparently impossible to find in the US), is re-created using feta and blue cheese. It's drizzled with mavrodaphne, a sweet Greek wine, and finished with crumbles of pistachio for a terrific interplay of sweet, sour and fresh dairy. It's served with fresh pita that's been glossed with good olive oil and burns your fingers if you tear into it too hastily. House-made dolmades ($9), stuffed grape leaves, are treated with respect as well. The grape leaf wrappers are taught and bright with vinegar, while the filling of currants and pine nuts has crunch and character—a welcome upgrade over your standard Greek diner dolmades.

The waiter was quick to recite the heritage of the lamb burger and other ingredients when I made an inquiry of their provenance. The burgers are ground in-house and the lambs are from Anderson Valley farms, just across the state line in northern Oregon, the waiter proudly recited. The tomatoes both in my Greek salad and house-made ketchup are from Mr. Douglas's personal upstate farm. The pickles were cured in house. Had I pressed further, I feel that he may have provided the name of the beast in my burger, channeling this Portlandia skit.

But such pride is evident in the food and Mr. Douglas and his staff has every right to operate with swagger. For a chef that's built his restaurant credibility on the back of thoughtfully cooked seafood and local produce, he's knocking Greek food and lamb burgers out of the park as well.

About the author: Chris lives and works in New York City. You can follow his culinary musings on twitter.

Love hamburgers? Then you'll Like AHT on Facebook! And go follow us on Twitter while you're at it!

[Photographs: Denise Sakaki]

The Pumphouse Bar & Grill

11802 Northeast 8th Street, Bellevue WA 98005 (map); pumphousebellevue.com
Cooking Method: Grilled
Short Order: A longtime favorite neighborhood bar serves up flavorful burgers heaping with homemade chili
Want Fries with That? Skip the standard shoestring fries and upgrade to chili-topped fries
Price: Pumphouse Chili Burger, $10.94
Notes: 21+ only

East of Seattle, buried in a huddle of older stripmalls in downtown Bellevue, lies The Pumphouse Bar & Grill. Don't pass it by; you'll be missing out on a burger piled high with chili, and a fantastic beer selection. It's one of the best neighborhood dive bars, having been in business since 1978, and it keeps going strong, serving local crowds when the workday comes to a close.

The Pumphouse's space is a spread of booths, scattered tables, and bar seating. Awash with neon light from the many beer signs and the glow of several televisions showing whatever game is on, it's got the feel of a well-worn neighborhood dive, but in all the best possible ways. The people are friendly, the food servings are hefty, and in the evenings and weekends it can be a scramble to find a seat because it's a spot the locals love. Even in the middle of the week, the parking lot is jammed with cars. Leave the kids at home, though; since the Pumphouse is a bar, it's 21 and over only.

Out of their menu of 1/3-pound burgers made with fresh ground beef, the one to get is the Chili Burger topped with their homemade chili, diced raw onions, cheddar cheese shreds, and fresh tomatoes. The freshness of the tomatoes get a little lost, but the cheese and onions meld nicely with the chili's heat. The soft sesame bun can get soggy and the toppings easily drip out, but don't fight the delicious mess—eat this with a knife and fork. The hearty patty is visibly charred with criss-crossed grill marks and has a juicy, tender center. The contrast of the beef against the sweetness of the chili is a great reminder of why hamburgers and chili pair so nicely together.

Although you can specify how well you want your burger cooked, I recommend going with their default of medium if you're getting a chili burger. The grilled, smoky flavor of a medium patty will stand up better to the chili's flavor, which would overpower a lesser cooked patty. If you're looking for, say, a medium rare burger, go with simpler toppings like mushroom or cheddar.

The Pumphouse's chili recipe, which has been a staple of the restaurant for over thirty years, is a sweet, smoky mix of ground beef and kidney beans, with the acidic kick from stewed tomatoes. It's sweeter than typical chili, almost like a barbecue sauce. The Pumphouse make large five-gallon batches of the chili three times a week to feed the crowds.

If you want fries with your Chili Burger—which doesn't come with fries, unlike most of the other burgers—consider the Chili Cheese Fries instead of the standard crispy shoestring. The chili and cheese are the perfect topping for the fries.

The Chili Burger goes perfectly with a beer; good thing the Pumphouse has an impressive menu with eighteen specialty beers on tap, most of them from local microbreweries. They're selective about what they serve, with keen attention to seasonal releases, so ask if there's anything new that isn't listed on their regular menu.

Many may shrug off The Pumphouse as a dive bar upon first glance, but don't pass this place by—they serve up flavorful bar foods with time-tested recipes. You'll discover what locals have been enjoying for years.

About the author: Denise Sakaki is a freelance writer, photographer and designer, blogging and eating her way through as many adventures as her stomach can handle. When she's not exploring the world of hamburgers for AHT, she's thinking about what burger she wants to tackle next...

Love hamburgers? Then you'll Like AHT on Facebook! And go follow us on Twitter while you're at it!

[Photograph: Denise Sakaki]

The Fireside Cellars at Willows Lodge

14580 NE 145th Street, Woodinville WA 98072 (map); 425-424-3900; willowslodge.com
Cooking Method: Grilled
Short Order: This lamb burger has the chops to make lamb fans happy and convert any lamb naysayers
Want Fries with That? Comes with good sweet potato fries
Price: Chef B's Lamb Burger, $9 during their Happier Hour (4-6 p.m. Mon. to Fri., 9-11 p.m. Mon. to Thurs.), $14 on regular menu

Some hamburger purists may prefer beef for their patties, but many have welcomed the delicious, heady flavor of lamb and seek out burgers that celebrate it. Enter Fireside Cellars at Willows Lodge, located in the woodsy, winery-filled city of Woodinville, east of Seattle. Fireside Cellars is the bar nestled past the large two-way stone fireplace in the hotel's main lobby. Don't let preconceptions about hotel bars fool you—the menu from the Fireside Cellars is top-notch, under the guidance of executive chef Bobby Moore, a celebrated Seattle area chef who also runs the neighboring Northwest cuisine restaurant, Barking Frog.

