The burger: In all the years that I've been dining at the 128 Cafe – and that goes back to (gulp) the late 1990s -- I don't recall ever encountering a burger. Until now. To chef/owner Max Thompson -- he bought the place about a year ago -- its appearance on the menu is something of a no-brainer.
"We're sitting here surrounded by a bunch of college students," he said.
He's referring to the University of St. Thomas, which spreads out across the street from the restaurant's dimly lit, knotty pine-paneled coziness (conditions I'll use as my explanation for that poorly illuminated photo, above; a more plausible interpretation is my skill-free use of the photo function on my iPhone. In any event, apologies).
Count me a fan of the 128's Thompson era (see my review here), and this burger is no exception. One bite into it, and I was consumed with nostalgia-tinted envy, something along the lines of, "If only the burgers were this good when I was an undergraduate."
Thompson builds the goodness from the ground up, starting with a blue-ribbon grind. As with so many gotta-have burgers across the Twin Cities, Thompson turns to Peterson Limousin Beef, and his formula is primarily chuck, supplemented by premium scraps from the menu's New York strip, as well as the brisket that Thompson channels into his category-killing Reuben.
Seasoning is kept to a minimum, just salt and pepper, allowing the meat's quality to speak for itself. "I'm not big on messing around too much with that beef," he said. "I feel very strongly about that."
The kitchen forms that flavorful beef into thick, loosely packed, hug-the-edge-of-the-bun patties, and grills them to a tantalizing medium-rare on a charbroiler ("I sure wish it was a wood-burning stove," said Thompson) until the outer edges take on a slight crispness; inside, it's all about pink, juicy tenderness. It's the kind of well-reasoned patty that separates the professionals from the Five Guys.
As far as toppings go, it's a few basics – a decent tomato slice, lively lettuce, nicely vinegar-ey cucumber pickle chips – and a Wisconsin white Cheddar with a slightly nutty bite. Oh, and a generous swipe of what Thompson calls his "fry sauce," a blend of aioli, those zingy pickles and hot sauce – all prepared on the premises – whisked with onions, Dijon and ketchup ("It's Heinz, because I can't best Heinz," he said), a condiment he has been making "since I was a young man," he said. It's a keeper – Thompson should consider bottling the stuff – and it adds all kinds of subtle flavor dimensions to an already delicious burger.
