Whoever decided to brand the onion burger as strictly an “El Reno thing” was, I’m sorry to say, a little off the mark…
Because if you’re really chasing the best version of this Oklahoma classic, you won’t find it in El Reno at all, but about 40 miles to the south, in the surprisingly bustling town of Chickasha. That’s where J & W Grill sits at 501 W. Choctaw Ave., and where I was about to find out what a real Oklahoma onion burger is all about.
It was a Thursday afternoon, and, thankfully, my wife and I had a peaceful and uneventful drive to the rural eatery. Parking the car, I noticed that a few families were sitting at patio tables enjoying the first truly hot day of the season—each holding an onion burger, smiling and happy.
“Is this what heaven is like?” I silently asked.
I was going to meet the owner of J & W Grill, a relatively young man by the name of Dustin Cook. A Chickasha native, he had the honor of being Patrick's college roommate, and in 2020, inherited the 68-year-old restaurant from his father.
“I didn’t change J & W that much,” Cook told me. “Really, everything is run about the same—the way they fashion the meat, the way our fries are cut in the morning…even the way our chili dogs are made. I didn’t change too much because it’s been proven right.”
I have to say, I fully agree. From the big, buzzing neon sign touting their “Coneys and Hamburgers,” to the inside, with a long countertop that has served every meal since forever, this isn’t one of those shopping mall diners made to look like the 50s—this is the real deal.
“This isn’t nostalgia,” Cook said. “This is a real working restaurant for people from town that eat lunch here every day, but there’s also people that come from New York to try our food.”
As I sat down at the counter, I understood what he meant. The old school, no frills vibe wasn't created to draw in tourists. The place hasn't changed because it hasn't had to, something I noticed as the clientele – mostly older folks at the counter – sat comfortably with a big onion burger in one hand and a cold shake in the other.
Looking at the Dr. Pepper-branded menu board on the wall, even their prices seemed to come from another time. A coney for $4.03, a steak sandwich for $7.75, a BLT for $4.88 and, the main event, an old-fashioned onion burger for $6.90… you could do a whole lunch for 10-bucks and some change.
Of course, for my lunch I was going to order the onion burger, but I also piled on a coney topped with onions, chili and cheese, as well as a large basket of hand-cut fries.
Watching all the life around me, I took a sip of coffee and the waitperson brought my wife her highly anticipated J & W’s vaunted hand-spun shake in her choice of strawberry. Taking an elongated sip, she was mesmerized with the blend of real ice cream and sweet strawberry syrup that melted in her mouth, passing it to me for a taste.
“That’s a darn good shake!” I exclaimed.
A couple of minutes later, our fries arrived. At first, I thought it was a joke—I ordered the large fries to share but, being so accustomed to McDonald’s taters, J & W’s order was three times the size, all in the hand-cut shapes of skinny to very skinny.
The taste was even more monumental, as nothing beats a skinny fry. Pounding them like snuff into my waiting jaws, they were very addictive, and I used them as a paintbrush with the fancy ketchup.
Before the onion burger, I wanted to get into this dog. Cook recommended them to me, and it was a work of art on a plate. A red hot wiener was topped with scads of cheese, dollops of chili, and a personal favorite of mine, the small diced onions. But the real standout was the sweet onion relish spooned artfully over the top of the whole shebang.
J & W’s coneys are one for the books. Though compact, it was amazing how much flavor was packed in there, with the juicy hot dog spilling over on the bun already overloaded with the shaggy cheese and the crisp onions, and that sweet relish bringing it all together. It truly was a sight to behold.
With these preambles out of the way, this was the big show and on this bar in this small town, our teeth chattered as our waitress presented us with the momentous onion burger. The sweating patty was charred with extra onions, topped with bacon, tomato, pickles, and lettuce on a toasted bun.
Served right off the flat-top grill in front of us, it was an out-of-body experience to the nth degree. This was no greasy burger — the onions and meat created their own atmosphere, and for a moment we were floating in space, while the surrounding fixings kept us tethered to the earth.
This is the onion burger that people should be using as an example as to who, what, why, and where an onion burger should be and, thanks to God, is.
I walked outside into the sun and Cook was with his daughter, who was out of school that day. We talked for a few minutes about the onion burger and how, to me, it was life-changing, no hyperbole.
“I grew up around J & W since I was a kid, washing dishes, cutting onions, everything...” Cook then pointed to his left muscle. “I got this tattoo a few years ago…it’s an onion carrying a plate of onion burgers and fries. That’s devotion.”
Oklahoma has countless restaurants, many with long, vibrant stories of cultural upheaval, historic tribulations… and ingenuity. The onion burger was born out of desperation to stretch meat in the Depression. Today it’s a total art form.
J & W Grill are the true artistes of this culinary marvel. Sure, they didn’t create the onion burger, but they've truly mastered it.
-
Follow Louis Fowler on Instagram at @louisfowler78.