One of Moore's specialties is Chef B's Lamb Burger, a grilled half pound of ground lamb topped with melted slices of Gruyère cheese, a relish of pickled red onions, and fresh arugula, set in a brioche bun smeared with aioli.

Cooked medium with a bit of pink in the center, the 1/3-pound hand-formed ground lamb patty made from Australian lamb is tender and has earthy flavor. The onion relish and aioli complement the lamb and balance out its pronounced flavor, while the peppery arugula lends a fresh, richness-cutting bite. The shiny egg-washed bun from local Seattle bakery Macrina has a delicately crisp crust and a soft, sponge-like interior that soaks up the patty's juices.

Chef B's Lamb Burger comes with crisp sweet potato fries, an ideal pairing with the lamb. The fries' natural sweetness stands out against the bold burger.

There's a Northwest Local Beef Burger on the menu if you insist on being a burger purist. The beef is sourced locally from Ninety Farms from Arlington, topped with cheese and bacon onion jam, a twist on a typical bacon cheeseburger. It's prepared in a similar way as the lamb burger and equally delicious, but the lamb burger sets itself apart as something different and worth trying.

Fireside Cellars may be too fancy to be an an everyday burger destination, but it does have one of the best happy hour deals for the quality of ingredients they use. If you go during their "Happier Hour" from 4 to 6 p.m. on the weeknights, the lamb burger with sweet potato fries is $9. The Local Beef Burger is $10. By enjoying it in a bar, you can have your burger with wine, and a local Pinot Noir or other fruity red that goes perfectly with the lamb burger. It's even nicer when you're taking advantage of their wine specials.

The setting for a meal can be as much a part of the experience as the flavor, and the Fireside Cellars is as cozy as the food they serve. There's a scattering of small tables and sofas set up around the fireplace. It's picturesque in the summer, when the long hours of daylight keep the space well-lit with a view of the Lodge gardens outside, but it's especially welcoming in the winter, when the lighting is low, the fireplace is aglow, and you're swirling a glass of wine and tucking into a burger. Friday nights usually feature live musicians, making it feel like you're on a romantic date with one of your favorite foods.

About the author: Denise Sakaki is a freelance writer, photographer and designer, blogging and eating her way through as many adventures as her stomach can handle. When she's not exploring the world of hamburgers for AHT, she's thinking about what burger she wants to tackle next...

Love hamburgers? Then you'll Like AHT on Facebook! And go follow us on Twitter while you're at it!

[Photographs: Denise Sakaki]

Wibbley's Burgers

2255 140th Ave NE, #B, Bellevue WA 98005 (map); 425-747-7818; wibbleys.com
Cooking Method: Charbroiled
Short Order: English pub-style restaurant is a local favorite and a burger haven for those wanting a good, affordable quarter-pound burger
Want Fries with That? Fries come in half or full-sized orders, but skip fries and go for onion rings
Price: Wibbley's Gourmet Burger, $4.69; extra beef patty, +$1.49; 1/2 order fries, $1.49, full order, $2.49, onion rings, $3.29
Note: Cash or check only; restaurant has an ATM

You wouldn't expect to find an English pub-style hamburger joint along a busy street dotted with car dealerships and chain stores, but sure enough, as you drive by an old stripmall off 140th Avenue NE east of Seattle, a funny name on a sign may catch your eye: Wibbley's Burgers, a popular local lunchtime burger joint.

When you walk in the cozy and narrow space, you're immediately faced with the ordering desk framed with shelves of quirky collectibles and a view into their kitchen, sizzling with the sounds of charbroiling meat and cracking with the sounds of frying potatoes. Surrounded by dark mahogany wood, this quick-serve hamburger joint definitely feel more like an ale house, but don't try to order a pint of Guinness—they don't serve liquor.

Wibbly's burgers feature a charbroiled, quarter-pound, fresh beef patty on a large sesame seed bun, in variations like the South of the Border with green chile and pepper jack cheese, or the Century Burger with blue cheese, bacon, and sprouts. But since I've found that too many toppings overwhelm the flavor of the patty, I'd recommend the signature Wibbley's Gourmet Burger—the least fussed-over burger on the menu—served with shreds of iceberg lettuce, tomato slices, a hefty layering of pickles, and a slathering of Wibbley's dressing, a tangy mayonnaise-based sauce mixed with relish that's like tartar sauce with more vinegar. The pickles and tart sauce gives a distinctive tangy flavor and cut nicely through the richness of the beef. Simply seasoned with salt and pepper, it's got the flavor of a good classic hamburger and has a smoky bite thanks to the layer of char on the patty, but the dressing is what really heightens the burger.

By default, they cook the burgers to medium, bordering on medium well, but the meat manages to stay moist. They'll offer to cook it to the doneness you want if you're looking for a rarer burger, but they're less likely to get it right during the busy lunch rush between 11:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. when the kitchen is swamped.

They offer fries in half and full-sized orders, but skip the fries and get their onion rings. The onions are cut thick, dipped in a light batter, and fried perfectly to a crisp golden brown. The batter stays crisp for an impressively long time and sticks to the onion.

Having a satisfyingly classic burger with onion rings in what feels like a dark, cozy English pub isn't a bad way to take a break from the cubicle world.

About the author: Denise Sakaki is a freelance writer, photographer and designer, blogging and eating her way through as many adventures as her stomach can handle. When she's not exploring the world of hamburgers for AHT, she's thinking about what burger she wants to tackle next...

Love hamburgers? Then you'll Like AHT on Facebook! And go follow us on Twitter while you're at it!

[Photographs: Denise Sakaki]

Icon Grill

Icon Grill's Special Grind Burger steps away from burger tradition with a spice blend that takes cues from masala and uses chiles from the Southwest. It's a burger that argues just because it's seasoned with a complex mix of spices, it doesn't take away from the genuine experience of a beloved classic.

