The hamburger might be America's most democratic food—simple enough that anyone can make one, versatile enough that every region has made it their own. Travel across the United States and you'll discover that "burger" means something different in El Reno, Oklahoma than it does in Middletown, Connecticut. Different from what they're serving in Albuquerque, different from the butter-laden versions in Wisconsin, different from the pastrami-topped creations in Salt Lake City.
These regional variations didn't emerge from marketing meetings or test kitchens. They evolved organically, shaped by local ingredients, economic circumstances, immigrant influences, and community traditions. A burger topped with roasted green chile in New Mexico makes perfect sense when you're surrounded by chile farms. Steaming burgers in Connecticut was born from Depression-era resourcefulness and specific equipment that never spread beyond central Connecticut. The Wisconsin butter burger celebrates the state's dairy heritage in the most direct way possible.
Understanding these regional styles means understanding American food culture itself—how geography, history, and creativity combine to create traditions that locals defend fiercely and outsiders discover with delight. Let's explore eight distinctive burger styles that define their regions, each one a delicious lesson in American culinary diversity.
Oklahoma Onion Burger: Depression-Era Innovation
The Oklahoma onion burger was born from hardship and became a point of pride. During the 1930s, when the Great Depression and Dust Bowl devastated Oklahoma's economy, Ross Davis at his Hamburger Inn in El Reno faced a problem: beef was expensive, and customers were struggling. His solution was ingenious—bulk up burgers with thinly sliced onions, which were cheap and plentiful.
The technique he developed became the style's defining characteristic. Davis would slice onions paper-thin and pile them on the griddle to heat up. Then he'd press a ball of ground beef directly into those onions, smashing it flat so the onions embedded into the meat. As the burger cooked, the onions caramelized on the bottom side and steamed on top, creating an almost lace-like crust of sweet, savory, crispy-tender onions fused with the beef.
What started as a cost-cutting measure turned out to create an absolutely delicious burger. The onions add moisture and sweetness while stretching the beef without feeling like filler. When you bite into an Oklahoma onion burger, you can't tell where the beef ends and the onions begin—they're completely integrated, which is exactly the point. For a complete guide to making perfect smash burgers, the Oklahoma technique is the foundation of this popular style.
Three El Reno establishments still serve authentic Oklahoma onion burgers as their signature offering: Sid's Diner, Robert's Grill, and Johnnie's Grill. These spots maintain the original flat-top technique, with cooks expertly smashing meat into impossibly thin onion slices. In recent years, the style has experienced a renaissance. A 2025 demonstration on Good Morning America introduced the Oklahoma fried onion burger to a national audience, and the term "smash burger" has become synonymous with this technique even beyond Oklahoma.
Connecticut Steamed Burger: The Healthier Oddity
Steaming a hamburger sounds wrong. Everything we know about burger cookery emphasizes high heat, Maillard reactions, crusty sears. Yet in central Connecticut, steaming is the traditional method, and locals swear the results are superior to any griddled or grilled burger.
The steamed burger originated at Jack's Lunch in Middletown during the 1930s, though the style gained wider recognition when Ted Duberek opened Ted's Diner (now Ted's Restaurant) in Meriden in the 1950s. The method requires specialized equipment—vertical steaming cabinets that look nothing like typical restaurant cooking gear. This is partly why steamed burgers never spread beyond Connecticut; fewer than 10 establishments in the state have the equipment and expertise to make them properly.
The process is straightforward but unusual. Beef patties and cheese are placed in separate compartments within the steamer, where they cook in their own steam rather than through direct heat contact. The result is an incredibly juicy burger—almost shockingly so if you're not expecting it. Because no griddle or grill is involved, all the fat and juices stay in the meat rather than dripping away. The texture is softer, more yielding, without any crust formation.
Connecticut steamed burger advocates make health claims that seem dubious (it's still a burger), but they're not entirely wrong. No additional fat is needed for cooking since the burgers steam in their own moisture, and some fat does render out during the steaming process. Whether this makes them "healthier" is debatable, but they're definitely distinctive—a regional quirk that defies conventional burger wisdom and somehow works beautifully.
