Oark General Store is Arkansas's Longest Continuously Operating General Store - Not Restaurant.

But that doesn't mean the restaurant that operates inside it deserves to be missed. In fact, Oark General Store's burgers and pies are not to be missed.

Patrick's Burgers Remind Me of What Burgers Should Be.

A visit to the local classic in Springdale means sliding off the beaten path, entering a world dedicated to local sports fans, and forgetting any sort of cynicism about the direction the humble burger has taken lately. I'm really glad I found my way to Patrick's.

Road Eats: The Big Ugly Burger and More at Bub's Burgers in Zionsville, Indiana.

Almost a classic, this Indiana mainstay's fame comes from burgers with post-cooked weights, creamy shakes and walls decorated with those who have taken the Big Ugly Challenge.

A New Burger Dynasty - David's Burgers in Arkansas.

The Bubbus family has taken burgermaking back to basics and come up with a winning combination that's the new flavor of burgers in Arkansas. Let's check out David's Burgers.

A Messy Chili Cheeseburger at Sam's Olde Tyme Hamburgers in Rogers.

I could say I've never met a burger I didn't like... but that would be a lie.  There have been some disappointments out there.

But not at Sam's Olde Tyme Hamburgers in Rogers.  Oh, no.  What I encountered at the red-awning decked shop on the east side of town was a messy, gloppy marvel of excellence, with a perfect patty beneath.

Dinner and a Show at Loree's Cattleman's Restaurant in Green Forest.

Country music and country vittles go hand in hand, or at least they should.  So many of our steakhouses, catfish houses and country fried joints all across Arkansas and the Mid South pipe in the tunes of the greats of country music.  But few of them offer live performances, and even fewer offer that live entertainment for free.

Of them, Loree's Cattleman's Restaurant in Green Forest is a real gem.  The Cattleman's Restaurant has stood since 1958, as part of, I kid you not, a sale barn.  It is truly a local gem, with clientele that usually seems restricted to people who all know each other. Everyone really does seem to know everyone by name.

Mountainburgers, Silver Saddles and Ice Cream at Dairy Dream in Mountainburg.

I've been playing tricks with your head.  I've been sending people to the Dairy Dream in Mountainburg for many a year now, for a certain mythological item called the Silver Saddle.  I can tell when someone's taken my advice, because they don't ask me what's in a Silver Saddle any more. They just nod and smile.

Burger Joint of the Week: The Hive at 21c Museum Hotel.

Art galleries and major museums are fantastic facilities for observing the visual arts; but often the fare served in the obligatory café or restaurant within fails to achieve such lofty aspirations.

Fortunately, The Hive at the new 21c Museum Hotel in Bentonville exceeds the expectation.  That matters doubly for the house burger.

Surprisingly Large Burgers at Red River Cafe in Fulton.

The rain came down in sheets.  Outside, the green sky oozed over the windshield.  We were doing our best to get the hell out of Arkansas before the storm came, but we couldn't beat the rain.  The rain was beating us.

I'd been squinting through the wipers for two hours straight, and the strain was enough.  Other motorists who either couldn't deal with the rain or who thought they needn't drop their speed jockeyed past each other on Interstate 30.  We missed the Hope exit, our intended put-in, and white-knuckled on, hungry and already tired with five more hours of drive-time to go.

I spotted the big blue sign right before the Fulton exit, saw something red and white under the heading of FOOD and decided to take the exit.  Following the signs, we pulled up outside a long red bricked building next door to an austere old gas station.  I tried to dodge the deeper puddles for a spot where we could drag the least of the storm inside with us.  And then I shot this image with my phone, marveling at what appeared to be a still-working payphone on the outside wall.

Rushing in, cameras tucked under our arms, we stepped inside and found ourselves a table next to the window.  Thinking we were actually going to make it to Texarkana or further along before we actually had a full meal, we looked over the little wrinkled menus on the table for something quick to eat.