For ten years Icon Grill has been serving American fare to the city along the busy stretch of 5th Avenue that gets as many locals as it does visitors. The large restaurant is decorated from floor to ceiling with unusual artwork, Northwest mementos, and the prerequisite Chihuly-styled hand-blown glass chandelier fixtures. You'll easily notice the sign from a distance, the vertical marquee hanging off the side of the brick building, topped with a mythic winged lion, a symbol of the city of Venice and a nod to Seattle's own appreciation for Venetian glass. As ten years can do a bit of wear and tear, excuse the scaffolding that's propped in front of their entrance—they've been in an ongoing renovation process, but they remain open.

Burger purists turn their nose up at heavily-spiced burgers, but the Special Grind Burger may change some minds. Icon finds the balance between seasonings and the natural flavor of the beef. Head chef Nick Musser says their process starts with a large cut of beef clod, or shoulder—his preferred cut of meat for burgers—which is sliced into large chunks for it to be dry-cured overnight in a special in-house "Mystic" blend of seasonings, and then ground in-house before being formed into 8-ounce patties. The dry cure arguably enhances the flavor of the beef, as the process not only adds flavor and tenderizes, it wrings out excess moisture in the meat, intensifying the flavor of the burger.

The Mystic Blend is comprised of sixteen different herbs and spices, including familiar ingredients like garlic and oregano, but also unique items like ground dry chiles from New Mexico, which gives the burger a distinctive earthy, almost oaky depth of flavor. Musser says the blend is sweet and savory; the use of sugar not only heightens the flavor experience, but it helps produce a heavier char and a more pronounced crust. The chile powder—the primary ingredient in the blend—gives the meat a distinctive blush, making for a pleasantly bright-looking beef patty. It might appear undercooked, but even if the burger is grilled to well done-ness, the color of the Mystic Blend persists.

Originally served on foccacia when the burger was introduced on the menu years ago, it's since been modified to be served on a Kaiser roll, a heartier bread that can hold the heft of the patty and toppings, but is spongy enough to absorb all the drippings. The burger is presented open-faced alongside classic toppings—tomato slices, lettuce, thin slices of white onion, and pickles cut lengthwise—which were hidden below the pile of fries served with the burger. You can add cheese and/or bacon to your burger for a dollar each, but those add-ons would drown out the patty's flavors. I recommend letting the meat speak for itself.

"Special sauce" and ketchup come on the side. The special sauce is a typical fry sauce/Russian dressing—mayonnaise with a bit of ketchup and relish—and gives the burger creaminess and tang. The ketchup goes best with the fries; its heavy acidity would likely overwhelm the burger.

The fries are shoestring-cut and twice-fried—they have that extra-crisp, almost batter-like outer texture from a partial dip in the oil, then a final, longer session in the oil right before being served.

It's not an everyday burger given the $11.99 price tag, but it's good for a special treat. And besides their burger, Icon Grill offers sensory overload from their decorations and artwork. Don't forget to check out their bathrooms; Icon Grill has cheeky décor everywhere, showing vintage clips from 1950s public service announcements in the women's restrooms and videos of waterfalls and running water in the men's restroom. Not that I admit to going into the men's room to check it out...

About the author: Denise Sakaki is a freelance writer, photographer and designer, blogging and eating her way through as many adventures as her stomach can handle. When she's not exploring the world of hamburgers for AHT, she's thinking about what burger she wants to tackle next...

[Photographs: Adam Lindsley]

Spring Hill

4437 California Ave. SW., Seattle WA 98116 (map); 206-935-1075; springhillnorthwest.com
Cooking Method: Grilled
Short Order: A thick, juicy, salty burger made even better with homemade American cheese ranks among the best I've eaten anywhere, let alone Seattle
Want Fries with That? They could be crispier, but since they're fried in beef fat, they taste great, so yes.
Prices: 1/2-pound burger and fries, $17

It's been quite a while since I've had one of those eyes-rolling-back-in-the-head "Oh my God" burger moments (December, to be exact), and not once has it occurred in Seattle...until now. The burger I had at West Seattle's Spring Hill was far and away the best I've eaten in the city, and unfortunately, the most expensive.

Chef/owner Mark Fuller, formerly of Tom Douglas's Dahlia Lounge, starts with a well-seasoned half-pound fistful of Painted Hills ground chuck and grills it until a salty, crunchy crust forms; the moment you bite into it, juices flood out all over your hands and into the bun. Pink in the center and assertively beefy, the patty arrived cooked to a perfect medium, as requested. I can't readily think of a better-tasting slab of hamburger being served anywhere. Words do not do it justice.

Not only is the beef equal to the best I've encountered, but so is the cheese. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that this is the best cheese I've ever tasted on a burger. It's a blend of Beecher's Flagship and Teleme from Franklin's Cheese, and comes across like something between the salty squares of a typical American cheese and an extra sharp white cheddar. Layered on gloriously thick, it oozes into the nooks and crannies in the beef and acts on your brain like a drug, with each bite making you crave another, and another, and so on. The effect is noticeable, making you wonder if they managed to cram some MSG (or crack) in there somewhere. No matter; I was a willing participant.

Also astoundingly good: the house-cured bacon. It's thick and chewy and cuts through the cheese and beef to stand out on its own. It pairs quite well with the smooth roasted tomato aioli and the crunch of the shredded iceberg lettuce. A half-pickle skewered at the apex of the sandwich is delightfully sweet and sour, though it would be better served sliced thin and applied under the bun.

That bun is the burger's only real weakness. Outsourced from Dahlia Bakery, it was described to me by my server as "English muffin-like," and there's a definite similarity with the texture, to be sure. It tastes great—no complaints there—but structurally it doesn't hold up to the torrent of fat spilling from the beef, and the bottom half quickly disintegrated.

Much talk has been made of the fries, which are deep-fried in beef fat, leaving them imbued with an inextricably meaty link to the burger. Though a touch too greasy, they're addictive and well-salted. A few could have been crispier, but I'm nit-picking. They're served with a side of the housemade San Marzano, cider vinegar, and allspice-based ketchup, which was a pass for me. It reminded me of an over-sugared marinara and masked too much of the flavor from the beef fat. Just nudge the dish aside and eat your fries undressed, unless you like them sweet.

