Yankee Burgers in East Nashville

Egg. Cheese. Burger. Just need a refill in that pint jar now.

We weren't intending to go to Dino's, but we happened by and decided to pop in. We had been en route to a more trendy spot, but something about the little beer joint seemed like the kind of place we needed to go.

Nathan, my longtime friend and host for the evening, had heard tales of Dino's. People had gone so far as to call it the best burger in Nashville, and it is rumored to be the oldest bar. From the outside, it was easy to believe the latter. It didn't take long for us to believe the former as well.



Walking into Dino's is like walking into a lot of beer joints. A general darkness, signs for beers that your grandfather drank, and an old guy at the bar having a smoke. At Dino's, that old guy is Rick, and he isn't just the guy watching Olympics on a quiet Saturday; he's also the owner.

Rick isn't the original owner. He bought it five years ago when his wife had enough of him being retired and told him to go do something. Rumor has it that the rent never changes so long as the place is named "Dino's" (a rumor we didn't bother to confirm), so he kept the name, and just about everything else it seems. All, except the menu, or at least the way the menu was made.

Nathan and I had been discussing earlier about how a place needs to focus if it wants to do well, so it seems appropriate that we stumbled into Dino's. The menu is short: a few burgers, a fried bologna sandwich, and the usual variety of deep-fried bar food. Rick is shameless about this, because he is focused. And his focus is on making a good burger.

"I make them fresh everyday, none of those frozen hockey pucks," is how he began describing the burger. 90% lean, purchased fresh every other day, pattied out by hand every morning by Rick himself, the burger is a half-pound of beef and nothing else. No seasoning, no filler, no fancy cuts blended in. Ask Rick and he'll tell you you don't need anything else.

"They come in, ask me for blue cheese or something," he says, filling two pint jars of PBR -- the only beer on tap -- and opening a Budweiser for himself. "You don't need all that stuff on a good burger. Maybe one of those pucks. Gotta do something for those, since they aren't fresh."

And that's his philosophy in a nutshell. Make a good burger, not a good sandwich, but a good, fresh burger, and you don't need much else. He'll put whatever you ask for on a burger, if he has it ("I don't like it, but I don't have to eat it either").

So what does Rick suggest you put on your burger?

"Whatever you want. I'm not eating it," he reminds me in his magnanimous way. "I've got lettuce, tomato, cheese, bacon." He was standing by his view that the burger was great no matter what I chose to do to it. It wasn't until I asked about a strange thing on the menu that he really gave his opinion.

"What's a Yankee Burger?" I opened the door. Rick walked through.

From a technical standpoint, a Yankee Burger is one of Rick's fantastic patties, cooked perfectly on the old flat top behind the bar, covered with two slabs of good American cheese, and topped with a fried egg. For Rick though, there is more. That burger takes him back to days growing up next to a chicken farm in Michigan.

"We didn't have much, but we always had plenty of eggs," he relates, lighting another cigarette. For most people, eating a lot of something out of necessity as a child turns them off. Rick embraces it. There is a fondness in his voice when he recounts putting eggs on burgers as a kid. Beef was a luxury back in those days, which likely explains his obsession with a good burger now and why, as an adult, an egg is still his preferred condiment.

And as for the name, that has a story too. The Yankee Burger started as the burger Rick ate at work. Then a few people asked for it, and then a lot of people. When the menu was updated, a burger with an egg was added and a new sign was printed.

"First day we had that new menu up on the wall, one of my guys reached up and crossed out that name, wrote 'Yankee Burger' in permanent marker up there instead." It's another fond memory for Rick and another story in Dino's 50 year history.

As it is, the Yankee Burger also happens to be a damn fine burger.

"Press down gently on the top of the bun, so the yolk runs out," Rick tells us, "and make sure you sop up what's on the plate." Rick has this down to a science, from the napkins ("heavy, so you can wipe that yolk off your face") to the buns (from Aldi, the "only ones that can hold up to a juicy burger"). And for all the talk of not caring what you put on your burger, you can tell he's glad you ordered the Yankee.

Happily sated, we settled our tab and were off. We mentioned again what we had been told about Dino's having the best burger in town.

Rick was diplomatic. "I won't say anything about someone else's burger. But I'll put mine up against anybody's, because I think it's pretty good."

I'd have to say I agree.