Now, I've been a little bit of everywhere, and I am used to burgers being flat from a griddle or round from a fancier restaurant... there was no indication one way or another here.  We both talked about what to order, and decided if we had leftovers, we'd take them with us.  I went for a simple double cheeseburger, and Grav

chose the Fulton Mafia Combo -- essentially the same thing with bacon, seasoned fries and a beverage.  Sounded good enough to me.

The rain continued to smother the lot outside the door.  A trio of kids, likely related to a member of the staff, played an old game console on the other

side of the restaurant, something that sounded remarkably like Galaga.  When a big wrecker truck came onto the lot, one of them shouted, and the three of them went to the glass-paned door and waved, eliciting a honk from the incoming vehicle.  Another wrecker passed on its way out.

I overheard our waitress talking with the cook a bit about the pie.  She'd come out, pull a pie from the case next to the register, cut a slice and put it in a clamshell box and take it to the back.  She did this again, and then a third time, this with the final admonition "well why don't you just bring the pan back here?"  I wasn't sure if the pie was being packaged for customers to come, or what, but I did note it was a chocolate meringue pie, and once that was gone there was a single pie left in the case.

The rain kept flowing on and on, pressing waves towards the building.  Grav reached across and touched my hand as we stared out into the gray.  A UPS truck pulled up, first with its passenger door to the cafe, then turning around and placing same doorway under the eve for the gas station next door.  A pair of tandem-trailer trucks performed a pas de deux in the mud by the road, carefully lining up where the drivers could converse through open windows without having to brave the soaking waters.

There was giggling in the back, that grew louder.  We sipped on our beverages, which had been provided to us in car holder-friendly 32 ounce Styrofoam cups, and kept looking out the window, until our waitress got our attention by setting plates down in front of us.

Well, golly.

Here were two burgers, each enough for two, standing tall on steak knives.  The patties were fat and moist, with bits of char on their flat faces.  Mine sat between its seedless buns, a ring of pickles and a single slice of tomato evident under

its cap.  A leaf of iceberg lettuce had been glued to the top bun with mustard, while mayo oozed from underneath the bottom patty. Those patties wore deep yellow slices of American cheese like tight trousers, all melty together.

And completely impossible to eat, due to the sheer height of the creations.

Grav's burger was much the same, except under his bottom patty was a layer of curly bacon, adding even more height to his creation.

After our round of photos and astonishment, I attempted to smush my burger flat enough to manage into my mouth.  This wasn't happening.  I pressed hard, but only succeeded in pushing some of the moisture out of the patties and imprinting my fingers into the bun top.  Our waitress provided us with forks.

And I'll tell you, rainy day blues

aside, these were awesome burgers with a nice flavor of black pepper and a little seasoning, some onion in there as well.  Our waitress claimed the patties weren't measured but they were easily half a pound each, leaving us with hefty amounts of beef to make it through.  We did not succeed.  

I might have, and I likely would have put myself at risk for rupture, had I not got to thinking about that pie.  So a slice was ordered, and we shot the pie before we closed the lid and slid it into the offered sack along with our leftovers.

Our beverages topped off and capped, we left, me going and jumping in the car and unlocking the doors for Grav to rush out and slide in.

That pie I ate about six hours later in a hotel room in Livingston, TX, exhausted from the trip and needing sugar in my system before we were to venture to our next destination, a restaurant called the Blue Duck.  The custard of the pie was rich, a dark chocolate custard with substantial heft, and the meringue was caramelized and sweet.

The Red River Cafe was a surprise to us, and that's a good thing.  We don't get a whole lot of surprises these days, so being able to pull out of the rain and into a table in a friendly restaurant is a real blessing.  We'll be back for breakfast at some point.

Red River Cafe

5279 Highway 67 West (I-30 Exit 18)
Fulton, AR 71838
(870) 896-2590

I Dare You Not To Read The Walls at Molly's Diner.

Back in the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s, there was a certain kitsch that cropped up in restaurants all over the United States -- places where every sort of memorabilia was placed helter-skelter on walls, posts, sometimes even ceilings.  Some of these, such as Feltner's Whatta-Burger in Russellville, became famous for the changing displays.  There's even several chain restaurants today, from Cracker Barrel to Applebee's, that continue to display "flair" and antique pieces along their walls to fill space and "create atmosphere."

