Hudson’s burger is a bite of perfection

“Totally overrated,” reads a user-contributed review of Hudson’s Hamburgers posted recently on Yahoo.com. “Can’t get lettuce or tomato on the burger, they don’t have French fries, and good luck getting a seat. The burger itself is good but nothing to write home about.”

Naturally, it didn’t take long for a hardcore Huddy Burger fan to come along and issue a terse comeback. “People like you would never understand the concept of tradition. 15 bar stools and the truth is all anyone needs to know about the best Hamburger joint in the United States – bless the Hudson family for keeping it going for over 100 years and letting us all enjoy!”

The Hudson’s experience is a bit like old-timey blues or country music: Some really get into it, and some just don’t appreciate its history and raw, essential simplicity. Obviously, the majority of local old-timers (of all ages) fall into the former category, and some are viciously defensive and/or completely obsessive about the landmark burger stand that has attracted national attention in publications like Sunset and USA Today.

To be fair, folks accustomed to more contemporary, chain-style burgeries have a somewhat legitimate gripe. Without a pile of greasy fried potatoes or onions, a burger can seem lonely. Without layers of exotic toppings like avocado, goat cheese, and fois gras, a burger can seem as naked as Miss March. In a world of T.G.I. Friday’s, Applebee’s and Red Robin with its “bottomless fries,” a simple burger a la carte might cause the typical diner to feel like something was amiss.

Ask any Hudson’s regular.

No one even slightly notices the absence of fries, frou-frou side salads or bizarre toppings. In fact, mention any of these things inside the place, and you’re liable to be on the blunt end of a few stone-cold death glares.

Why distract from perfection? A Huddy burger is uncomplicated, iconic, handed down like a symbol of local pride from generation to generation since 1907. It comes in four varieties: single, double, single with cheese and double with cheese. Onion and pickles are the only garnish options, sliced fresh per order right there at the grill. Hudson’s trademark spicy ketchup and mustard should be applied in generous doses, and a fountain Pepsi in a tiny glass is the only way to chase it down.

Homemade pie is displayed in the minicooler and is probably incredible, but I’ve never had room for dessert. For oddballs inexplicably uninterested in America’s best burger, there are the options of ham, egg, or ham and egg sandwiches. But why?

Also, Hudson’s is possibly the last place on Earth where one can order a nice, thick glass of buttermilk. But why?

I most recently popped into Hudson’s with a friend on a frigid afternoon around 3:30, hoping that the lateness of the hour would mean the lunch masses had gone bye-bye, and that we’d actually be able to nab a couple of stools right away. We crept by in the car, realizing there was still a line out the door. That’s not necessarily a surprise, since Hudson’s is invariably packed from open to close daily. Even in the gray nightmare slowdown of winter, Hudson’s is off-the-charts busy.

We decided to kill some time by meandering through the retail ghost town known as the Resort Plaza Shops. There’s almost nothing there of interest to men, although the endless pricey dress boutiques are heaven-sent for both golf-widow touristas and cross-dressers with expensive taste.

We checked out the newly-opened Bruttles candy store and the chatty clerk seemed delighted to finally see other human beings. She charmed me into purchasing a small box of their signature “soft peanut brittle,” and it is every bit as flaky and scrumptious as the name implies.

We made it to Hudson’s in ravenous form; mercifully we only had to wait about four minutes before a couple of stools opened up. If only those stools could talk, they’d tell ghastly, oppressive tales of 10,000 bottoms. Sitting atop a Hudson’s stool, one can feel the historic burger juju resonate up through the earth, through the stool and directly into the brain’s pleasure circuit.

We sat directly across from the grill, where Miss Tessa, spatula in hand, was doing whatever mystical thing it is they do to create such a consistently fine product. It could be the grill itself, seasoned with decades of love and soul, or it could be the beef, harvested locally and so fresh it was probably chewing its cud yesterday afternoon. No music played; the only sound was the polite murmur of the crowd and the saliva-inducing sizzle of the grill.

Despite the frenzied turnover of customers, the atmosphere of the place was surprisingly relaxed.

Wham! Burgers hit buns and suddenly they’re steaming in front of us. Condiments applied and extra napkins ready, we dug in. I was instantly reminded of why these are truly worth all the hype. The magic is in the rich, caramelized crispiness of the patty’s outer layer and the delicate, meaty inside. It’s in the sweet bang of the cheese and the dense power of the onion slice. It’s in the remarkable simplicity of the bun and in the piquant heat of the sauce. Even served plain, there’s something intangibly special that separates them from any other burger.

We ate in silence until Tessa returned, just in time to catch me with a couple of big crocodile tears rolling down my cheek. “It’s the onion and hot mustard,” I laughed, “but they could just as easily be tears of joy. It’s been way too long.”

“Wish I could say that,” she shot back, winking and rubbing her tummy.

“How could anyone get tired of these burgers?” I wondered aloud.

“You can’t,” she smiled. “That’s the problem. Just imagine working here…” For many Hudson’s fans, including myself, that’s a fantasy come true.