The horseshoe sandwich.

Springfield, Illinois meets Austin, Texas. Horseshoe sandwich, FGHD style. © Ryan Schierling

I'm sure there are wealthy suburbs of Springfield, Illinois that have more cardiologists per capita than any other city in the United States. I imagine when filling out new patient paperwork, there is a check-box for "Do you eat horseshoe sandwiches? If yes, how many per year?" That information is disclosed to insurance companies, you are deemed "high-risk" and your policy is put under review.

In the summer of 2007, I ate a horseshoe at storied purveyor D'arcy's Pint in Springfield. I was determined to finish it, and after 45 minutes, I did. Moments later, I felt the first tinges of angina. I was told by locals that to thin the blood I needed more alcohol. I ordered a pitcher of Old Style and a cold, wet bar towel for my forehead, and that seemed to do the trick.

Years later, I kept telling Julie I was going to recreate this Illinois staple, and it was going to be glorious. The Texas toast, the hamburger patties, the crinkle-cut fries and that incredible blanket of luxurious, velvety cheese sauce.

She took my braggadocio with a lot of grains of salt, reminding me that the heart never forgets. And yet, I got a crinkle-cutter in my stocking the following Christmas. This week, I finally tied on my apron and took that Springfield regular to Austin-level serious. Honestly, why hasn't Texas adopted this plate? It's right up there with Frito chili pie, chicken-fried steak and eggs with hash browns, and enchiladas Dan Jenkins. 

Tex-Mex Loco Moco.

Tex-Mex meets broke da mout'. © Ryan Schierling

It's been just long enough that I'm starting to yearn for a little island time again.

There were only a few places on our must-eat list when Julie and I first visited Oahu. We had to get malasadas at Leonard's on Kapahulu, try shaved ice at Matsumoto's Shave Ice in Hale'iwa. There would be poke at Tamashiro Market, shrimp trucks on the North Shore, and a stop for plate lunch at Rainbow Drive-In. A bit touristy, as all first visits are, but a good introduction to some solid Hawaiian culinary building blocks. 

At Rainbow Drive-In, the plate lunch of mahi mahi, steamed white rice and that wonderfully-simple, mayonaisse-drenched macaroni salad, was nicely satisfying, but I couldn't leave without trying the loco moco. The crazy wha….? Isn't "moco" Spanish for "snot?"

One scoop rice, one hamburger patty, one over-easy egg, smothered in brown gravy and served in a bowl for three bucks. It was brilliant. 

Now, like any other fabled regional dish with a long history steeped in island culture, stories vary about the origins of the loco moco. Some say it was a guy on the Lincoln Wreckers barefoot football team nicknamed "Crazy" that asked for the combination at Hilo's Lincoln Grill in 1949.  

Others say Lincoln Grill owners Nancy and Richard Inouye put the dish together for the hungry (and usually broke) Wreckers players and only charged them 25 cents.They say when Nancy wrote it up on the butcher paper menu, she asked husband Richard what it should be named.

"The kids are crazy. Call it a loco moco." 

There are variations – Spam, teriaki beef or chicken, mahi-mahi, wieners, chili, ham steak, bacon – but for me, none compares to the original with a hamburger patty.

I'm going to Wichita / Far from this opera forever more.

Chicken-fried steak and eggs at Jimmy's Egg. © Ryan Schierling

We do not eat poorly. Truly. 

But when we're on the road, any and all respectable regimens of normal dietary discipline go out the window at 75-miles per hour, sometimes even before we leave Austin proper. I'd like to think that I can blame it on genetics – mom always packed boxes of Cheez-Its for vacations, and dad had to make pit-stops for Dr Pepper and peanuts – but the truth is, the road is kind of like the bottle. "It don't make you do a thing, it just lets you."*

Wichita, Kansas is 543 miles from Austin, Texas. There are a number of other, perhaps more desirable destinations within that 543-mile radius. Tampico, Chihuahua and Ciudad Juarez in Mexico. New Orleans, Louisiana. Mobile, Alabama. Jackson, Mississippi. Las Cruces, New Mexico. Certainly these are all more favorable locales than the largest city in Kansas? Perhaps. Depends on your history, and what your motivations are. We are headed to Wichita.

"Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me, unless he does not know the Secret Menu."*

Now I give you everything. © Ryan Schierling

*Adapted from the Revelation 3:20 bible verse (KJV) referenced on the bottom of my In-N-Out burger wrapper.

Southern Californians wax poetic about In-N-Out Burger. Residents love it, expats long for it. Non-believers lambaste it, converts celebrate it, food tourists do the requisite research and try to give it a straight-up fair shot.