Molly's Diner in Warren doesn't need an atmosphere created.  From its well worn, irregular floor to its ancient rusty barstools, from wood-backed and seated booths to mismatched tables and chairs, it wears its heritage on its surface.

That is, what surface can be seen.  After all, it seems every space on Molly's Diner's walls comes packed with aging, curling signage ranging from the historic ("Snooker 50 cents") to amusing (Arkansas State Bird, a Razorback with wings) to the risque (an eye chart that spells out TOO MUCH SEX CAN BE BAD FOR YOUR

SIGHT).  Indeed, no politically correct self-appointed policeperson has apparently come through the old building's doors in all its time standing two blocks from the brick-paved downtown square.

The clientele witnessed on our recent visit may have suggested or even brought in some of the posters and stickers that deck the walls within.  We were, after all, the youngest of those dining this particular afternoon.  I attribute that to the time of day (1:15 p.m.) more than to the local population.

Molly's Diner has been on my get-back-to list for three years now.  Mentioned in the pie book, the day job and work on the two subsequent tomes we've managed to get out have kept me from Bradley County's rolling hills.  The famed pies greatly represent our state's love for the pastry-clad filling-packed vessels we love so much.  

That wasn't why we came to Molly's this time.  We came to make sense of a wall full of suggestions (the food based ones, not the humorous or profane ones) and a menu packed with so many things, including a history of Bradley County.  Helpful.

Our waitress directed us to sit where we liked, and after attempting one seat particularly perched at an angle that had me almost fall over the back of my seat I moved around to the far side of the table I shared with photographer Grav Weldon this chilly February afternoon.  She asked if we were interested in one of the lunch specials, which included a Mexican plate (a crispito covered in chili and cheese, a taco, chips and dip and a small salad), country fried steak or beef tips with mashed potatoes, snap beans tossed salad and a roll -- or if we'd like to peruse the menu.  That's what we chose.

Said menu is full of its own cryptic glory, with suggestions of Mother's Chicken Salad Sandwich, 15 different burgers and a Suicide Po'Boy, in ham or chicken.  Wait, what?

"It's the owner's son's thing," our waitress told us.  "He came up with different sandwiches."

I noticed over her shoulder another description on the wall for Dylan's Suicide Sandwich, which included country fried steak, Swiss cheese, fried cheese sticks, onion ring, fries, mayo, lettuce and tomato.  It was next to a sign called the Redneck Sammich, advertised as a slice of fried bologna with grilled onions and mayo.  

Dylan's creation sounded like a Fat Darrell, a creation I learned of years ago while watching CBS Sunday Morning -- a combination of fried cheese sticks, chicken tenders and French fries created and often ordered by Darrell W. Butler, a student at Rutgers University for whom the sandwich was named.  This sounded like a challenge I should at least attempt.

Grav, on the other hand, eyed the 15 burgers on the menu and settled on a Double Beltbuster, a two-patty construction declared "really big" by our waitress.  After all, that'd take care of lunch and dinner, and maybe breakfast for us.

We relaxed and talked shop while our meals were prepared, as evidenced by views through the open window to the kitchen, over which a sign clearly stated Thru These Windows Pass The Greatest Food In The World.  A city policeman sat taking lunch with another local gentleman.  When they left, they were replaced with an octogenarian who quietly chatted across from his booth to a table behind us with two similarly aged ladies of good humor.

Under the old fashioned large-bulbed Christmas lights tacked to the restaurant's ceiling, time moved slowly.  It could have been 2015 or 1985, no matter.  For a few moments, as I sucked on tea and fiddled with the settings on my camera, I wondered if such galacial pacing would also affect service.

It did not.  It took about 10 minutes for our orders to arrive, and while we gleefully photographed the massive sandwiches, necks craned and eyes wandered over to our station as various folks voiced out loud their

curiosity over what we were doing.  We admitted our professions as writer and photographer and kept on, the ladies at the table behind us lightly cackling with a "that explains it."

