Tossing Tomatoes

Ultimately a hamburger is a sandwich. Heck, one of my all time favorite hamburgers was called the Joe’s Hamburger Sandwich. This monster of a thing was sold at The Original Joe’s in San Francisco before it tragically burned down in a grease fire.

That is how all great burger places should go.

While I could romanticize The Original Joe’s all day, let’s focus on its signature sandwich for a moment, because this was a place that got the hamburger right. The kitchen ground its chuck in house, seasoned it generously with salt, packed it loosely by hand, and seared it over a blazing hot charcoal grill. This perfectly charred and juicy patty was then nestled into a hollowed out length of french bread, and topped with a smattering of fried onions.

Truly hand-cut French fries were strewn on the plate. It was a study of brown on brown on brown. There was no piece of kale on the plate for color or garnish. Not even a sprig of parsley. And it was freaking perfect. No ketchup required.

If you wanted something bright and acidic to perk up your palate in between bites? Well, I’m sure they would have brought you a side order of pickles if you asked.

With this sandwich in mind, let’s talk about another thing burgers don’t require: tomatoes.

In theory, a thick slice of a perfectly ripe tomato brings juiciness, sweetness, and acidity to a burger. But the burger should already be juicy, sweet food is for kids, and acidity is a welcome addition to the burger-eating experience, but it doesn’t need to be on the burger.

For the sake of full disclosure, I’ve never been a fan of tomatoes on grilled cheese sandwiches either. That said, I’ve long been a fan of tomatoes on all other kinds of cold sandwiches. Until, of course, one day I realized that the vast majority of all tomatoes are atrocious.

Just stop with the tomatoes.

Ordering them on sandwiches is simply a reflex. It’s a habit. And I’ll admit it’s a hard habit to break. Because the promise of tomatoes is so high.

Beautiful summer tomatoes are incredible, and some of the best things you can put in your mouth. Give me a piece of great toasted bread, spread with butter or brushed with olive oil, and a fat slice of an August tomato still warm from the sun. I’ll sprinkle that with some tender flakes of salt, and maybe drizzle it with an assertive olive oil. It needs so little to make it sing. And anything that it touches gets imbued with that liquid summer sunshine.

You don’t get those tomatoes on burgers. Nor are they kept in stock at your local deli. And they certainly aren’t on hand at your local burger stand.

Consider yourself lucky if your tomato slice isn’t white and hard in the center.

The antidote for tomatoes in the Italian sub is peppers. Grab some hot peppers, and don’t look back. Those unfortunately don’t work so well with burgers, although Gus’s makes a case for sauteed peppers with the Greekburger.

Now what I hear from readers is that sandwiches need lubrication. For argument’s sake, let’s go with that thesis. Tomatoes are thought to add this. But when burgers fail to be adequately juicy, I’m an advocate for mayonnaise based sauces.

That’s the secret to the secret sauce. Readers of the FLB recently learned that McDonald’s Special Sauce is not mayonnaise mixed with ketchup. There’s no tomato in it at all. That color comes from paprika.

Yes, I wish the state of mayonnaise was better too. The stuff from the big industrial tubs is barely food. But when push comes to shove, I’d rather put the enjoyment of my burger in the hands of a substandard sandwich dressing than a completely useless tomato.

Of course I recognize I’m in the minority on this one. So I invite you to share the counterarguments. And I welcome all comers on the Tour de Burger this Saturday. It will be helpful to have all kinds of burger ideologies represented, and we can rigorously debate them at each stop along the way.

Hope to see you there. And with any luck, we’ll get a chance to talk about lettuce very soon.