We are food tourists.

In-N-Out set up camp in Texas this year, initially blessing three stores in the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex. Like loaves and fishes, they multiplied to nine stores with another currently on the way. It can't be long before they're here in Austin, San Antonio and Houston.

Texas is the fifth state to grow the SoCal chain in an easterly direction, and the 63-year-old, privately-owned company (no franchises), was received with open arms and people camping out for days prior to the first opening. Building a distribution center in Dallas, In-N-Out secures a 500-mile radius for new stores which could include a nice bible-belt swath of the midwest - including Oklahoma, Kansas, Missouri, Arkansas, Louisiana, Mississippi, and wee bits of Tennessee and Alabama.

The thing is, at least in Texas, there are no shortage of local burger chains with a similar "all-fresh, never-frozen, no-microwaves" policy. I will admit that In-N-Out's "burger on top" model pleases me greatly, and our visit to the Arlington location this week impressed me. The store was bright, immaculate, and well-staffed with well-trained disciples who were eager to serve. We'd read up on AHT's research and had suggestions from Wm. A, so we were ready to make an inaugural order.

I went with a double-double, animal-style, extra-toast. Julie had a grilled cheese with grilled onion and chopped chilies. French fries were ordered regular, no alterations, to see what the benchmark was. Drinks were fast-food Texas proper, which is to say, Dr. Pepper.

Service was quick. We pulled into the lot at 1:40 p.m. Despite having 15 cars in the drive-thru when we walked through the front door, a line of ten ahead of us and every seat in the joint occupied, we had our food and were seated in a booth in little more than ten minutes. The way this In-N-Out turned a busy lobby was pure professionalism. The burgers were solid and tasty. I knew mine was going to be a messy handful (which is why I went with an extra-toasted bun), and Julie was pleasantly surprised with her veg option. The fries were certainly fresh... I mean, they were a whole potato less than an hour ago. But that's about all the praise I can heap upon them - they were bland, blonde, flaccid and under-seasoned. Internet reviews tend to echo these sentiments across the board, and most seem to prefer to order their In-N-Out fries "well-done," "animal-style" with melty cheese, grilled onions and a hearty dollop of spread (Thousand-Island-ish dressing), or they just skip the fries altogether and order a second burger.

When they inevitably break ground here, Austin competition will certainly be P. Terry's Burger Stand, which is as close to In-N-Out as you'll get in Texas (except they have a delicious Andrew Brooks/Spirited Food fresh veggie Austin-hippie burger that both Julie and I really dig).

And, you know, it only took eight little chapters in the bible to go from full-on vegetarian to meat-eating*. Texas is a red-meat-eating-sonofagun-state, so when In-N-Out comes to town, get yourself in line before someone calls you a Godless-pinko-communist-veggie-burger-eating hippie (even if you're only going to order the grilled cheese, which is quite delicious.)

*Genesis 1:29-30 - "I give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be food for you. And to the beasts of the earth and all the birds of the air and all the creatures that move on the ground--everything that has the breath of life in it--I give every green plant for food. And it was so."

Genesis 9:1-3 - "Then God blessed Noah and his sons, saying to them, "Be fruitful and increase in number and fill the earth. The fear and dread of you will fall upon all of the beasts of the earth and all the birds of the air, upon every creature that moves along the ground, and upon all the fish of the sea; they are given into your hands. Everything that lives and moves will be food for you. Just as I gave you the green plants, now I give you everything."

Falafel? Eat more burgers.

Getting fresh with a black bean and falafel burger. © Ryan Schierling

Please allow me to explain my mild ambivalence toward the beloved American hamburger. I mean, really... if you take away the meat, doesn't it just become a salad sandwich?

When it comes right down to it, I decidedly prefer the idea of eating "meatless" food to using "fake meat" whenever possible. But I'm not going to eat a salad sandwich. While not entirely opposed to vegetarian products posing as a replacement for meat, I still like to think of even these "replacements" as unique foods unto themselves, instead of realistically expecting them to stand in the stead of the flesh-based stuff. I can count the number of real hamburgers I have eaten in my lifetime on one hand, but I have never been able to honestly think of veggie burgers as hamburgers – it just doesn't seem right.

I have long enjoyed the original Gardenburger™, and the salty homemade vegeburgers of my childhood, but the faux-burger's lack of authenticity disqualifies it from being the food I would choose to photograph at every stop on a cross-country road trip. Here in Austin there are an impressive number of restaurants making their own vegetarian burger patties, and I haven't even begun to scratch the surface. Recently, however, I tried P. Terry's veggie burger and it was one of the best I've ever eaten. Perhaps there is hope that this meatless sub-genre of "burgers" will one day achieve respectful credibility.