The waitress had not been wrong.  Grav's burger appeared to be two ten ounce hand patted beef patties almost an inch

thick, glued together with cheese (which is optional) and completely overwhelming everything else on the bun.  It was lightly spiced and came bedecked with mustard and pickles on the bun along with the lettuce and tomato and onion ringlets, and as we shot away the bun started its light disintegration.

Mine took a moment to visually digest.  Yes, it appeared brown and fried.

The chicken fried steak patty was crisp, and the fries on the bottom pale yet slightly crunchy.  It took was quickly melting its bun.  Which meant once I grabbed a hold of it, I was set to grasp it between my fingers until I gave in.  Indeed, when I finally found myself filled to contentment and weary of pulling the long strands of mozzarella from the

sandwich, when I sat down the two thirds that was left, the imprints of my puffy paws were left behind as marks of the beast that tried to consume the monster.

I'm not sure I'd order it again.  It was hearty and made me feel naughty and had a good flavor, but so much food was betwixt those buns... and of such

a nature that would not reheat to the original satisfaction, that I would likely not choose this one again unless shared with a partner.  That partner, obviously, has to chose it over one of the 15 burgers on the menu.  

Oh, that menu's below, by the way.

I would be sincerely remiss if I did not mention Molly's Diner's marvelous fresh-fried potato chips.  I have, after all, been introduced with all sorts of house-fresh

housemade potato chips, from the extraordinary ones at EJ's Eats and Drinks in downtown Little Rock to... well, let's not ruin any appetites today.  Molly's does something all the others do not.  They fresh-fry the chips on order, and they're thick, fresh potato slices... so the insides are still French-fry smooth while the extra surface still gives the satisfying bite of a good potato chip. Seasoned only with salt, they were satisfying and simple.

Of course, the repast and prying eyes around checked our modesty, and we decided to forgo a slice from the handwritten menu of half a dozen pies.  They'll be there next time, though, and them pie will be mine.

The next time, though, we'll come for breakfast.  And it won't be three years.  Indeed, I believe we'll return in June, when the season's first tomatoes are celebrated at the world-renown Bradley County Pink Tomato Festival.  Until then, I shall dream of that homey, humble space and consider the possibilities of 14 other burgers, breakfast platters and the kinder and less profane suggestions on the walls.

Molly's Diner
201 South Myrtle
Warren, AR 71671
(870) 226-9913

Could The Monkey Burger Be The Best Burger In Pulaski County?

There’s nothing quite like an amazing, hand-patted cheeseburger. Arkansas, particularly Little Rock, is blessed with plenty of them. But I may have just started on one of the best I’ve ever found.

Milton Fine gave me a recommendation a while back that I have just now been able to indulge – a little place in College Station that offers home cooking, sandwiches, pie and a nice, hefty selection of burgers. The place on the outside is heralded as It’s All About Mak’N’It, but it’s called by its regulars (and its menu as well) the name of its signature dish: Monkey Burger.

The joint sits off the side of Frazier Pike in a strip mall, with little more than the sign on the front. It’s easy to miss, very easy. But you’ll probably see some cars there and stop.

I went in this Monday afternoon full of curiosity. There were half a dozen patrons already dining and a kindly woman behind the counter – an ancient general store-type counter filled with candies and gums, topped with clear boxes of Laffy Laffy and Jolly Ranchers and jars of whole dill pickles. I told her I’d come for a burger.

“The best dang burger you ever done had,” she started to brag. “The best ground beef. We got a hamburger, a cheeseburger, a Monkey Burger-”

“What’s on a Monkey Burger?”

She cackled. “Two patties larger than you ever eat, with lettuce, tomato, pickle and onion!”

“Yeah, why not? I can take home the rest.”

“You get it in a combo, it’ll come in a box to take home.”

I agreed and sat down. At that moment I turned and saw the hostess come around the counter with a couple of plates with ridiculously large two-patty burgers and fries on them. They looked massive.

