Hamburger America (46 page)

The menu is not limited to burgers and offers a vast selection of diner favorites, all of it homemade from the freshest ingredients. In 2008 Greg opened a second Stanley’s in downtown Providence, a larger version of the original. Not surprisingly, the new location is also an amazing example of ’30s/’40s retro design and he obviously spared no expense.

I was stunned at how spotless Stanley’s was. “We keep it clean!” Nancy told me. Greg bought the restaurant in 1987 from the Kryla family, renovated, and renovated again in 2002. Polish immigrant Stanley Kryla opened the burger counter back in 1932 in the early days of the Depression. Most burger joints failed during this time in American history and if they didn’t, they were wiped out by meat rationing during World War II. It’s a miracle that Stanley’s survived. “In 1932 the burger at Stanley’s was 5 cents, can you imagine?” Greg told me. “And they made money!”

 

 

J
ust up the hill on Main Street in Greenville, South Carolina where the high-rises give way to trees and homes, I discovered an excellent spot to enjoy a Southern favorite—the “Pimento Cheeseburger.”

Longtime owner of 41 years Jim DeYoung was looking to retire, and sold the shop to a lawyer with an office just 20 feet away named Catherine Christophillis. A few years later, she sold it to one of Jim’s friends, Iris Hood-Bell, in 2009. I was sitting at Jim’s round table once (that the former owner installed for daily visits with his friends) when Jim told me, “I wanted to sell the shop to someone who would keep everything almost the same.” That sounds like a simple request, except that just about every square inch of the Northgate is covered in four decades of collectibles. It resembles an antique shop that happens to have a soda fountain, with signed 8 x 10s, extensive bottle, can, and cigar box collections, beer and soda neon, a vintage Ex-Lax sign, and an impressive church fan collection. This is the real deal—no fake made-in-China
reproduction crap here. When Catherine bought the shop, she bought the stuff too. “Where was I going to put it?” Jim said of his antiques. “It belongs here anyway.” And when Iris bought Northgate, the stuff was again part of the deal.

The menu at the Northgate is classic soda shop diner fare—tuna, peanut butter and jelly, hot dogs, grilled cheese, and egg sandwiches, but the big seller is their fantastic Pimento Cheeseburger.

“You’ll either love it or hate it,” longtime waitress Brenda warned me before I bit into my burger. I have to admit I had never had one, even though my mother is from South Carolina. Fortunately, I fall into the “love it” category.

The pimento cheese for the Northgate’s sandwiches and burgers is a tangy mix of mayo, cheddar, and diced pimentos. “We make it right here, fresh every day,” former waitress Maudie told me once of the over 40-year-old recipe. The beef is also fresh, picked up daily from a butcher just up Main Street (this fact is also proudly announced on the menu, complete with the butcher’s name and address).

The burger starts as fresh ground beef that is pressed in a vintage burger press. The press produces a three-and-a-half ounce patty that is cooked on a flattop griddle. The burger comes to you on a toasted bun with tomato, lettuce, and a large dollop of pimento cheese. I also had a
cherry smash, a drink made from cherry syrup and soda water, dispensed from the Northgate’s venerable soda fountain. A few years ago, Jim’s cherry syrup supplier stopped making the syrup, so he started making it himself. “I found some extract so we started making it in-house.”

Today, Iris’s husband, Ren, works at Northgate and nothing has changed much since the days when Jim owned the soda fountain. “Same burgers, same sodas, same butcher.” And Jim still comes in to hang out at his round table. Ren told me, “He’s here every day!”

 

 

I
swear I drove by the place five times before accidentally turning into the parking lot. There are no signs of life from the street side of the Rockaway Athletic Club, an imposing brick structure with armored windows. As I was pulling out of the lot after checking the map, I noticed a small piece of cardboard by a back door with the words BOILED PEANUTS TONIGHT scrawled in black Sharpie. I figured this must be the place.

“We’ve always been sort of low key,” part owner Forest Whitlark said, describing the 29-year-old hang out in this quiet neighborhood in Columbia. The fortress-like building is a somewhat recent addition in the history of The Rockaway. “The original burned to the ground,” Forest told me. In 2002, it was the victim of a faulty air conditioner. The Rockaway opened in 1982 by brothers Paul and Forest Whitlark and friend David Melson. The original bar occupied three storefronts of a 1940s strip mall at the same location. My guess is that when they rebuilt they wanted to make sure that the Rockaway could withstand anything.

I was there to sample their often talked about “Pimento Cheeseburger” (pronounced “pimena” in these parts). The Rockaway Pimento Cheeseburger has so much gooey cheese on it that it’s almost impossible to pick up. Fortunately the burger comes cut in half, and each half has a large toothpick to keep the contents together. The second you pull the toothpick, hold on as the contents have a tendency to slip and slide.

Pimento cheese is a Southern staple and is traditionally made with only three ingredients—cheddar cheese, mayonnaise, and diced pimentos. In his book
Hamburgers & Fries
, burger scholar John T. Edge points out that the marriage of pimento cheese to the burger may have actually happened in Columbia by J.C. Reynolds at the now-defunct Dairy Bar. I believe the claim. There are more pimento cheeseburgers available in this town than anywhere else on the planet.

The burgers at Rockaway start as eight-ounce handformed patties of fresh ground chuck. They are cooked on a flattop and the large seeded buns
are warmed nearby on the griddle until they are soft as a pillow. In keeping with tradition, Rockaway only uses the three basic ingredients to make their pimento cheese and it’s amazing. If you’re not too pimentoed out, the Rockaway also offers a plate of fries with a copious amount of hot pimento cheese dumped on top.

In 2005, George W. Bush visited Rockaway on a swing through South Carolina. He ordered two burgers and two pimento cheese fries to go, then made a point to shake a few hands. Forest remembered, “I think he spoke to everyone in here.” A comfortable bar will do that to you.

Rockaway is huge. With the University of South Carolina only 5 minutes away with its 30,000 students, it’s a good thing they have a capacity of almost 300. There are booths and tables everywhere, an air hockey table, a pool table, and a very long bar.

So if you can actually find the Rockaway and make it through the throngs of students, you will be rewarded with a great pimento cheeseburger. The Rockaway Athletic Club did not invent the pimento cheeseburger but they are doing something just as important: perpetuating a great Southern food tradition.

 

 

O
n a corner in the heart of downtown Sioux Falls (which is in the midst of a revitalization) sits the tiny Hamburger Inn. It is a classic ’30s burger joint specimen—eleven stools, a single counter, minimal menu, and a griddle in the front window. When I visited, the small TV on the wall was tuned to
The Price Is Right
and the first customer of the day was a blind regular who found his stool without help. This is my kind of place.