New Mexico Green Chile Burger: A State Obsession
In New Mexico, the question isn't whether to put green chile on your burger—it's which chile you're using and whether you want it roasted, diced, or whole. The green chile cheeseburger is so central to New Mexican identity that the state tourism board created an official Green Chile Cheeseburger Trail with more than 50 stops.
The burger's origin is debated, but the most credible story points to the Original Owl Bar & Café in San Antonio, New Mexico, which opened in 1945. The bar served atomic scientists from the nearby Trinity Site (where the first atomic bomb was tested). According to legend, owner Frank Chavez initially served chile on the side in small bowls, but when the dishwasher didn't show up one day and clean bowls ran short, Chavez simply plopped the green chile directly on top of the burgers. The scientists loved it, and a regional icon was born.
Blake's Lotaburger, the first restaurant chain to embrace the green chile burger, has a slightly different origin story. Founder Blake Chanslor reportedly witnessed a customer adding green chile to their burger, tried it himself, and immediately added it to the menu. Regardless of who did it first, by the 1960s, green chile on burgers had become standard across New Mexico.
What makes this burger special is the chile itself. New Mexico, particularly the Hatch region, produces distinctive green chiles that are roasted until the skin blisters and blackens, then peeled to reveal tender, smoky, slightly spicy flesh. The flavor is complex—earthy, sweet, fruity, with a heat that builds gradually rather than punching you immediately. When you layer roasted Hatch green chiles on a burger with melted cheese, the chile juices mingle with the beef fat and cheese into something greater than the sum of its parts.
The preparation varies by establishment. Some places stir roasted chiles into caramelized onions for a pepper-onion topping. Others layer whole chile strips across the patty. The burgers might be smash-style, flame-broiled, or seared on a griddle. But the non-negotiable element is quality roasted green chile, preferably prepared fresh that day.
Wisconsin Butter Burger: Dairy State Pride
When your state's license plates read "America's Dairyland," putting butter on burgers isn't indulgence—it's heritage. The Wisconsin butter burger traces its roots to the late 1800s when "Hamburger Charlie" Nagreen started frying beef in butter at the Seymour Fair. By 1936, Solly's Grille in Milwaukee was serving burgers with generous amounts of butter melted directly onto the patty, cementing the style.
There are two main approaches to butter burgers, and Wisconsin establishments are split between them. The traditional method, still practiced at Solly's, involves placing a thick pat of butter directly on the hot beef patty as it comes off the griddle. The butter melts over the entire burger, soaking into the bun and creating an almost sinfully rich eating experience. Solly's is known for being particularly generous with their butter application—this is not a subtle touch.
The alternative method, popularized by Culver's when it launched in 1984, butters the crown of the bun rather than the patty itself. Craig Culver's mother used to make butter burgers at home this way, and when the family opened their first Culver's location in Sauk City, Wisconsin, this became their signature. Culver's sources their butter from Alcam Creamery, a family-owned operation in Sauk City, emphasizing the local dairy connection.
Culver's approach is slightly less intense than Solly's butter-on-patty method, but it still delivers that characteristic richness. The buttered, toasted bun adds flavor without overwhelming the beef. Today, with over 1,000 Culver's locations across 26 states, the Wisconsin butter burger has spread far beyond its home state, though it remains most concentrated in the Midwest.
The butter burger represents something fundamental about Wisconsin identity—a state that produces so much dairy it seems only natural to incorporate butter into everything, including burgers. It's unabashedly rich, completely unpretentious, and deeply satisfying in a way that lighter, "healthier" burgers simply can't match.
Carolina Pimento Cheese Burger: Southern Gold
Southern food has many nicknames—"pâté of the South," "Carolina caviar"—but whatever you call pimento cheese, in South Carolina it belongs on a burger. The pimento cheese burger (often called a PC burger locally) originated around 1954 when Jacob "J.C." Reynolds opened the Dairy Bar on South Main Street in Columbia, South Carolina.