“You gon have ta cut it in four pieces, Dwight,” one of the guys at the table laughed. There were three men at the table, and another two at the next one. They all seemed to know each other well and were joshing each other over the humongous hamburgers. They were each taller and more hearty than I.

Monkey Burger looks like it should be small, but it’s not. It actually takes up two storefront slots in the plaza, one with peach-colored walls with four mismatched tables that had probably come from an assortment of diners and fast food restaurants. The other was a pale grayish blue with new linoleum floors and quite a few tables more.

The door opened and another guy walked in, apparently well known to this crowd. He crowed “put my burger on their bill!” as he saw the cluster of eaters around the table full of burgers and fries. There was laughing, and a man at the next table over stood up and called to the cook “hey, hotshot!” and suggested he give the newcomer a free burger.

More folks were coming in by this time. Over the TV in the corner playing a western on TV Land, I heard the voice of the hostess ring out to the guy who’d wanted his burger on someone else’s bill. “I don’t have no gravy, don’t ask me. You have to done ask me 100 questions about one ham sandwich, what comes on, what comes with it, now go on.”

Another patron walked in and over to the cooler, which was full of cans and bottles – both generic beverages and named brand sodas. I noticed there was a cooler of lemonade on the end of the counter, and a big container of tea.

“It took me three hours to eat the one thing,” I heard rise from the table of diners. Not a one of them was close to finishing, but I got the impression they weren’t in any hurry.

From behind the register rang out, “we don't have anything that's not good. We know how to make it.”

“Y’all be good,” one of the guys from the other table said as he walked out the door.

“Ain't no way you gonna bite it,” the conversation continued at that table. I looked over towards the counter and noticed the whiteboard that advertised a cold cut sandwich (turkey or ham), chips and a piece of cake for $3. What? I realized then I hadn’t even looked at a menu when I came in. For all I knew, I might have just ordered a $12 burger.

A couple and their young son came in. The gentleman waiting for his order turned around, gently grabbed the boy’s arm and looked him over. “What year are you in school?” he asked before looking up and greeting the couple.

His mother caught my eye as I looked back towards the whiteboard and whistled. On the right side, it said Holiday Turkey, you buy, we fry, $20. We buy and fry, $35-45. Pan of dressing $12. Sweet potato pie $10.

“Those prices are incredible,” I mentioned to her. She widened her eyes a little and nodded with a smile.

Time was passing. It’d been 20 minutes or more since I’d walked in the door, but I was in no hurry. I did hear one of the eaters at the bigger table call out to another man walking through the door that there was going to be a wait and he should have called ahead. I eyeballed the big burger over on the other table within eyeshot, which was slowly being consumed with a knife and fork by its owner. The man who’d just come through the door pointed at the dish and asked “you ain’t finished it yet?”

“You see I ain’t”

“What’d you get?”

“Double.”

And that’s when I realized the big burger he was eating, wasn’t even the biggest burter there. I grew concerned that I might have to unhinge my jaw to properly sample what was to come. By this point I could smell the burger on the griddle, hear the fries in the fryer. I was salivating and being quiet and listening and trying not to answer the desire to gnaw off a limb.

The guys at the table across from mine were laughing and joking without a care in the world. In those 20 minutes since my order, since they got their burgers, none of them had gotten halfway through.

A line was forming. I heard a credit card being processed. I noticed the chocolate-covered Sara Lee individually wrapped cakes on the counter.

“Both of them with cake,” the hostess was telling the next patron, patting the white sack. “An here come more folks!” she cheerfully called out. I noticed another white paper bag marked TURKEY sitting atop one of the dill pickle jars.

She looked at me and smiled. “Everybody come in the same time, ain't no joke,” she said. I just nodded. As I said, I was in no hurry.

She repeated the latest order to the next customer, “the Jumbo, no pickles, extra cheese.”

The two men up next, a gentleman my height and a taller man, placed their order. “I want the Monkey Burger,” said the taller man, and the shorter one put his hand on the first guy’s arm and looked up at him.

“I warned you.”

The taller man looked down and grinned. “TWO Monkey Burgers!” he gleefully corrected.