So if I can unreservedly recommend this burger, can I also proclaim it worth a full seventeen greenbacks? I'm really torn here. Its closest relative, the Grüner burger in Portland, is only $11, and comes with a far superior bun. The Spring Hill burger counters with a significantly better cheese, but is that really worth six more dollars? You'll have to judge for yourself. All I can say is, if I'm in Seattle and craving a burger, Spring Hill will be my first choice, and I will pay its exorbitant price. Gladly.

About the author: Adam Lindsley is a Seattle-based novelist and the author of the pizza blog, This Is Pizza. As a contributor for both Slice and A Hamburger Today, he is contractually obligated to say he loves pizza and burgers in equal amounts. Which is to say he is a polygamist.

[Photographs: Adam Lindsley]

Skillet

Skillet, owner Joshua Henderson's increasingly popular mobile kitchen, has gone through a lot of ups and downs to get to where it is today. What do you expect when you gut an old Airstream trailer and convert it into a portable grill serving elevated versions of the classics to anyone willing to work with its itinerant nature? If nothing else, it screams for attention, as evidenced by mentions in Time Magazine, USA Today, and here on Serious Eats.

The menu's undergone a number of changes (and price hikes more in line with the troubled economy) over the years, with its current iteration focusing on its highly regarded grass-fed cheeseburger. That's only natural, given Skillet's greatest claim to fame: the house-made bacon jam. Rendered bacon is simmered with spices and onions for about six hours before getting puréed, blast chilled, and spread on a hot burger patty. It's sweet and smoky like barbecue sauce, but it also maintains a level of saltiness that mingles well with the lightly seasoned beef.

Biting into the burger, you get three distinct flavors. The first, of course, is that bacon jam, hitting your palate with sugar from the reduced onions and salt from the hunks of bacon suspended in the luscious brown spread. The second is the char on the patty, courtesy of the full grill crammed inside the little silver Airstream. And the third is the funkiness of the cheese, a creamy blend of bleu and brie that cuts through the bacon jam and beef. Personally, I think a Gruyère or an aged fontina would pair just a little better with the bacon jam, but it's hard to complain too loudly with this choice. It's assertive and delicious.

A quick (constructive) criticism: The burger could use some bread-and-butter pickles. The arugula's fine for adding a few greens into your diet, but it's barely noticeable beneath the powerhouse of that bacon jam. With so many decadent fats at play on this sandwich, the tartness of pickles is necessary to cut the richness and provide a change of pace to prevent palate overload. Pickles are exceedingly simple to make, so hopefully they start including them sometime in the near future.

After trying the ones at BuiltBurger and now Skillet's, I've had a good run with well-prepared hand-cut fries lately. Like BuiltBurger's, the fries are occasionally overcooked, but the perfectly prepared ones greatly outnumber the imperfects. Each crunchy-exterior/feathery-interior fry tastes like it was julienned from an actual potato and not some reconstituted starch substance (what a concept!), without the typical glut of grease from the deep fryer. They're dusted with sea salt and a medley of herbs (parsley, mint, and dill) that really make them a cut above the average basket of fries. And if you eat your burger over them, allowing the meaty juices to drip down and become absorbed into the potato, they're even better.

The dessert, a chocolate pudding cream "pie in a bowl," was a failure of execution. It's irresistible on paper: a big glop of chocolate cream pie filling topped with real whipped cream and a "crust" of crumbled shortbread and toasted walnuts. And to be sure, the whipped cream and shortbread/walnut "crust" are both impeccable. It's the chocolate cream filling that's unsuccessful here. Besides being uncomfortably rich, it's spiked with far too much sea salt. As anyone who's tried the incomparable butterscotch budino at Mozza in Los Angeles knows, sea salt can elevate a dessert from good to orgasmic. But here it was applied with far too heavy a hand. All it took was one bite of the pie with a huge cluster of salt crystals tagging along to lose any desire to finish the dish.

Dessert snafu aside, Skillet makes a very fine burger and fries, and that's exactly what I suggest you order when making the trek to this cart's current location, wherever that ends up being. But if you don't feel like chasing after them, fear not; they just opened a brick-and-mortar offshoot on Capitol Hill. Rejoice!

About the author: Adam Lindsley is a Seattle-based novelist and the author of the pizza blog, This Is Pizza. As a contributor for both Slice and A Hamburger Today, he is contractually obligated to say he loves pizza and burgers in equal amounts. Which is to say he is a polygamist.

Love hamburgers? Then you'll Like AHT on Facebook! And go follow us on Twitter while you're at it!

[Photographs: Adam Lindsley]

BuiltBurger

217 James St., Seattle WA 98104 (map); 206-724-0599; builtburger.com
Cooking Method: Griddled
Short Order: Those seeking a traditional burger should look elsewhere; these are experiments in mixing meats and ingredients in the name of emulation
Want Fries with That? Mos def. Hand-cut, well-salted, and mostly crisp, they're leagues better than the dense, mushy potato beignets. And the sweet potato fries are some of the best I've had anywhere
Prices: 6-ounce Superb Trio, $7.50; tasting plate of three 3-ounce mini-burgers, $11.95

BuiltBurger is not for the Josh Ozerskys of the world. And I'll admit, I'm kind of a "Josh Ozersky of the world." I believe the less you fuss with a burger, the fewer toppings and seasonings you pile onto (and into) the patty, the less your chances of screwing something up. There are always exceptions when attempted by masters of the medium, but my general rule is the further you get from ground beef and cheese on a bun, the closer the burger gets to jumping the shark.

Owner David Makuen clearly believes that straight-up ground beef is best served as an empty canvas upon which myriad ingredients—especially other meats—can be melded like colors on a palette to form something that's by turns art or sacrilege, depending on who you talk to. From his blink-and-you'll-miss-it operation in Pioneer Square, which began as a patty wholesaler, Makuen puts out food that, for better or worse, shuns the burger status quo.

