monsoonmartin

Me and my homegirls were just embarking on a leisurely day of shopping, camaraderie, and wanton double-entendre when I broached the topic of lunch. It had been decided that we would dine at the Cracker Barrel—a determination that aroused in me great excitement, for the C.B. has some of the finest burgers I have ever enjoyed: hearty and succulent without fail. As I exited the Route 30 East bypass to access the Lincoln Highway and eventually the Cracker Barrel at the Rockvale Outlets, my backseat passenger gesticulated wildly and cried out, “Five Guys!” Now, in her condition, Megan has been saying all kinds of crazy shit lately, so sometimes we just ignore her—but there was a quality to her voice that we dared not disregard.

[An important aside here: Yes, the “condition” to which I referred above is the condition of pregnancy. She has—as has been said cheerily by someone who has likely never given birth—a roomer in the womber. A bun in the oven. She’s eating for two. In fact, our petite friend has been so ravenously hungry during the first stages of her pregnancy that we have taken to calling her the Snackasaurus. So voracious and unquenchable is her appetite that she once pitifully toted a bag containing the salty, shard-like remnants of Pringles Minis to sustain her through a ten-minute faculty meeting.

Megan’s offspring, whose gender is as yet undetermined, has completed roughly one-third of his or her gestation period, and is expected to enter the world fully formed sometime in early September. Her pregnancy has thus far been an utter delight, as has she, and she has embraced her changing body and the creature’s relentless siphoning of her nutrients and energy with utter enthusiasm and composure. She was not even bothered one iota by the constant feeling of profound nausea that marked her entire first trimester. In fact, she began to welcome her daily cafeteria duty as an orgy of olfactory and aural pleasures: the smell of “tater tots and despair” (W. Greenleaf) brings only a broad smile to the glowing face of this diminutive soon-to-be mother. On more than a few occasions, we have had to ask Megan to stop singing or whistling “Zip-A-Dee-Do-Dah!” because she’s just too goddamned chipper about it all.

In all seriousness (a phrase I loathe, but I mean it, because I’m going to stop being facetious and say something sincere), we love Megan and know that she’ll get through the remainder of her pregnancy just fine. And I will be privileged to announce the birth of the child in this forum when it occurs, along with all the quantitative information that is typically demanded of such a messenger.]

That was a hell of an aside, but it’s one that needed to be made. So Megan explained that she’d been to a Five Guys restaurant in the Horsham area (near where she’s from) several times and that she found their burgers to be outstanding. Since I am on a perpetual mission to find the perfect burger (as I discussed in an earlier post), that was all I needed to hear; I cried, “I’ve never had Five Guys!”, undertook some fancy driving maneuvers and we made our way back to Five Guys.

Five Guys Burgers and Fries is a franchised establishment located at 2090 Lincoln Highway (in the East Towne Plaza) in Lancaster, across from the Howard Johnson’s. The hours of operation are straightforward, dependable, and generous: 11am to 10pm every day of the week.

When we walked in the joint, I was immediately impressed by Five Guys’ apparently absolute lack of pretension. Though it was evident from the color scheme and decorative flourishes that the restaurant was trying to evoke in its customers a sort of nostalgia for the roadside burger stands and soda fountains of a bygone era, all links to this era were made subtly: the walls were not cluttered with 1957 Chevy tail fins, 45-rpm records, or pictures of Lucille Ball and Elvis Presley. The workers were not costumed in smart, red-and-white striped shirts and white pants with little paper hats. Bill Haley and the Comets were not playing on the sound system.

Five Guys’ décor is refreshingly understated and uncluttered. The walls are decorated with the company’s signature red-and-white checkerboard pattern and posted in the windows are quotations from a variety of sources praising Five Guys’ burgers.

Two- and four-person tables with pull-out chairs are scattered throughout the clean, pleasantly-lighted (with environmentally-friendly fluorescent bulbs) seating area, which is punctuated by a few shelving units holding bulk-sized food-service containers of mayonnaise, ketchup, and other burger essentials. And no pictures of the food confront the customer, arousing in him or her unrealistic expectations about the plumpness, freshness, or presentation of the victuals that may ultimately go unrequited.

The front counter is mesmerizing in its simplicity: One orders on the left side and picks up (when called) on the right side, each of which is clearly marked. The menu—a large, clear, easy-to-read painted board suspended from the ceiling behind the counter—is an oasis of minimalism in a helter-skelter world that overwhelms us to near-paralysis with its obscenely myriad choices for the most mundane of items. The menu contains fifteen items, including famous burgers with various toppings, “little” burgers (a single, smaller patty), hot dogs with various toppings, and famous fries in regular or large size; drinks come at a fixed price, for which the customer is given a cup and set free to imbibe as much of the Coca-Cola products he or she can vend out of the self-service fountain dispenser.

