I love hamburgers. I love the heavy metal and gourmet experiments of Kuma’s Corner in Chicago. I love the open-faced and gravy-smothered versions at Murphy’s in Bartlesville. I love the workmanlike and dependable bag of burgers at Braum’s. And Tulsa, being a fractal reflection of my own desires and shortcomings, loves hamburgers as well, with about 420 hamburger joints in total, or 69 shops per square mile.
Spike Whirley, leader of “Party Doom” metal band Dust Lord, puts it succinctly: “Tulsa is a burger-eating MF’r.” His Instagram handle is @the_jamburgalar, so I wouldn’t question his authority.
On the subject of burger authority, I am one. I won a prestigious journalism award for writing about Tulsa’s Lot-A-Burgers. (I can’t remember which award, though. Just trust me.) And my recent review of a new Lot-A for The Pickup was received well enough that they’ve asked me to profile Tulsa burger stops indefinitely.
Though I love burgers of all kinds, this debut installment will rightfully explore the humble yet GOATed Okie burger: a patty smashed over thin onions and served with cheese. First We Feast contributor and “burger scholar” George Motz lists Oklahoma as the “buckle” in America’s burger belt, and our classic onion burgers are the reason why. In the words of Oliver Montego (of Philadelphia’s pop punk rockers The Superweaks), with whom I shared a Bill’s burger back in the day:
Okie burgers opened a door to burgers I didn’t know about. Putting onions on a griddle and then pressing a patty over them is simple but sick. High heat and rendered fat quickly bring out the goodness of the onion. Of course [this burger] came from poor people, cuz poor people make the best shit out of the least. Onion burgers should be a staple in the U.S., not just Oklahoma.
I visited five places to stack up their offerings. I ordered a double meat, double cheese, and onions on all for consistency, and rated the places solely on their burgers, not their sides.
Brownie’s
First up was Brownie’s Hamburgers on Harvard. Brownie’s is a beloved Tulsa institution that’s kept its kitschy diner vibe since opening in 1956. Known for their homemade root beer and pies, Brownie’s also serves full diner breakfasts, chili, and navy beans alongside their titular sandwich. It’s easy to see why their root beers and pies are what people think of first. The root beer was most likely the best I’ve ever had. The chocolate meringue pie was revelatory.
Their smothered onion burger unfortunately pales in comparison. Don’t get me wrong: it's a fine hamburger in a charming diner, but the “smothering” refers to gobs of American cheese, not fried onions as I expected. The cheese becomes the dominating flavor on a standard “family reunion” kind of burger. But, like, cooked by your uncle who got kicked in the head by a horse, instead of your dad.
Rating: 2/5 Gilliams
Bill’s Jumbo Burgers
Before deleting the Facebook app, I spent an embarrassing amount of time being a dick in the Piso’s Tulsa Food Reviews comment section. If I wasn’t trolling boomers about their views on tipping, I was exalting the glory of Bill’s Jumbo Burgers. But glory can fade, so I had to return to assess its current state.
Bill’s is tiny. Bill’s is cash only. Bill’s is only open when they feel like it. And Bill’s is worth any of those inconveniences.
I ordered my double-double onions fried and fought for shoulder room on a stool at their service counter while they conferred with the burger saints. A gentleman noticed me snapping photos of the random Christian missives, truck stop coyote art, and Dale Earnhardt memorabilia on the walls. “I’ve been coming here since ‘73,” he told me. “Some people say that place in Mother Road is the best, or Hank’s, but”—he dramatically paused while shaking his head and pointing to the floor—“it’s right here.”
And it indeed is.
Their burger is every bit as good as the one at the legendary Sid’s Diner in El Reno, which is ground zero for the Okie onion burger. I’m not sure if it’s the seasoning of Bill’s ancient flat top, the secret simple burger seasoning that has the umami richness of MSG, or help from the Messiah extolled on their walls, but Bill’s Okie burger is perfect. It has strength. It bites back. Every ingredient is necessary. It transforms America’s ubiquitous staple into a spiritual experience worthy of the Sistine friggin’ Chapel.
Rating: 5/5 Gilliams
Ron’s Hamburgers and Chili
Ron’s is an Oklahoma institution with multiple locations spanning from OKC to Wagoner, and as the name suggests, they serve more than burgers. I usually order one of their freaky burgers, like the one with ham on it, or their Frankenstein’s sausage burger Monster … with chili, of course. But for the sake of this piece I finally ordered a standard double-double-onions with everything, and oh man: it was exceptional.
Take everything I said about Bill’s, but dial back the modesty. Ron’s burger is slutty. There is a beautiful stateliness to the Bill’s composition: the bun is dry, but fluffy, with a little crunchiness from the griddle and moisture from the onions, condiments, and veggies. But Ron’s is slathered in gooey cheese, and greasy, and wet.
Bill’s is still a holy affair, but a Red Light District Ron’s burger is stiff competition.
Rating: 4.75/5 Gilliams
Hank’s
Hank’s is basically the east side Bill’s, with Hank being Bill’s brother and all. It’s fantastic, but I’ve always felt some of the Bill’s magic is missing. For due diligence I had Hank’s for dinner on the day of Bill’s lunch, and behold: I was correct. If you live or work on the east side, like my buddy Zeb who eats Hank’s three times a week, you can’t go wrong.
If you live by Bill’s and go out of your way for Hank’s, you blew it.
Rating: 4/5 Gilliams
Howdy Burger
Originally the “place in Mother Road Market” mentioned by the Bill’s prophet, Howdy now has a freestanding location in the old Lot-A-Burger by Hillcrest. A McNellie’s property, Howdy Burger is modern, with a wagyu burger option and something called rodeo sauce. But more importantly, they revere the Okie burger enough to make it well.
My burger was incredible: perfectly smashed thin with a caramel crunchiness on the patty’s edges. The meat was so expertly seasoned, smashed, and grilled that I forgot to really analyze the rodeo sauce. Maybe it’s like Big Mac or Braum’s sauce, but it was certainly complementary and didn’t intrude on the burger perfection. I feel like I cheated for this piece a little, in that their onions weren’t fried but instead sliced paper thin into translucent onion shoestrings, with a crisp and refreshing crunch and pop of brightness against the burger’s richness. I know I said that I don’t care about sides in these adjudications, but their fries were a high-quality rendition of McDonald's standard-bearing frites.
Rating: 4.25/5 Gilliams
Every place here is worth a visit for its own reasons, even if Brownie’s burgers aren’t on the same level as their confections. Ted’s in Easton Heights earns an honorable mention, with a decent-to-good burger but chicken and catfish worth the gas money. But Bill’s remains undefeated in my book.
Tulsa’s burger scene is massive, rich with lore, and worth exploring. This isn’t even close to an exhaustive list of spots for Okie burgers, which I will dutifully devour for you in the future, dear reader, along with fancy restaurant burgers, taco truck burgers, and the weird stuff that pushes the limits of burgerdom. Stay hungry, and keep on burgin’.
