Fat burger: Three bloody beef monuments to ill health
Joe Engle
The gaping maw of the Wisco burger: Where nutrition goes to die.
Article Tools
In the last few years Madison has seen an influx of high-end burgers, lean and tender, adorned with a dusting of rosemary and topped with carefully crafted plumes of artichoke and molten goat cheese. That's not the kind of burger we're talking about today. Instead, it's time to revisit the blackened grease-burger, oozing with a minimum of 22 percent fat and prepared by a tattooed and unshaven ex-con who looks like he just freebased a mix of road flare and rat poison. The A.V. Club scoured some local bars in search of Madison's most fat-ass-inducing treats on a bun.
The Wisco
Having recently changed its name to what everyone has called it for years, the Wisco is slightly intimidating at first blush. The decor is Northwoods cabin by way of psychobilly man-cave. Your companions will likely be specimens of the manly order—guys who not only know how to open bottled beer with their teeth, but do it at least every other weekend. The hamburger is a storied standard among a certain social set--one that favors lug nuts over cashews. It’s a solid quarter-pound hunk of a grease-bomb, served with a pickle spear and an optional slice of cheese. This hamburger is the biggest and best of our survey, and downing the last bite should be rewarded with some kind of commemorative plaque.
Burger-making process: The Wisco is essentially a punk-and-biker bar. You must engage the lone, unruly-looking, tattooed, and usually busy bartender to put in your order. Don't be timid: Step up and slap a lot of money on the bar, then forcefully place your order (but say please and be sure to leave a nice tip).
Grease-o-meter (scale of 1 to 5): 3. The burger can maintain its structural integrity until completion, if just barely.
Pug Mahone's
The inheritors of the ill-starred former J.T. Friendly’s Tavern retained the same grill (though the new management insists it has been well-scrubbed). Pug Mahone's makes a burger so bad for you it’s not even good; it’s just bad all the way around. This thick slab swims in grease and turns out rubbery if you order it more well-done than medium, bleeding if you order it rare.
Burger-making process: The talkative bartender-owner may spin an entertaining yarn about the lousy yuppie bars in the area (“Four bucks for a beer? I said, what, are you trying to rob me? Should I just turn my pockets inside out? Here, ya want my watch?”) or tell you why his blue-collar joint best represents the character of the area—all the while flipping burgers, squashing them with an impressively industrial-looking spatula, rotating buns, and chopping onions (mostly using that same grill). It’s better than Ginza Of Tokyo.
Grease-o-meter: 4. The bottom half of the bun doesn’t stand a chance.
Sweeney’s Oakcrest Tavern
Sweeney's cheeseburger looks almost healthy in its waxed-paper tray (with beef coming from across-the-street butcher Knoche’s, the rationalizations are easy) but when it's lifted up, the burger oozes a thick stream of intermingling blood and grease that immediately pools in the tray, at which point the reason for waxed paper becomes clear. Funny, the words “bloody rare” never came up while The A.V. Club was ordering. It’s tasty anyway, though the fries are strictly Ore-Ida. Free fried or raw onions don't hurt, either.
Burger-making process: Two old white guys frenetically work an over-sized grill.
Grease-o-meter: 5. If it were any greasier, you'd have to drink it like a beef milkshake.
