I Drove 47 Minutes For A Smash Burger. Worth It.
A tiny counter-service spot with four tables, no website, and a burger that has been living in my head since Tuesday.
There is a certain kind of restaurant that does not want to be found. No website. A Facebook page last updated during a different presidential administration. Hours that are more of a suggestion.
This is that place, and the smash burger is absurd.
The patty gets pressed thin onto a screaming flat top, the edges go lacy and brown, and they stack two of them with American cheese on a squishy potato bun. That is the whole trick. No aioli. No brioche. No truffle anything.
The fries are hand cut and slightly uneven, which is how you know a person made them.
Would I drive 47 minutes again? I already did. Twice.
Want to see what I do next?
Probably food. Maybe a building. Possibly something stupid.