Local legend speaks to an ongoing burger battle in Cherokee County. I’d be sipping a gimlet at Chevelles, for example, and some guy would bluster that Burger Boy in Murphy sold the best hamburgers in the county. Then I would be slurping a three-olive martini at The Crown, where I’d overhear folks discussing the merits of Burger Basket in Andrews.
OK, twist my arm, Cherokee County, I’ll do it. I’m new in town and therefore unbiased. I’ll play the role of hamburger judge.
First, some parameters. I decided to examine each restaurant for atmosphere, service, cost and quality.
I went alphabetically, putting me first at Burger Basket on Main Street in Andrews. I arrived to find the muddy parking lot being treated as a contact sport. Several cars sat caddywhompas, overlapping the few spots available.
I spied a small one on the end and whipped in, only to be shamed by the “handicap parking” sign spotted through my windshield. By the time I five-point-turned around, a spot opened up, and I accelerated like a local to beat the SUV that was acting like a vulture nearby.
The building itself, a cheerful red with umbrella seating available off to the side, felt inviting. I could smell the grill before I even walked through a well-worn screen door. The place was packed, an excellent sign.
I needed time to acquaint myself with the menu.Unfortunately, the menu – a revolving electronic sign – displayed the menu then screen-changed to a commercial, then back to the menu in a dizzying merry-go-round kind of way. Eventually, I snapped a picture to use for reference.
At the window – a tiny little thing better suited to a dollhouse – a friendly woman leaned down and asked me what I wanted. I leaned down in response because, in addition to its miniature size, it was also positioned very low on the wall. This accounted for all the hunching over I witnessed while waiting.
I ordered the cheeseburger with a side of onion rings. Smiling, she asked if I wanted to go all the way. I bristled back a bit, looking around for clues to her meaning when she added, “Lettuce, tomato, mayo and onion.” Ah. Of course. No mayo or onion, thank you.
Then the crucial question floated up from the window: “How do you want it cooked?” I ordered medium rare, but that term is subjective, producing everything from a nearly raw hamburger to a dried patty of carbonized meat. She rang me up at $9.87.
I joined the clumps of people standing around the window and watched as several customers were served, curiously, through an actual door. “Why didn’t they just hand it over the counter like everybody else does?” I thought to myself. It was then I remembered that postage stamp-size window, and it all made sense.
Eventually, and quicker than I estimated, I was handed my white bag and opened it like a Christmas present. Oh, it smelled divine.
Inside were seven enormous onion rings and a glorious burger. The bun looked the size of a small dinner plate, and felt soft and inviting. I lifted the top to examine the real prize, the actual burger. It fitted the bun with perfection. Juice soaked into the bottom bun, and it smelled like every good thing that had ever happened to me in my life.
I bit in timidly, at first, but soon realized this beast needed to be tackled with confidence. My second bite landed me in the honey pot. The browned outer layer, once penetrated, revealed a soft pink interior burger that was juicy and aromatic.
A few days and pallet-cleansing cocktails later, I drove to Burger Boy on Andrews Road in Murphy. The ample and neatly paved parking lot instantly calmed me. They offered two front doors, which confused me; I chose the closest and found myself in a spacious, air-conditioned dining room. The tables sprawled out, with none of this huddling-around-a-window nonsense.
I found my way into the ordering/kitchen area, and once again was greeted by a long line. Excellent sign. Their menu mercifully didn’t blink but rather just hung there, all quiet and informative. The counter was standard, no walls or windows to shout through.
A young girl energetically greeted me, and I took her, “How are you today?” seriously. I felt she really wanted to know. I ordered an identical meal. She didn’t ask me any details, so I cautioned her with my “no mayo, no onion” standard and added the “medium rare” with emphasis. She didn’t acknowledge me, so I would have to trust she would key it in properly (she did). My total was $8.34.
I joined the others to wait, and perhaps because this place felt less homey than the other, it seemed to take a long time. Finally, my bag appeared, and it smelled inviting.
The onion rings, there must have been 10 of them in there, looked gorgeous. I bit into one and the onion was just soft enough, just sweet enough to cling to its battered outside. Very unlike the Burger Basket, where the onion slipped out of its fried shell, and drooped beside it like an underfed worm. Burger Boy’s onion rings crunched with every single bite. Outstanding.
Now to the prize. The bun was soft, but not warm. When I lifted the lid, the burger hid underneath like a child wearing an oversized coat.
I scooted it over to the outside of the bun, like moving a pitcher from the mound to first base and
took a bite. It was really tasty, bursting with flavor, but it was well done. The juices that stream from a
medium rare had been cooked out.
I’ll going back to Burger Boy, as the cook could have had off day and that burger had serious potential. Plus, those onion rings, oh my. However, for today, Burger Basket won my heart.
Abigail Hickman is a staff correspondent for the Cherokee Scout and fan of fresh-cooked hamburgers. Email her at abigailhickman44@gmail.com.