Even the most basic and recognizable burger here, the Superb Trio, is a testament to that philosophy. Three different cuts of beef (a secret proprietary blend) contribute to the six-ounce patty, but BuiltBurger is not content to just salt-and-pepper the outside and leave it at that. Nay, a bite into the meat reveals a cornucopia of seasonings, including shallots, parsley, thyme, salt, pepper, and garlic powder. Say what you will about the integrity of the beef being compromised here, but you can't call it bland. You can, however, call it overseasoned. It's tasty enough, but the seasonings take center stage instead of complimenting the beef. That's a cardinal sin in my book, but as long as you go in expecting a burger that tastes more like meatloaf, it's hard to hate on it.

One of the better ideas to come out of BuiltBurger is the option of sampling three of their burgers in miniature form, with patties shrunk from six ounces to three. While this does leave the patties less juicy than their larger iterations, it's a good way to sample a few of their wilder menu items without a full-sized commitment.

The Supreme Pastrami was my favorite of the three I sampled, although it was inundated with far too much sauerkraut (rectified by simply scraping some of it off). It really does taste like the Reuben it's trying to emulate. Beef, braised pastrami from Seattle's Market-House Meats, diced dill pickles, and a house-made blend of mustards comprise the patty, all in perfect balance with each other. The only real problem here (besides the easily-remedied glut of sauerkraut) was the bun. It's too substantial, too thick for the amount of meat, and the top half often slipped off the rest of the sandwich. You're also left with far too much of it at the end of the burger. Using something softer, and then briefly steaming it, would really make these mini-burgers shine.

Mexican chorizo, roasted poblano peppers, and cotija cheese meld with beef for the Magnificent Chorizo burger, which is finished by a generous scoop of refreshing cilantro lime slaw. I liked that I could taste the beef and pork as separate components and the mild spiciness laced throughout the meat.

The Thrill BBQ Pork jacks up the heat even more. Chipotles, caramelized onions, and roasted red peppers get mixed with a blend of ground pork and pulled pork slow-roasted in barbecue sauce that, when topped with pickles and an Old Bay-spiced slaw, tastes like it came straight off your backyard Weber.

On the sides front, the potato and sweet potato fries were delightful. BuiltBurger attempts the very difficult task of serving crisp hand-cut fries, and very nearly pulls it off by double-frying them. The regular fries are salty and cut thin enough that most form the ideal fry architecture: crunchy outside, fluffy inside. True, they're perhaps a tad overcooked, but avoiding flaccid fries is a sacrifice I'm glad they're making. Most of the sweet potato fries get the same treatment, resulting in some of the best I've had anywhere, but some were cut too thickly to benefit from their cooking method, leaving them soft. Still, most were thinly sliced, which you don't see often enough with sweet potato fries.

Didn't much see the point of the potato "beignets." The crunchy golden brown shell hides an orb of bland mashed potato that was texturally off-putting, like biting into a deep-fried grub. They were salvaged by a tasty trio of dipping sauces: chipotle ketchup, sweet chili, and poblano cilantro. The sweet chili is a real winner, and went well with all three sides.

A legitimate question to ask would be, why not just eat the foods these burgers are trying to replicate instead of settling for a bizarre amalgam? There really is no good answer other than to reply...why not? Sure, it's a gimmick, and it's not for everyone (and indeed, I'm not champing at the bit to return anytime soon), but it's fun tasting the experiments of BuiltBurger's mad scientists. Er...chefs.

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[Photographs: Adam Lindsley]

Burgermaster

10606 NE Northup Way, Bellevue, WA 98004 (map); 425-827-9566; 5 locations in the Seattle area listed at burgermaster.biz
Cooking Method: Griddled
Short Order: Fast food-style drive-in burgers made from, surprisingly enough, grass-fed beef are greasy and enjoyable. A decent choice if you're not near something better.
Want Fries with That? Not a chance in hell; they're anemic and taste awful
Prices: Burgermaster cheeseburger, $4.39; Burgermelt, $6.29

In the battle for Seattle's fast-food burger supremacy, Dick's and Red Mill are the main contenders, at least in terms of popularity. A distant third, with just a smidge better burger if you ask me, is the epically named Burgermaster.

Founded in 1952 by Phil Jensen, Burgermaster's first restaurant opened near the University of Washington and has expanded to five locations since then. While the original Burgermaster is an order-at-the-counter-and-sit-down kind of place, the Bellevue location is drive-in only, and a lot more charming (although Jensen, now in his 80s, still comes to work at the University location).

Burgermaster's primary attraction, the...uh...Burgermaster, won't win any beauty contests. In fact it looks like it got beaten with the ugly stick. It's your garden variety quarter-pound ultra-flat burger with American cheese, shredded iceberg lettuce, thick slices of tomato, and relish on a toasted bun. In an unlikely twist, Burgermaster uses grass-fed beef, which, while commendable from a sustainability standpoint, doesn't mean a whole lot in terms of extra flavor with this type of patty. Being so thin and cooked to within an inch of its life, the foremost sensation you get from the meat is salt. The griddle does a nice job of crisping up the edges of the patty, but you will not find a strong, beefy presence here.

The veggies and relish don't exactly push this burger into the stratosphere of quality either. Yet, somehow, and even though it's the greasiest of the three, I still thought it tasted better than anything I had at Red Mill or Dick's. Not by much, but enough that if given the option of hitting just one of them, I'd go with Burgermaster's burger ten times out of ten. There is absolutely nothing special about it, but it's strangely addictive.

In the interests of comparison, I also ate at the University location and sampled the same burger there (tasted exactly the same), along with the Burgermelt. Now, beforehand, I was certain that this would be the burger for me: two patties, two slices of cheese, ketchup and mustard, that's it. I go for burger minimalism whenever possible, so the Burgermelt seemed like it was designed specifically with me (or a picky nine-year-old) in mind. Sadly, it wasn't to be. It's far too greasy, and the overabundance of mustard distracted from the twin slabs of salty beef. A colossal disappointment.

Also disappointing: the sides. The onion rings were the lesser of two evils, salty in a Funyuns kind of way and just a step or two above the ones served at Burger King. At least they had a nice crunch to them.

But the fries...oh, the fries. What an unmitigated disaster. Crisp yet undercooked, chalk-dry yet tasting as though they've been soaking for hours in a vat of oil, these fries were a sad cauldron of paradoxes. One imagines they entered this life as actual potatoes, but you would never guess that having eaten their final form. "Imitation potato" is being kind.

