…homemade burgers and the machines that cook them.
I don’t come from a family of rabid red meat eaters. While it certainly wasn’t taboo, beef never commanded any sort of special culinary rank. Poultry was fine, we all liked pork and lamb, and fresh seafood was abundant in Savannah. Despite all the online squawking, today’s weaponized Southern BBQ was neither obligatory nor particularly bovine. But for some reason, I have been thinking a lot about beef lately, especially hand-held delights that range from exotic wraps to simple burgers. Perhaps it was the Instagram clip I saw about an off-menu burger at Atlanta’s Fox Bros. Bar-B-Q that was dubbed “best in the U.S.” These kinds of awards are often silly marketing ploys, but great burgers always catch my attention, so I investigated further. Brisket. Of course, it was brisket. Strangely, I’m not sure I ever tasted brisket until I dug in my heels during the pandemic and insisted we celebrate Rosh Hashanah with a proper nosh, so I cooked one myself. I didn’t become magically beef-enlightened, but I did become more beef-curious.
I have memories of occasional pot roasts growing up, which tells me that perhaps those few were on sale. Obviously, we had an oven and there was always a small grill on the back porch of our downtown row house. I was often served a hamburger patty for dinner (with rice & veggies) and it usually came from a giant cast iron skillet on the stovetop. It’s far too easy to poke fun at our mothers’ weeknight meals from the 70s, so to be fair, there were many nights my own boys had dino chicken nuggets and buttered noodles. As for the thriftiness, well, that IS hereditary. Just last week I found myself at the discount meat section ogling three pounds of succulent chuck. Surely something wonderful could be done with this fine piece of beef and its alluring red 30% off sticker.
I came home from the store that day determined to make a simple oven roast – as if. Instead I zizzed it up with Middle Eastern spices, roasted, shredded, broiled, and then served it in thin pitas with herby greens, labneh, and peppers. All this transpired just as Atlanta welcomed an 80° day in March. Yes, on the first day of False Spring I decided to fire up the big oven – timing is everything. After my months-long affair with the air fryer I finally broke down and had our oven serviced by a licensed technician, because apparently, I don’t count. It was rattling ferociously somewhere inside and although I’d tinkered around for hours, I exhausted my imaginary skillset, my misplaced bravery, and my nonexistent patience. When the official repair day finally came, I hovered and “helped.” And it’s a good thing I did – guess who ultimately discovered the problem?
My guy Dmitry pulled the oven all the way out onto the kitchen floor and ran the fan circuit through a portable battery thingy. The loud buzzing started immediately and our professional conclusion was that, yes, we needed to replace said fan. Naturally, I reached right in and pressed the wire caging around the blades and the noise stopped. I released my touch and it roared again. Isn’t there supposed to be a bolt there? Now, guess how much it did NOT cost to replace the internal motor, which of course is on back order for 6-9 months. I swear, in another life I was a Ukrainian appliance repairman…or a princess…or perhaps a witch. Maybe I’ve been all three, but the oven? She is fixed.
You are now caught up to present-day as I await the arrival of False Spring #2 and naturally, I’ve lost all interest in roasting anything. After the success of my sumac-infused chuck wraps, I considered what could be done with those generous hunks of beef that did not involve heating up the kitchen. And that’s when I went outside to assess the grill. Was it even functional after the cold, wet winter? No, it was not. Fortunately I know a gal who fixes things. It’s a small gas unit, nothing fancy, but perfect for two people who occasionally host a hungry man-child or two. How bad could it be? Yeah…it was bad.
Turns out I had allowed something to get a wee bit toasty last fall because the built-in thermometer was stuck on 505°. The “flavorizer” bars (big eye roll) were reduced to patchwork sticks and the body needed a serious scrape-down, inside and out. This was all within my wheelhouse, although there was an alarming amount of soot. And somehow how I managed to weld a disposable grease catcher to the now-slightly-larger bottom opening. It would seem that these little aluminum trays are meant to be changed out regularly, hence disposable, which pretty much explains all of the aforementioned problems. Good thing there had been a full propane tank hanging a mere 6” away from this inferno. But the grill, she is ready.
My blazing char-machine was now back in service and that’s when I stumbled upon the chopped brisket clip which turned my attention to hamburgers. For me, ground beef has always been one of those grocery staples I never wanted to think about too hard. I check the fat ratio, expiration date, and brand, then hope for the best. I know of countless slaughterhouse documentaries that underscore a very problematic industry, but it wasn’t until my Sous Chef wondered out loud how many cows were in his burger that I finally gagged. I’m going to be delicate here, but never had it sunk in that hundreds of animals and potentially thousands of parts are involved in the processing of a one-pound styrofoam ready-pack of ground beef. When I focus, I can put it out of my mind the same way I rip through a blue crab without a second thought. But once I start really thinking about the carnage and the body parts…nope.
