The Meat of the Matter

When we set out to find the best burger in Nashville, we knew it would be a physical undertaking, if only because digesting all that cow would tax even the most athletic colon.

But nobody expected the Great Burger Challenge to be such a head game.

Imagine 10 overly opinionated people debating what makes a burger good. Is it the beef? The bun? The condiments? The restaurant environment? The level of intoxication? The hour? The price?

You might as well ask what makes America good. Surely the essence of burger is linked to unique personal experience—Friday in the school cafeteria, a childhood visit to A&W, Dad’s Brillo patties from the backyard Weber. Such existentialist thinking likely prompted author Calvin Trillin to say that anyone who doesn’t think that the best hamburger comes from his own hometown is a sissy.

Furthermore, imagine that same dogmatic group clambering for consensus over what actually constitutes a burger in the first place: Cheese? Bacon? Mayo? Does it have to have a bun? Can it be on French bread? Rare, medium or well done?

And, of course, there was the matter of contenders. With hundreds of burgers available across Nashville, who would get a berth in the Great Burger Challenge?

For a few days, we kept a running list of burgers we really like. There were some unlikely choices and there were some omissions, but no suggestion was rejected, with the exception of the obsolete McDLT and various veggie burgers. (To paraphrase Trillin, anyone who doesn’t think the best hamburger comes from a cow is a sissy.)

Eventually, we drafted a list of 16 much-loved contenders. To put the burgers on equal footing—i.e., to eliminate variables such as condiments, environment and intoxication—we ordered them all medium, with “The Works.” (If given a choice of cheese, we picked cheddar.) Then, sober and armed with debit cards and portable angioplasty kits, we set out across town to collect and deliver the burgers to the Scene’s conference room at high noon.

As we rooted through grease-stained bags and squeaky Styrofoam containers of silver-wrapped burgers, a few early leaders emerged. There was the Ombi burger, whose charismatic combination of posh condiments earned it the moniker Obama Burger. And there was the unpretentious Edgefield specimen, dubbed the HuckaBurger, because, like former Arkansas Gov. Mike Huckabee, it seemed to come out of nowhere.

There were some surprises: Rotier’s, Bobbie’s Dairy Dip and Brown’s Diner all fell into the unremarkable pile, perhaps illustrating the importance of restaurant ambiance in the overall burger experience. (Or maybe we just caught them on an off day.) The Palm’s burger was an expensive disappointment, and, well, nobody really liked Cheeseburger Charley’s.

Wading through the beef and bread, we isolated the following characteristics of good burgers:

Variety of color: An all-brown burger—even if it comprises delicious brown bacon and brown caramelized onions—is boring. Lettuce, tomato and yellow cheese are there for a reason.

Crisp lettuce: The lettuce leaf’s role is texture, and since arugula, frisée and prissy micro-greens can’t stand the heat, stick with an unpretentious frond of iceberg or romaine.

Element of surprise: A burger is a commodity combination of—cue the music—all-beef patties, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame-seed bun. So if at least one aspect is exceptional or unexpected (think wasabi mayo, bacon aioli, homemade pickles and kick-ass bacon), the sandwich can really stand out.

Manageability: If you can’t fit your chops around a burger and its components in one bite, some portion of the sandwich invariably will land on your body—in which case the burger will taste unbalanced, and you will look like a slob. Unless you use a fork, in which case you will look like a tool.

Taking into consideration these and many other data, including which burgers were devoured immediately and which ones made it to the leftovers free-for-all in the break room, we whittled the Sweet 16 down to five superior contenders: Ombi, PM, Radius10, Edgefield Sports Bar & Grill and Five Guys Burgers and Fries. (See sidebars for details of all burgers.)

Over a couple of days, we brought the burgers back for follow-up tastings. Much to our surprise, Ombi fell out of the running when our revisit fell far short of the expectations set in the primary. With four burgers left in the competition, we found ourselves drawing lines between the Classics (Edgefield and Five Guys) and the Newcomers (PM and Radius10), which added gourmet embellishments to the standard burger trappings.

We selected finalists from both categories. PM took the Newcomer honors, while Edgefield nosed out Five Guys for the Classic title. We unanimously agreed that Radius10 beat out Five Guys for third place. That left the final cut between the spicy, unconventional PM burger—peppered with zingy Asian spices and laced with wasabi mayo—and the all-American burger’s burger from Edgefield, comfortably cushioned in a soft sesame bun and generously lubricated with mayo.