Despite everything going against it, I still kinda like Burgermaster, which is not to say they make a great burger. They don't. It's just marginally better than the competition's offerings, none of which aim very high. Honestly, for this price point, I don't know why you wouldn't just go to Uneeda Burger. But if you happen to be near a Burgermaster, and stick with the titular burger, you'll leave happy enough.

About the author: Adam Lindsley is a Seattle-based novelist and the author of the pizza blog, This Is Pizza. As a contributor for both Slice and A Hamburger Today, he is contractually obligated to say he loves pizza and burgers in equal amounts. Which is to say he is a polygamist.

[Photographs: Adam Lindsley]

Local 360

2234 1st Ave., Seattle WA 98121 (map); 206-441-9360; local360.org
Cooking Method: Griddled
Short Order: The sizeable house-ground burger with local beef is very good, but the peppers kick too hard and a few small fixes could push it into greatness
Want Fries with That? They're hit-and-miss; such is the nature of hand-cut fries
Prices: 8-ounce Butcher's Grind House burger w/cheese and bacon, $13

As the locavore movement strides ever further into the mainstream, we're going to be seeing more and more establishments like Local 360. Their ultimate goal: finding up to 90 percent of their raw ingredients within 360 miles of Seattle (they're being realistic about the other 10 percent, because good luck finding coffee or lemons growing in the Cascades). A respectable ambition, but all for naught if the food isn't any good. Thankfully that's far from the case here.

Smack dab in the heart of happenin' Belltown, Local 360 is poised to capture a discerning late-night crowd desiring more than just nachos or pancakes to soak up the appletinis. The space is warm, candlelit by night, and sitting in the row of booths off to one side, with their unfinished wood siding and wire-braced light bulbs jutting from the wall, gives one the impression of dining in a mineshaft. A cozy mineshaft.

The burger is massive, a half-pound goliath ground daily in-house. The cuts of meat that find their way into the patties change from one day to the next, and even include up to 20 percent pork if the butcher is feeling so inclined. On this particular visit my burger was all beef, formed from a blend of bottom round, eye of round, skirt steak, and a secret cut I'm not allowed to divulge. All are from Heritage Meats in Rochester.

I ordered it medium rare, and it arrived somewhere between that and medium. It's a thick, juicy patty that's easy to bite through and very well-seasoned on the outside with salt and pepper. The pepper in particular came through strongly, infused into the patty by the flat top griddle. Curiously, the inner core of the beef itself was more muted than I expected, a surprise given the different cuts constructing it. Not bland by any means, but less flavorful than I might have hoped for.

That could be because the burger's toppings were so assertive. This was especially true of the Mama Lil's Peppalilli spread, which totally dominated everything else on the sandwich. The mustard-and-peppers-based relish is a sensory firecracker, great if you enjoy spicy food but not so much if you're seeking a balanced burger. It just tipped the scales a wee too far into the sweat zone for me, and I think a smattering of bread-and-butter pickles would have been a wiser choice. It isn't listed as a component on the menu (and in fact, nothing is, annoyingly), so have a glass of water handy.

Adding cheese and bacon to the burger (a $3 charge) was a smart decision. The bacon is cooked to a lovely crispness and shatters when bitten into, sending shards of salt and smokiness into the beef. The cheese, a white cheddar from Golden Glen Creamery, was sharp and slightly nutty, though they were a bit stingy with its allocation; about twice as much would really boost the overall flavor of the ensemble.

Rounding out the burger was some photogenic lettuce from Full Circle Farm, mild red onions, and aioli on a house-baked bun. The bun was soft, unobtrusive, and sturdy enough to withstand the weight of that hefty patty and absorb any juices without dissolving. Perhaps the fact that the butter in the dough is substituted with pork fat has something to do with its impressive structural integrity. If not, well, I still like the idea of eating pork-fat buns.

The fries here are hand-cut, and as such they're subject to all the pitfalls hand-cut fries can fall into when they're not prepared by an absolute master of the medium. Some are cooked perfectly, firm and crispy on the outside, fluffy on the inside. Others are overcooked and flaccid. All could use a tad more salt fresh out of the fryer. Since they come with the burger, I can't complain too loudly, but it'd be nice if they were better.

Local 360 doesn't serve a perfect burger, not yet, but a few small changes could really catapult it to the next level. Use a smaller patty, swap out the Peppalilli relish for house-made pickles, and double-up on the cheese, and that's a burger I'd spend nights dreaming about. As it stands, it's still very good, and with the mercurial nature of its composition, possibly even better than what I was served depending on when you swing by.

About the author: Adam Lindsley is a Seattle-based novelist and the author of the pizza blog, This Is Pizza. As a contributor for both Slice and A Hamburger Today, he is contractually obligated to say he loves pizza and burgers in equal amounts. Which is to say he is a polygamist.

Love hamburgers? Then you'll Like AHT on Facebook! And go follow us on Twitter while you're at it!

[Photographs: Adam Lindsley]

Uneeda Burger

4302 Fremont Ave N, Seattle WA 98103 (map); 206-547-2600
Cooking Method: Griddled
Short Order: An exemplary rendition of the classic burger style; just avoid the Wagyu
Want Fries with That? The waffle fries are of the frozen variety, but appropriately crisp and salty
Prices: 4-ounce Cheeseburger, $4.75; "upgrade" to Wagyu beef for $3

I love it when a burger joint just gets it. Too often you see frozen preformed patties slapped onto a grill or griddle and then shoved into a bun along with the saddest, most wilted vegetables ever pulled from a walk-in. You can't make something great out of that, ever. You might end up with something halfway pleasant and even satisfying, but it won't be great. The recently opened Uneeda Burger understands that, even if the result is not always a total success.

Chef/owner Scott Staples already has two popular Seattle restaurants under his belt (Zoe and Quinn's Pub), and all signs point to a third victory here. While Uneeda may be housed in one of the uglier buildings in Seattle (it's the former site of Uneeda Auto & Boat Repair), it doesn't seem to be affecting business in the slightest; both of my visits saw the place crammed with patrons horfing down their burgers. There's even a covered deck outside, which should see some action once the sun reappears in June or so.