So, while I've eaten my share of veggie burgers, I have rarely bothered to try making them. There are good easy options on the market and it always seemed to be more trouble than it was worth since I can only eat one and I am usually the only person eating them. When your "burger" is, more or less, a vehicle for lettuce, cheese, pickles and onions... it doesn't really seem to matter as much.

Then this spring, while contemplating how to use some divine Bulgarian feta sitting in the fridge, an idea hit me. It wasn't just about making a pleasing patty substitute, it was about the whole thing, top to bottom, bun and everything in between. A burger that could honestly hold its own and be served to carnivores without shame.... 

Hamburger Superior.

Top Notch trio. © Ryan Schierling

As much as I'd like to start this off with a quote from Richard Linklater's "Dazed and Confused," which prominently features Austin's Top Notch Hamburgers as backdrop for his classic film about the last day of school in 1976 in a small Texas town, I can't. In the movie, the restaurant isn't much more than a cool background. So I'm going to go with Jules in Pulp Fiction for this one, because it's pretty much true.

"My girlfriend's a vegetarian, so that pretty much makes me a vegetarian, but I do enjoy a tasty burger."

There was a dearth of good, solid burgers in Seattle. It was either local fast food chains (the beloved and cheap Dick's immediately springs to mind) with their thin, grey patties, or pubs (Two Bells Tavern), or specialty burger joints (Lunchbox Laboratory, who Food Network called the best burger in the state) with ridiculous and delicious over-the-top offerings. Don't get me wrong, when I'd had a few drinks I loved eating Dick's as much as the next guy – yeah, that one never gets old – and LL put me into food coma more than a few times, but there was nowhere to go for an honest middle-of-the-road burger that was fresh, consistent, well-made and delicious. Red Mill came close. Daly's came closer. But Daly's closed down, was probably bulldozed and is now condos-up, retail-down.

I can't tell you how excited I was after we'd arrived in Austin, to find out that Texas does not take hamburgers lightly. Even local/regional fast-food joints here kick the buns off of most burgers I've eaten in the rest of the country. The first thing you learn about Texas hamburgers is "all the way," which means mayonnaise, mustard, onion, pickle, tomato, lettuce. There is no secret sauce, there is no ketchup/catsup when you go all the way. I love that when you drive-thru at Sonic, they ask you if you want your burger mayo/mustard OR ketchup, as if the three could never peacefully coexist under the same bun. The second thing you learn about Texas hamburgers is fresh beef. There is no reason to eat a hamburger made from a frozen patty. Ever. EVER. Fresh beef is king in Texas, and the good burger joints serve fresh beef, even the fast food ones.

But as many fantastic burgers as there are in the Lone Star State, I've found that there really are only two significant variations. Is the beef patty on top? Or is it on the bottom?

For example, if you go to legendary All-American staple Sonic, the beef is on top of the "toppings." It goes like this: bottom bun, toppings, beef and cheese, top bun. If you go to legendary All-American staple Dairy Queen, the beef is under the toppings. It goes like this: bottom bun, beef and cheese, toppings, top bun.

(L) Char-broiled @ Top Notch. (R) #4, Longhorn Special. © Ryan Schierling

These are two very different burgers, and this dichotomy led me to question my faith when it came to hamburgers. I'd always been taught that the meat went underneath the toppings. It was just the way things were, and always had been, and always would be. I mean, when you grill at home, the burger goes on the bottom bun, right? Toppings are toppings, right?

Were the juices from the beef on top filtering down through the vegetation underneath, and then hitting my tongue in a more pleasing manner? Was it the mouth-feel of the beef dominance and then the lesser crisp/crunch underneath coming through that I liked? It was a hamburger after all, not a salad sandwich. I don't have all of the answers here. 

I explored other burger joints in Austin. Culver's, beef top. Dan's Hamburgers, beef top. P. Terry's, beef top. Hut's Hamburgers, beef top. Top Notch, beef top. EZ's, beef top. Mighty Fine, beef top. I'm starting to see a trend here, and a trend I think I support wholeheartedly. I mean, I think I like the hamburger superior better. No, no. I'm going to take a stand here. I prefer the beef on top, and the "toppings" underneath. There, I said it. I want the beef on top.

What's your take? Where should the meat go? On top? Or on the bottom? Because this is serious.