(Compare this fifteen-item menu with that of Cracker Barrel, which has more than 60 items without even counting beverages or desserts; or even with Crest toothpaste, which sells 24 different products at a recent unscientific survey of two local supermarkets.)

Furthermore, there are as many toppings as menu items—ranging from mayonnaise, pickles and lettuce to jalapenos and hot sauce—and not only are they absolutely free of charge, but they are not added to the burger unless the customer asks.

(One of my pet peeves as a restaurant patron and inveterate fussypants is the wanton and careless making of assumptions by chefs and waitstaff regarding what I might want. Why is it standard practice to place a lemon wedge at the top of a glass of water? I asked for water, not lemon-flavored water with a lemon seed and some pulp floating around in it. And why have you placed my cheesecake slice on top of a bed of raspberry sauce? Such a preparation was not specified on the menu. In your chef’s ham-fisted attempts at fanciness, I am now saddled with competing flavors when endeavoring to enjoy this most sacred of desserts. I could go on.)

And finally, the detail that won my heart before I ever took a bite: between the ordering counter and seating area are stacked fifty-pound bags of potatoes that have been hand-selected for Five Guys; a small chalkboard propped up next to the counter announces the origin of the potatoes that are being used to make the fries. (During our meal, one of the staff at Five Guys actually came out, muscled one of the eight-or-so bags off the pile, and carried it back to the kitchen to be used in the making of more delicious famous fries!)

It was time to step up to the counter and make my decision. Luckily, my two dining companions made their selections before me, so I had plenty of time to peruse the menu and arrive at the most prudent course of action. Since I knew I would be reviewing the burger here, I thought basic was best: I ordered the Bacon Cheeseburger (which consists of two 3.3-pound patties, with bacon and cheese), regular-size fries, and a Coke. The grand total was a little pricey—more than $9 including tax—but far more important to me than price is value, and that would be the critical barometer.

After waiting for about six minutes for my number to be called, I was presented with a grease-stained, blank paper bag that presumably contained the food I had ordered. My dining companions and I eagerly emptied our bags, bursting with anticipation and the thrill of discovery, and unwrapped the burgers.

The Fries

Five Guys’ “famous fries” are cooked in peanut oil and have no cholesterol, according to the menu, so at least there’s that—although let’s be honest here: if you’re eating at Five Guys, you’re throwing dietary caution to the wind to a great extent. Each of us got a regular order of fries, and each of us pulled out of our bags an overflowing stand-up container about the size of a soda can. Inside the bag were many more fries—at least enough to have filled the container to about half its capacity when it had been emptied. The fries were plentiful, but were they any good?

My friends, they were magnificent. Now, if you’re looking for golden-brown fries in the fast-food tradition, or the steak fries one might find at Cracker Barrel, you will be disappointed. These fries, many of which have potato skins still attached, are crispy on the outside, and nice and chewy on the inside—kind of like the fries you might find at a carnival presented in a paper cup with a picture of fries ringing its exterior, or even at the Solanco Fair. In keeping with the Five Guys atmosphere and straightforward methodology, the fries were not seasoned with any paprika or rosemary, not sprinkled with Cajun spices, not beer-battered and honey-cured. They were sliced and expertly cooked, and presented to my grateful and welcoming palate. Below, a delirious Megan takes an approving bite of a Five Guys fry.

While conducting research for this post, I came across a review of a new Five Guys by the restaurant critic for a television news program in Charlotte, NC; it describes the almost sacrosanct process used to make the fries, and the glorious end product:

First the crew blanches the prepared potatoes by dipping them into a pot of boiling water for a minute or so and then rinsing them with an ice water bath. The blanching process removes any excess water from the potato, which results in a more golden and crispier outside edge to the fried potato. After blanching, the preboiled potatoes are allowed to rest. Next, potatoes are deep-fried to order in 100 percent peanut oil. The end result is what many refer to as “boardwalk fries,” long but thick-cut potatoes that are crispy on the outside with the soft, warm consistency of a baked potato on the inside.

The Beverages

As noted above, the self-service fountain dispenser offers an impressive array of Coca-Cola products. I had regular Coca-Cola and found it to be outstanding in the freshness of its ingredients and the proper admixture of its component parts: not too much fizz, not too much syrup. Below, Wendi signals her enthusiastic approval of her beverage.

The “free refills” feature was well appreciated, too, as copious amounts of liquids were needed to wash down all the delectable meat and potatoes I’d consumed—but then, I’m getting ahead of myself.