I spoke with Uneeda's general manager, who pointed to a recent glowing review in The Stranger as one source of the current upswing. In said review, the author points out that Uneeda serves two levels of beef: a grain-fed Painted Hills all-natural beef and a Wagyu grass-fed beef from a small farm on nearby Whidbey Island. The author then goes on to insist, in a feverish spout of amplified superlatives, that the Wagyu burger (which you can upgrade to for $3) might just equal the second coming of Christ. Literally.

Now, that kind of hyperbole is the surest way to get me fired up about trying something new, so I decided to sample two of their classic cheeseburgers, one with the grain-fed beef, and one with the Wagyu. Did I come to the same conclusion as the Stranger? Well, no, no I didn't. In fact, I think they couldn't be more wrong about the Wagyu beef.

It's been said before and I'll say it here again: Wagyu (or Kobe) beef is a terrible idea for hamburgers. Here it's served medium rare to rare and comes off, well...just as the Burgermeister Adam Kuban said it would: like moist cat food. Not only that, but its flavor is far more muted than the grain-fed stuff, so much so you can barely tell that's beef hiding under the bun and veggies. People, do not order this burger.

All is forgiven when the Painted Hills burger comes up to bat. This is the one to order, with its salty, juicy, house-ground, intensely beefy quarter-pound patty that boasts a 25-percent fat ratio, served on a Franz bun toasted in herbed garlic butter. Shredded romaine, tomato, fantastic bread-and-butter pickles, a mayo-based special sauce, and cheddar join the glorious beef to form a well-executed burger that's cheap (only $4.75 with the cheese) and puts to shame most of the other burgers served in Seattle at this price. It's similar in many ways to the burgers sold at Foster Burger in Portland, Oregon: a delicious, unpretentious product that's made with quality ingredients and is easy on your wallet.

If you want to fancy things up, the options are available to you. I gave the Medi-terra a shot, a 1/3-pound lamb burger topped with charred peppers and onions, manchego, tempura lemons, arugula, and cilantro, all on a local Macrina Bakery bun. At twelve bucks it's the priciest burger on the menu. It's very good; the lamb is juicy (blood-dripping-on-your-plate juicy, in fact), the peppers are smoky, and the manchego is sharp and buttery. Unfortunately, the tempura lemons can overwhelm the entire burger with citrus. An easy solution: Just ditch the lemon (or better yet, request that it be left off your burger).

I liked the waffle fries for every reason frozen fries work: They're crisp, salty, and soft on the inside. The onion rings, on the other hand, need to go back to the drawing board. The onions themselves are so tender, preventing any possibility of string-pulls, but they're inundated with the thickest batter I've ever seen on an onion ring. It's so thick that the rings taste more like greasy fried dough than they do onions. Avoid.

It's about time this stretch of Fremont got a truly worthwhile burger joint, and I couldn't be more jealous of the lucky devils living in the neighborhood. Places where real chefs cook real food warrant championing, and Uneeda is definitely deserving of accolade. They have some great beers on tap, so if they iron out the kinks by summer, this place should explode.

About the author: Adam Lindsley is a Seattle-based novelist and the author of the pizza blog, This Is Pizza. As a contributor for both Slice and A Hamburger Today, he is contractually obligated to say he loves pizza and burgers in equal amounts. Which is to say he is a polygamist.

[Photographs: J. Kenji Lopez-Alt]

I agree with you: gastropubs can be annoying. Slightly pretentious food served by a glorified bartender, right? Except when that food is actually delicious.

The burger ($15) at Spur seems like a fancy-pantastrophe* on paper: grass-fed beef, homemade A-1 style sauce, onions cooked down in red wine, a slab of pork belly, and a slice of de-constructed/re-constructed meltable aged cheddar cheese. But when you get it, it all works. For grass-fed beef, the meat is extraordinarily juicy and arrives well-seasoned and on-temperature. It has some of the signature funk of grass-fed beef that plays well with the tart onions. The A-1 sauce is spot on, though the flavor might be heavy for some. I'd ask for it on the side the first time you order it.

* A term I just coined, but will trust you to help pass on.

This might be the burger to convince me that pork belly should come standard. Rather than competing with the burger on a flavor level, it serves much more of a textural role: As you bite into the burger, the pork fat drips down, moistening each bite. Honestly, as I ate it, I totally forgot that there was pork belly on there, instead thinking to myself, "This burger is insanely juicy" (the bun stands up nicely).

The cheese slices are made using the method that British chef Heston Blumenthal developed for his ultra-fancy burger in his BBC4 Perfection series. I've never seen it applied to a commercially available burger before. The concept is to take a very flavorful but not particularly melty cheese (in this case a well-aged cheddar), emulsify it with extra liquid and one or another chemical salt, let it re-solidify, then cut it into slices. When successful, you end up with a cheese that melts like American, but is as flavorful as cheddar. At Spur, they succeed.

Fries come standard with the burger, and are also good—if you're into all crunch. They're cut super thin (second burger I had in Seattle with this kind of fry—is this a thing around Sea-town?), and come with a smoky mayonnaise (little secret: if you ask for it, you can upgrade to a thyme-flavored mayonnaise, which is much nicer).

Spur Gastropub

113 Blanchard Street, Seattle WA 98121 (map)
206-728-6706; spurseattle.com‎

[Photographs: Adam Lindsley]

Red Mill Burgers

312 N 67th St., Seattle WA 97206 (map); 206-783-6362; redmillburgers.com (second location at 1613 W Dravus St.)
Cooking Method: Flame-broiled
Short Order: Large, cheap, messy burgers good for hunger busting; those seeking quality should look elsewhere
Want Fries with That? Sure; they're frozen, but at least they're better than the onion rings
Prices: 4-ounce Cheeseburger, $3.79; Bacon Deluxe w/Cheese, $5.80
Notes: Cash-only

After giving local institution Dick's Drive-In a thorough examination, it only makes sense to now turn the proverbial microscope on its closest competitor for Seattle's burger-hungry proletarians, Red Mill Burgers. As it turns out, while they make very different burgers, a common thread runs through both chains.