I don’t want any more herd-burgers, I want a single-cow patty shaped by hand to my preferred diameter and thickness. Fine, I’ll do it myself. So long Bubba, Laura, and friends. The steps laid out below are absurdly easy, but I strongly insist you follow these rules: freeze the diced meat until just firm to the touch and then process in .5 pound batches. I’m reiterating these two points because I know people, people very close to my inner circle, who often glaze over some of my recipe details. For example, if I say use firm tofu, silken will NOT work. Or if I suggest bronze-cut Italian linguini, expired store brand elbows might impact the experience. I’m just sayin. After you’ve ground your beautiful burgs the rest is up to you. I grilled and appointed my giant 6oz mama-burger with all the fixings: lettuce, tomato, onions, thin dill pickles, a slice of melted Gouda, and Sous Chef’s secret burger sauce. Halfway through I was so infatuated with the meat that I shed the sidekicks and worked solely on the beef. Divine.
Beef Grinding for Beginners
In no way did I invent this method – the basics were laid out by a video created by America’s Test Kitchen.
Ingredients & Tools
- 2.5-3 pounds of beef such as chuck eye, sirloin tip, and/or brisket
- Large Food Processor with metal blades
Method
Select the cuts you are using and trim away any large, hard pieces of fat or cartilage. I used about 2 pounds of chuck and ½ pound of sirloin for my first attempt. For the chuck, there will be large sections that should easily pull apart and any remaining silverskin or tendons can be discarded. Slice the remaining trimmed beef into 1” or smaller cubes. Remember to retain some of the smaller, soft pieces of fat.
Once trimmed and cubed, place your beef on a rimmed cooking sheet and freeze for about 20 minutes. I use a sturdy aluminum Nordic Ware rimmed sheet that retains the temp pretty well, which is handy to prevent mushiness at any point. The idea is to get the cubes firm enough to mince but not disintegrate. You will return the ground beef to this cold tray so be sure it is nice and chilled to maintain a safe temp.
Add the cubes to a large food processor in ½ pound batches and pulse for roughly one second, 18 times. You don’t want to turn it to mush, but you are in control of the mince size, so anywhere from 15 to 20 pulses may work. I have ol’ Betsy, my grandmother’s 1980s Cuisinart (named for her, not me) and she did just fine. I would also argue that the clean-up is easier than a meat grinder.
Spread each ground batch back onto the cooking sheet and check for any gristle and hard fat. You will find that everything really has been ground to a beautiful mince and there are very few undesirables. At this point, you can use a food scale to measure out 4 to 6 oz burger patties and wrapped with parchment paper. For 2.5 pounds of untrimmed chuck and sirloin I made six 6.5oz patties.
I simply love hamburgers and will always prefer them over hot dogs or pizza…by far. We are fortunate to live in a burger-loving town. That doesn’t mean there are warring burger factions, but rather the exact opposite – burgers can be so fundamentally different that there is plenty of room for everyone, provided it is fresh, delicious, and served with a smile. Within walking distance, I have both NFA Burger and Village Burger, superb locally-owned, neighborhood joints that offer world-class competition to any burger challenge. But per family tradition, as soon as the weather allows we formally turn Sunday night into burger night. Now that I can safely fire up the grill for the single-cow, home-ground patties, we feast at home.
I have little interest in becoming a burger queen nor do I aspire to be a grill guru. This has been more of a side trip than a quest of any sort, and I very well may have sated my fascination with beef butchery. But grinding my own burgers has prompted a major shift in my culinary habits. I can never go back and according to some people, I cannot seem to shut up about it. For me, cooking is like life and I think it’s glorious to seek enlightenment. If that’s too woo-woo for you, simply try to be curious. And if all else fails, go for awareness. Be aware, be human. And grind your own meat.
Postscript: Remember my loathsome 1980s cooktop that simply will not die? Because nothing is technically malfunctioning, I cannot in good conscience insist on a replacement and for the moment I need to pretend my fiscal priorities are in check. So I put in some elbow grease sanding and buffing the chipped white trim down to bare stainless. Big improvement – HUGE. Then, after what looks like a drawerful of failed attempts, I managed to hunt down some gently used stainless appliance knobs that 1. fit the ridiculously obscure shafts and 2. pointed in the right direction (left, not up). You have no idea – it was truly maddening. The original knobs were a super-sexy shade of almond which I spray painted black circa 2005. It was finally beginning to peep through, though I pretended not to notice. It all came together in just a few hours…well, 20 years, a dozen eBay deliveries, and a few hours. But my cooktop, now she is pretty.
Foodishness 