Five Tales That Reveal Not All Burgers Are Created Equal

When is a hamburger not a hamburger? As an American, reading Hamburger on a menu used to evoke only one image: about four ounces of ground beef flipped on a grill and served between two halves of a similar-size bun. All that changed when I left the US of A. Here are five tales that reveal not all burgers are created equal.

Canada

Slipping over the border into Vancouver, I discovered the Canadians refer to the sandwich as a hamburg, not a burger. In addition, the accent caught me off guard. Hmm? Isn’t a homburg a hat?

To the delight of my taste buds, the only real difference was that the meat patty contained a mixture of ground beef and pork. Enjoying each bite, I commended the Canadians for their unique way of preparing one of the favorite sandwiches of their southern neighbors. Accent and semantic differences aside, they served a fantastic sandwich.

Thus began my personal education on the many variations of the hamburger available around the globe.

Switzerland

Crossing the Atlantic, my host family in Lausanne took me to a restaurant that they knew I’d like because they served hamburgers. The menu said Hamburger with fries. The bunless burger was a real shock to my American sensitivities.

The old Wendy’s television commercial used to ask “Where’s the beef?” I found myself asking, “Where’s the bun?”

The puzzled expressions from the waitress and those dining with me, let me know that I, alone, expected a hamburger to be served on a bun. I reckon the Swiss folks also knew that the meat would be covered in a delicious sauce made with red wine, so it need not be included in the menu description.

The day my host family allowed me to make them an American hamburger lunch, I understood why no bun. One cannot underestimate the difficulty in eating an American hamburger with a knife and fork. Even so, the father of the family had a great attitude as he struggled through his first American meal—a one-time offering.

As of this writing, several Swiss restaurants do have the American-style hamburger on their menu. Just last February, my Swiss colleague’s nephew invited us to dinner at the Hockey Club. His aunt and I ate the burger with our hands, but the twenty-something used his knife and fork. What a scrumptious hamburger they served.

Israel

The hamburgers we ate in Jerusalem had Kosher meat patties. The meat had been washed seven times, so the taste changed a bit—not nearly so greasy. Forget about ordering a cheeseburger. Dairy and meat are never served together because they cannot occupy the same plate–a fact I learned with much embarrassment.

As we finished our burgers at MacDavid’s outside tables, I noticed an ice cream shop nearby. Anne-Lise left to purchase cones for us while I held our place at the table.

Picture the anguish of the MacDavid’s burgermeister as he flung his body over the counter to snatch up his glass plate from under my chin. It was a hot day in Jerusalem. I didn’t want the ice cream to drip on my clothing; the dear man didn’t want it to drip on his meat plate.

Guinea, West Africa

After years of choosing from the same three-item menu at our favorite fast-food eatery in Conakry, a new item made the list: American hamburger. Yippee and Hallelujah!, my little heart sang.

The plate arrived with a thick, homemade bun next to a wedge of onion and another of tomato. I sliced the onion and lifted the top half of the bun. My mouth dropped. In the middle of that expanse of bread sat a small, round meatball. I couldn’t feel the meat once I replaced the top of the bun.

Kankan, my host city for the past fifteen years, is a rugged two-day journey from the capital, Conakry. Though a sprawling city of 300,000, sit-down dining establishments are rare.

One of the two Kankan restaurants offered to serve us hamburgers if we preferred that to steak. The thin piece of incredibly tough meat listed as beefsteak could be turned into a hamburger on the spot.

Anxious to please, the cook fed the slabs of raw beef into a grinder and out popped our hamburgers. The condiments came from our own refrigerator. Unless we brought a bun we’d made at home, the meal was bunless.

French fries? No problem, but during some seasons of the year, we need to remember to grab that bag of potatoes on the way out of the house. The cook doesn’t mind turning our potatoes into French fries if we prefer not to eat fried bananas with our meat.

God’s creative genius produced an amazing variety of cultures. Over the last thirty-one years, I’ve come to enjoy the uniqueness of each people group.

Reading back over these five tales that reveal not all burgers are created equal, I say, “So what? Sameness is overrated.”

My expectations for the hamburger option on any menu now resemble the excitement of a grab bag selection. One just never knows what will appear on the plate.

Whatever the hamburger’s presentation, I’ve gained a genuine appreciation for the heart of each culture. Everywhere I travel, I am humbled by the sincere efforts folks make to bless me with the familiar sandwich known as the hamburger.

Do you have any hamburger stories to share? I’d love to read them. Please, include the location of your story.

Note: Pizza-lovers, stop back next Thursday. I’ll fill you in on a few of my global pizza adventures.