One notable difference is the size of the burgers; Red Mill's quarter-pound patties are definitely larger than the tiny pucks served at Dick's. They're perfectly round and preformed, and have an odd chewy texture. Hardly the solid base of a burger worthy of its inexplicable inclusion in GQ's 20 Hamburgers You Must Eat Before You Die. Once you order one of the larger burgers here, the sandwich becomes positively enormous, towering over anything on the Dick's lineup.

One bite of such a monster, like the Bacon Deluxe with Cheese, and the parallels between the two chains become visible again. Dick's uses low-cost ingredients and manages to craft something satisfying from them, and that's exactly the experience you'll have at Red Mill, just in larger quantities. The Bacon Deluxe with Cheese is bursting at the seams with lettuce, tomato, pickles, red onions, American cheese, pepper bacon, and "Mill Sauce," a mayonnaise-based spread with a nice smokiness to it. Far more than I got on any burger at Dick's, but the end result was the same: I left contented, but not much of an impression was made.

The pepper bacon deserves special note. It shatters on impact and distributes crunchy salt-chips into every bite. Good stuff. The bacon is so popular here that they cook what I estimate to be a metric ton of it in anticipation. It's hard not to be awestruck by the sheer sight of that impenetrable fortress of cured pork.

Personally, I think there's too much going on with the Deluxe. The bacon's nice, but it can get lost in all the veggies, and the thick red onion is overpowering. A better choice, in my opinion, is Red Mill's regular cheeseburger. Adorned with just lettuce, Mill Sauce, and American cheese, not only will it actually fit in your mouth, but you can taste the separate components of the burger. And I really like the way they handle the cheese here; they let it melt until it's practically liquefied so that it oozes out from under the toasted bun between bites.

Sides here seem hit-and-miss. The fries are frozen, but after their dip in hot peanut oil they develop a wonderfully crisp exterior. They're salted well, too. Babe's Onion Rings, on the other hand, suffer from an underseasoned batter that forms a tough shell around the onions. The onions themselves are tender and perfectly cooked, but the rings as a whole are bland.

An apt comparison of Dick's Drive-In is to a slightly less trashy McDonald's, and Red Mill is more like the countless roadside burger shacks populating every highway across America. Both average in every way, but totally acceptable if you're in the area. You don't need to drive up to Phinney Ridge just to have a burger like this, but it's worth a visit just to witness that massive brick of bacon. It's like a present from heaven, all wrapped up in pork ribbons and bows.

About the author: Adam Lindsley is a Seattle-based novelist and the author of the pizza blog, This Is Pizza. As a contributor for both Slice and A Hamburger Today, he is contractually obligated to say he loves pizza and burgers in equal amounts. Which is to say he is a polygamist.

[Photographs: Adam Lindsley]

Dick's Drive-In

111 NE 45th St., Seattle WA 98105 (map); 206-632-5125; 4 other locations listed at dicksdrivein.com
Cooking Method: Griddled
Short Order: No-frills fast food-style burgers are satisfying and big on value, but aren't likely to win any awards
Want Fries with That? Absolutely not; save that cash for another burger
Prices: Hamburger, $1.20; Deluxe Burger, $2.50
Notes: No substitutions, cash-only

In the Pacific Northwest, Seattle is the king of local burger chains. Neither Portland nor Boise can boast half as many regional franchises, leaving the vast majority of cheap burger options up to those living on the crannied coasts of Puget Sound. The two titans in this Emerald City battle for fast food-style supremacy are Red Mill Burgers and Dick's Drive-In. Seattleites are notoriously opinionated about which side of the Dick's/Red Mill line you should fall, but we'll be reviewing both here on AHT, starting with Dick's.

The first Dick's appeared in Seattle's Wallingford neighborhood in January of 1954. Much of the original structure remains today, with the large, revolving, kitschy "Drive-In Restaurant" sign in the corner of the parking lot beckoning to the hungry masses with a clear promise of the type of food served here. Prices may not exactly mirror the '50s-style architecture, but they're astoundingly inexpensive given today's woeful economic climate: $2.50 gets you the biggest burger on the menu.

That burger is the Dick's Deluxe. Two wafer-thin patties from the MacDonald Meat Co. are griddled until a lovely crust of salt envelopes the beef, then placed on a soft Franz Bakery bun and topped with shredded iceberg lettuce, mayo, mustard, chopped pickles, and gooey American cheese. The mustard comes through strongest of all, followed closely by the surprisingly sweet pickles. It's a nice pair of flavors. The whole affair is smashed flat like a McDonald's hamburger, making for one thoroughly non-photogenic sandwich, but it's definitely a (single) step up in overall quality.

For the true skinflint, Dick's offers the dirt-cheap hamburger for $1.20 and a simple cheeseburger for twenty cents more. At those prices, you can afford to fill an entire sack with burgers and go home with most of your wallet intact. Both are adorned with only a squirt of mustard and a squirt of ketchup, but chances are you won't complain. The burgers may have a tendency to underwhelm, but they are strangely satisfying, even if they're not going to put the closest Five Guys out of business anytime soon.

In a sharp departure from most burger joints of this ilk, Dick's Drive-In hand-cuts its own fries. Unfortunately, they're limp, soggy, and taste like they've been sitting out for hours. Given that the locals lining up at the windows at all hours never seem to order the fries, it's a safe bet that you shouldn't either. Be smart and spend that hard-earned money on more burgers instead.

Dick's burgers are a stupendous value, but don't drive up expecting a life-changing experience. You won't get it. Instead, you'll get a gratifying, unchallenging burger that hits the spot and does so without draining your college fund. As a meat, cheese, and salt-delivery device, it succeeds marvelously.

About the author: Adam Lindsley is a Seattle-based novelist, musician, and the author of the pizza blog, This Is Pizza. As a contributor for both Slice and A Hamburger Today, he is contractually obligated to say he loves pizza and burgers in equal amounts. Which is to say he is a polygamist.