This is Bay Area Burger Week (June 18-29), providing a time to reflect, respect and perfect our experience of the once humble hamburger.
The concept of a protein patty betwixt sides of a sliced bun has evolved from a fast food to a complex symbol of the country from whence it came—that is, if we can agree on which that is. From Roman emperors to Ray Kroc (memorably played by Michael Keaton in the film The Founder), this is a story of the wholesale repackaging of a global culinary journey into an “American icon,” served with fries and a Coke.
Let’s rewind.
The hamburger didn’t start in America. Sorry, freedom fries. Its ancestry includes ancient Roman “isicia omentata” (minced pork with wine and fish sauce, wrapped in caul fat) and a few medieval meat rissoles—basically the artisanal sliders of the 10th Century.
By the 1600s, Germans were pan-frying “frikadelle,” and the Brits were busy stuffing minced meat into toast and calling it “Hamburgh sausage.” Meanwhile, the Georgians were quietly inventing ketchup, which would eventually become the one true faith of condiment theology.
Fast forward to the 19th Century, when German immigrants hauled their Hamburg-style beef across the Atlantic and into the ports of New York. American menus obliged with “Hamburg steaks”—sometimes raw, sometimes fried and often prescribed by doctors, who were just beginning their long tradition of giving terrible diet advice. One Dr. James H. Salisbury suggested we cook these patties for better digestion. Thus: Salisbury steak. A dish that continues to live on in TV dinners.
The hamburger’s big break came when someone—no one can agree who—had the radical idea to stick the patty between two pieces of bread. Was it restaurateur Charles “Hamburger Charlie” Nagreen in Wisconsin? The Menches brothers in New York? Fletcher Davis in Texas? Louis Lassen in Connecticut? Pick an origin myth. They’re all trying to solve the same mystery: how something so simple could become so culturally omnivorous.
Technology helped. The invention of the meat grinder meant more people could afford to eat chopped meat without having to wield a cleaver. Railroads and refrigerator cars turned cattle into cargo. And Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle freaked everyone out just enough to demand cleaner meat, but not enough to stop eating it.
Enter White Castle. Founded in 1921 by a fry cook and a real estate agent (how American is that?), White Castle decided the way to sell the public on ground beef again was through aggressive hygiene and onion-smothered sliders. They invented the sack lunch. They perforated their patties for optimal steam. They looked like porcelain sanitariums for tiny square burgers. It worked.
Then McDonald’s showed up, took one look at the system and franchised the hell out of it. Cue the golden arches, the Big Mac, the Quarter-Pounder and the global burger monoculture. Meanwhile, the hamburger became a culinary canvas: ketchup, mustard, pickles, lettuce, tomato, bacon, cheese, truffle aioli, gold leaf, foie gras—whatever fits between the buns.
And that’s where we are now: a world in which one can eat a burger made of wagyu beef in Tokyo or kangaroo in Queensland. A tasty paradox: something that began as working-class fare now serves as both punchline and platform for haute cuisine.
So this week, as one samples their way through the Bay Area’s burger creations, whether it’s the blue plate special from a roadhouse or a meticulously curated brioche-bunned art piece, remember: the hamburger contains multitudes—Ancient Rome, industrial America, roadside diners and global empire—sometimes topped with cheese.
Bay Area Burger Week runs June 18-29. Download the Burger Week app for Apple and Android devices at wklys.co/burgers to check in, rate meals, post photos and win a burger, plus find additional participating restaurants around the Bay and in Santa Cruz County.
