The hamburger may well have European origins, but it took the Americans to see the potential of this "companionable and faintly erotic" chunk of seasoned beef as comfort food extraordinaire: the personification of "the Great Mother herself … the nipple of the Goddess, the bountiful belly-ball of Eve" as Tom Robbins so neatly puts it. Because even if you tuck into seven colours of caviar every weekend, I bet the scent of grilling burgers still gets you all Pavlov's dog around the chops. It's that primal, charred, slightly crunchy exterior, the soft, juiciness within - and of course, that perfect combination of toppings, chosen in childhood and sacred ever after.
Burgers may be fast food, but they're also a craft. There are clubs devoted to the cult of the perfect patty, endless articles devoted to the 20 examples you must "try before you die" (if they don't finish you off first), and every month, a new, and usually outlandish variation on the theme, from 10oz hunks of foie gras to doughnut buns. But I'm interested in taking the burger back to basics, with a classic beef number suitable for cooking on the barbecue, or a hot griddle pan.
The beef
After a little experimentation, I realised that there is no place for lean, or finely ground beef in a burger - both produce a dry, crumbly patty unworthy of the name. "Top chef" John Torode, who's so keen on beef that he's written a book about it, reckons that the "best formula will be something like 40 per cent fat – yes, truly that much! – otherwise it will not be moist."
Although you'll probably struggle to find that high a fat content, avoid anything marked as lean, prime steak cuts like rump; Heston recommends a 2:1:1 combination of chuck, short-rib and brisket, but in my experience, plain old chuck will do nicely. Ideally of course, you would mince your beef yourself, but, if you have neither the time, nor the appropriate food processor attachment, then ask your butcher to do it for you - a coarse mince gives the best texture.
The pure burger
In its simplest form, the burger is nothing but minced beef and seasoning. Leiths Meat Bible, a book devoted to the cult of the carnivore, is of this school, although it does allow for some optional chopped onion and herbs. I mix 675g of chuck mince with a finely chopped onion, a little thyme and some salt and pepper, shape them into burgers, and chill before popping them on a hot barbecue.
As someone who habitually adds egg as a binding ingredient, I'm surprised at how well these hold together on the grill. Although cooked medium rare, however, the interior is still a little chewy. A solid effort, with a nice beefy flavour, but there's room for improvement.
Egg
The next recipe I try comes from Larousse Gastronomique. Their entry on one of the world's finest foodstuffs is snottily Gallic in its brevity, but they do condescend to share their formula, which includes 400g minced beef, 50g chopped onion, 1 tsp chopped parsley, and 2 eggs. They make the mixture a bit sloppy, but once the burgers have chilled, they hold together nicely. Cooked, however, they're a definite disappointment: the egg has made them dry and fibrous, although, as one of my crack burger tasting panel notes generously, it has given them a deliciously crunchy exterior.
Egg and breadcrumbs
My own recipe contains less egg (1 medium example to 500g minced beef) but does include about 60g breadcrumbs - brown for preference - along with a small onion, softened in butter, a sprinkling of chopped thyme, and salt and pepper. More loosely packed than the first two, these are more difficult to keep together on the grill, but once cooked, they seem less dense, and juicier, with the bread adding an extra layer of malty flavour. The cooked onion gives them a hint of sweetness as well.
Cream
After the disaster with Larousse recipe, I'm beginning to wonder whether egg is necessary after all. In his excellent barbecue book, Food from Fire, Charles Campion gives a recipe for hamburgers which contain 1 tbsp double cream for every 500g meat, which, he says, will make burgers "juicy and delicious". The results are indeed tasty, but also rather rich, even with this infinitesimal amount of cream - "they need pickles to cut through the fattiness", opines one sage, reaching for the gherkin jar.
Guinness
Campion also gives an "implausible" recipe for Guinness hamburgers, which contains 50ml Irish stout to every 500g beef. "There is something about the chemical interactions of fizzy liquid and the protein in lean meat that helps bind everything together," he says. "The faint bitterness of the stout also helps tenderise the meat and balance the flavours." After an hour maturing in the fridge, these oddly brown burgers go on the grill. They prove slightly crumbly when cooking, but they're well worth it - the meat is meltingly tender, and the malty flavour of the Guinness really brings out its savoury beefiness.
Water
Adam Perry Lang, a former Grand Champion at the Jack Daniel's World Championship Invitational Barbecue in Tennessee, has plainer tastes. He mixes 225ml of cold water into 1.1kg minced beef, seasons, and cooks. (Fried onions, apparently, are strictly for toppings.) Massaging water into meat feels distinctly bizarre, and I have to resist the temptation to wring the patties out like a sponge. The results are undeniably juicy, but the water has neither the tenderising, nor the flavour-enhancing qualities of the Guinness.
Technique
Leiths Meat Bible suggests I make a dimple in my burgers to keep them flat during cooking - it certainly helps to avoid the slightly unappetising cannon-ball effect I usually end up with. Most recipes caution against overworking the mixture, which can make the meat tough: shape it into patties firm enough to hold together, but don't be tempted to squeeze them, or squash them against the grill like you're in an American diner - you'll just end up with a dry burger.
The perfect burger is a very personal matter - the herbs, the seasoning and the garnish are all down to you, but for tender meat, and an intensely savoury flavour, you can't beat a slug of stout in your mixture.
The perfect burger
Ingregients (serves 6)
1 tbsp oil or butter
1 large onion, finely chopped
1kg roughly minced chuck steak (or any non-lean mince)
100ml stout
2 tbsp brown breadcrumbs
2 tsp chopped herbs (parsley or thyme work well)
1 tsp salt
Black pepper
Garnishes, sauces and rolls, as desired
- Heat the oil in a frying pan over a low heat, and cook the onion until soft and slightly browned. Leave to cool.
- Spread the beef out and sprinkle over the onion. Add the stout, breadcrumbs, herbs and seasoning and mix together with a fork, being careful not to overwork it.
- Divide the meat into 12 flattish burgers, putting a dimple in the centre of each. Cover and refrigerate for an hour.
- Cook the burgers on a medium to hot barbecue or griddle pan: leave them undisturbed for the first 3 minutes so they build up a good seal on the bottom, then carefully turn them over, adding a slice of cheese on top if desired. Cook for a further 4 minutes for rare, and 7 for well done, and allow to rest for a few minutes before serving. (You can toast buns, cut-side down, on the barbecue at this point.)
What goes into your perfect hamburger – and what goes on top? Is beef still best for burgers, and where serves the finest in the world?
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