I looked at the remaining text on the whiteboard, which I couldn’t see earlier, and saw that tea and lemonade were 50 cents each and pecan pie was two dollars. I heard the second guy change his order to a regular cheeseburger.

“I thought your mama don't raise no quitter!” came from the loud table. None of the three men there had made any sort of motion to get about doing whatever they might have needed to be doing. They were just enjoying a friendly afternoon.

“Bacon cheeseburger, extra pie, no onions, extra cheese,” the hostess called back to the dude waiting for his take-out order.

And at the same time I heard the cook holler “Monkey Burger!”

The hostess finished up with that customer and turned back briefly to the kitchen before taking one more order. Customers coming in greeted those in the loose line. “How ya doin, darling? All right!” called one rather jovial guy as he came in. I was beginning to believe I’d see the entire population of College Station before it was all done.

“Ma’am! I got your burger!” the waitress called, and this time she was hollering for me. I went up and paid for it and a cup of tea and she asked me if I had taken a look at it yet. I carefully open the box bursting at the seams.

Damn.

She got a red Solo cup full of ice and waved her hand over towards the tea dispenser (there’s only sweet tea and lemonade and what’s in the cooler), then handed me a plastic knife and fork and a wad of napkins.

I picked up my camera and overheard someone say “man, she got the Monkey Burger.” I took several pictures with the camera one with the phone and then I got my hands around it. When I lifted the burger to my lips, I got the full attention of all three guys at the next table over, who were astonished when I managed to get into the entire burger all at once.

After a moment of silence that seemed to fall over the entire restaurant, they started to whoop. “Woo !” and “Dang!” were uttered, and I’m sure I likely blushed at these guys who were very entertained that I actually managed to get a bite out of that burger.

Because the Monkey Burger is just something insane. Two big patties and cheese with lettuce, tomato, onions and pickle… and not just a big burger, but an amazingly well-seasoned burger that was ridiculous. It had notes of onion powder and maybe some garlic and definitely ground black pepper and who knew what all else. In a smaller portion it would have been beautiful. In this size, it was overwhelming.

I took another bite, and was rewarded with appreciative laughter. I got the impression that the crowd thought I was all right.

I didn’t eat all that much… well, I mean, I did, but there was a LOT of burger left. What was left after I got home was more than a pound. Why did I measure?

Well, first off, I have to say that this burger’s one of the best I’ve had in several years. I’ve been, for the most part, off the burger circuit since mid-2012 and it’s been some time. But the fantastic even-handed spices in the humongous hand-patted patties make this an epic sandwich all area burger lovers need to get over and try.

But I measured the burger because when I asked the hostess how much meat was on it, she laughed. “We don’t measure it. We have no idea, we just make them!”

So, how much did this repast put me back? A total of $8.70 – which included fries and tea and a tip. The burger itself was $5.65 with cheese on it.

I didn't even make it a third of the way into the burger. It was incredible, it was good, but I can already feel my cut stretching out for me and decided to air on the better side of valor. I knew I wasn't going to be able to finish it, which is why I had asked for it in a to go box, but I had certainly far under estimated the sheer size of it, and I’ll likely be dining on this burger for the next three or four meals.

That won't bother me, though.  The hostess confirmed the great quality and flavor of the meat, and asked me if I'd seen the commercials for Bush's Baked Beans.  When I nodded, she said "It's the same thing, but I don't let the dog in the kitchen! No one's going to get that recipe!"

That lovely lady at the counter also told me that there was a couple that had a young girl who had brought her in and she wanted that Monkey Burger. They had gone ahead and let her have it with a box to take it home it because they did not think she would eat much of it. But it only took her about 30 minutes to disassemble it with a knife and fork and consume the whole dang thing.

You're not going to just find Monkey Burger out of the blue. You have to know it's there. Not a lot of food lovers get over to College Station, and that's a shame, but I have a feeling that more will make the journey the six miles from downtown to get this burger a shot. I am very interested to see what you think.

Monkey Burger
4424 Frazier Pike
Little Rock, AR 72206
(501) 490-2222