Around Town

No one knows who first draped a slice of cheese over a burger as it sizzled on the grill.

We can identify—sort of—the inventor of the burger itself. Marauding Mongols saved meat by jamming it under their saddles, where it was generally mashed up and abused. German sailors popularized a portion of punctured beef, which Americans associated with the port city of Hamburg. And perhaps two dozen restaurants in this county lay claim to the version placed inside a bun.

But the cheeseburger? Well, there’s a guy in Pasedena, a family restaurant in Louisville, a spot in Denver…

What we recognize as the modern cheeseburger first met the tang of melted curd sometime in the early 20th Century. Now Buffalo Point in Sidney often sells more cheeseburgers than steaks—perhaps even than the good old fashioned burger itself.

“It’s a different experience,” said Joe Savely, kitchen manager at Buffalo Point. “Plain burgers are good, but sometimes you gotta add cheese.”

Wednesday was National Cheeseburger Day in the U.S., one of the countless dedications passed by Congress or declared by some organization or other. There are days to celebrate the mundane--tacos, corned beef and cabbage--as well as the extraordinary. Consider, for example, peach melba day, curried chicken day, coq au vin day, empanada day and, of course, chocolate-covered cashew truffle day.

Something as routine as biscuits and gravy deserves an entire week.

Yet it’s fitting we celebrate the cheeseburger. It is the subject of popular melody, Jimmy Buffett craving the husky American dish while on a tropical sojourn in “Cheeseburger in Paradise.” It has been called the best cheap meal on earth, or words to that effect. During the Kobe beef craze before the recession, high end urban restaurants offered $75 versions on hand baked buns with a cap of glistening cave aged French cheese. There are even cheap imposters, such as the patty melt or that Midwestern classic, the Jucy Lucy.

It is democracy on a plate, adaptable to one impulse or another, humble in the mind of one cook, but reaching across the globe in the hands of another.

At Burgerwerx in Bridgeport, most patrons order the sandwich with plain American cheese. The popular grill also offers Swiss, but owner Camilla Schmunk prefers a more exotic style.

“Myself, I like Feta,” she said.

Chefs can dress the burger with anything, from biting Greek cheese to versions involving bacon on a pretzel bread bun (an assembly responsible, analysts say, for what might be a nine-year sales high for fast food giant Wendy’s).

“It is almost infinite,” Savely said of the potential permutations of cheese, bread and meat. “Personally I like Pepper Jack and American, topped with Provolone.”

The combination requires two patties and some imagination. Does anyone order it?

“Not usually, no,” Savely admitted.

Despite its popularity, it is difficult to pin down the reason people love cheeseburgers. There is something imperceptibly pleasant in the texture of oozing beef and gooey cheese, the savor of rough-hewn red meat countered by sharp Cheddar, tangy Swiss or comfortable Colby Jack.

And you can add bacon.

“Probably the most popular is the bacon cheeseburger,” Schmunk pointed out. “Everything is better with bacon.”