The Burger

It was time for my first bite of a Five Guys burger—a moment that was captured for posterity by Megan and appears in the photograph below.

If it is indeed possible to feel love for one’s lunch—if genuine affection can develop between a man and his sustenance, even as he consumes it—then I loved this burger. (There, I’ve said it!) It brought me intense gratification while I knew it; it held wondrous surprises; I was disappointed when it came to an end; and I suffered no ill effects from the relationship. It was, in two words, gustatory perfection.

Allow me to describe the assembly of the burger from the bottom up, since I am fond of the notion of proletarian revolution. First, the bottom of the lightly-grilled bun (which I will describe later); then, the bacon, which was crisp and fresh; then, a hamburger patty; then liberally applied cheese slices; then another hamburger patty; then still more cheese; and the masterpiece was finished off by the lightly-grilled bun-top. The location of the bacon underneath the patties—as well as the presence of the cheese in between as well as on top of the patties—were agreeable variations and showed real ingenuity while working within the confines of acceptable burger construction.

The buns are baked by Five Guys specially for their burgers and dogs, and though I usually eschew sesame seed rolls, this one caused me no consternation whatsoever. In fact, Megan observed that one almost does not really notice the bun—which is, I think, one of the signs of an outstanding hamburger roll. It exists to protect the diner’s hands from becoming soiled with cheese and hamburger grease and to contribute the mildest starchy note to finish off the symphony of flavor; but if it is noticed readily, it means either that it’s too thick, too unwieldy, or that is has impertinently asserted itself too insistently, subsuming the burger-intake process.

I was carried away by a harmonious blend of burgerlicious taste sensations: the sliced cheese, its edges poking out the four sides of the round bun, melted just enough to coat the burger patties with savory goodness; the burger itself was well-done but still gratifyingly juicy; the bacon was crisp, flavorful, and in generous supply; and as mentioned above, the bun pulled it all together unobtrusively but most assuredly. And of no small concern to a persnickety clean-freak like me, despite its juiciness, burger grease and/or cheese did not drip once from the bottom of the burger when I took a bite—unlike, say, Cracker Barrel.

As described on the store’s menu, website, and in various interviews with the store’s founders, Five Guys uses fresh—“never frozen”—ground beef in an 80-20 mix (that’s 80% lean USDA Grade A beef), which is hand-formed into patties each morning by the store’s staff. There is no skimping on the ingredients or toppings at Five Guys, and its founder has what has been described as a “fanatical” approach to the quality of foods—buns, cheese, potatoes, hamburger, etc.—that make up his finished products.

Founded in 1986 in Arlington, VA by Janie and Jerry Murrell, Five Guys began with the simple premise that if they did one thing, and did it well, people would come. The straightforwardness of its business approach is crystallized in Five Guys’ elegantly stated mission: “We are in the business of selling burgers.” By extension, they’re not in the business of creating a holistic dining experience; they’re not in the business of offering a staggering array of unnecessary choices; they’re not in the business of including cheap plastic crap from the latest Disney movie in their meals. They’re in the business of selling burgers. (The grace, the uncomplicated conviction of that statement damn near makes me want to cry.)

Five Guys—named after the Murrells’ five sons Jim, Matt, Chad, Ben and Tyler, whose ages now range from early twenties to early forties and all of whom have all been involved in the family business to one degree or another—had expanded to five family-run locations in the DC-northern Virginia region by 2002. Shortly thereafter, Five Guys decided to franchise and today there are more than 200 franchises operating in 23 states—mostly on the east coast—with hundreds more franchisees planning to open additional locations in the next two years. In short, Five Guys is planning to take the culinary world by storm.

In this area, Five Guys can be enjoyed at locations in Allentown, Bala Cynwyd, Harrisburg, Philadelphia (at 1527 Chestnut Street), York, and of course Lancaster. According to Megan, who has had Five Guys many times in the Horsham area, the quality is consistently outstanding from one location to another.

Five Guys Burgers and Fries makes one of the two or three best hamburgers I have ever had the pleasure to send down my gullet. As we left the restaurant, quite satiated, we noticed a corkboard by the door with index cards onto which patrons could record their comments and impressions of the place. So overcome by the experience was I that all I could muster—nattering, long-winded wordsmith that I am—was: “Yum!”

“I took all that Five Guys had to offer,” I said on my way out to the car, “and I’m definitely coming back for more!” Next time, I’ve got a hankering to try their hot dogs.

Monsoon

[A concluding note: in my mission to find the perfect burger, I would welcome your tips as to where—within a reasonable radius of northern Lancaster County, maybe 40 miles—I might next visit to continue in this quest. Feel free to drop me an email and let me know about your perfect burger.]