Reynolds' original version spread homemade pimento cheese directly on the bun, then added a thin beef patty and a layer of chili—an ambitious combination that set the template for Carolina pimento burgers. Over the decades, the style evolved, and chili became optional, but the pimento cheese remained essential.
Pimento cheese itself is a Southern staple: sharp cheddar cheese mixed with mayonnaise, chopped pimentos, and spices. Recipes vary—some add cayenne pepper, others include Worcestershire sauce, onion powder, garlic, or hot sauce—but the base is always cheese, mayo, and those sweet red pimentos. When you melt pimento cheese on a hot burger patty, it transforms into a molten, creamy sauce that seeps into the beef and soaks the bun, providing richness and a subtle sweetness that balances the char of the grilled meat.
A proper pimento burger is wider than it is tall, with a thin bun that's been well-toasted or given a press on a panini grill. The key is melting the pimento cheese thoroughly—you want it to become a gooey, integrated part of the burger rather than sitting on top like a cold condiment. The cheese gives so much flavor that many pimento burger enthusiasts skip ketchup and mustard entirely.
In Columbia and throughout South Carolina, the pimento cheese burger is comfort food at its finest—a combination of two Southern classics that together create something you'd be hard-pressed to find anywhere else in America. Try our Pimento Cheese Carolina Bacon Burger for an authentic taste of this Southern tradition.
California Burger: Fresh, Light, West Coast
The California burger represents a fundamentally different philosophy than most regional burger styles—instead of richness and indulgence, it emphasizes freshness and quality ingredients. While other regions were perfecting ways to make burgers more decadent, California was adding avocado and sprouts.
The California burger concept rose to prominence with In-N-Out, which opened in 1948 and helped define West Coast burger culture. The original "California burger" simply featured fresh lettuce, tomato, and onion—vegetables that grew abundantly in California while the rest of the country didn't always have year-round access to such fresh produce. But the modern California burger is defined by avocado, which makes perfect sense given that 95% of avocados grown in the United States come from California.
The typical California burger features a quality beef patty (often higher-grade meat than you'd find at most burger joints), ripe avocado slices, crisp lettuce, fresh tomato, and often alfalfa sprouts. Some versions add bacon, others include grilled onions or special sauces, but the avocado is non-negotiable. The creamy, slightly nutty avocado provides richness without heaviness, complementing the beef while adding healthy fats and a distinctly Californian touch.
The health-conscious aspect of the California burger reflects broader West Coast values. While it's still a burger—let's not pretend it's a salad—the emphasis on fresh vegetables and quality ingredients aligns with California's farm-to-table ethos and focus on local, seasonal produce. Some versions use turkey patties instead of beef for an even lighter option, though purists argue this crosses the line from "California burger" to "California turkey burger," which is an entirely different discussion.
The California burger's influence has spread nationwide. You'll find "California-style" burgers on menus across America, almost always featuring avocado and usually some combination of sprouts, bacon, and fresh vegetables. Try our California Avocado Bacon Burger for a perfect example of West Coast burger philosophy. It's proof that regional burger styles can transcend their origins when they tap into broader food trends—in this case, the movement toward fresher, lighter, more ingredient-focused cooking.
Utah Pastrami Burger: An Unexpected Classic
Stacking thinly sliced pastrami on top of a beef burger sounds like overkill—until you try it. The Utah pastrami burger is an unexpected regional specialty centered in Salt Lake City, where it's become a beloved staple since the 1970s.
The style was introduced to Utah by Nick Katsanevas and John Katzourakis when they opened the first Crown Burgers location in 1978. Katsanevas had learned to make pastrami burgers from a Turkish man in Los Angeles, where pastrami burgers likely originated in Southern California's diverse food scene. But it was in Utah that the pastrami burger found its true home and loyal following.
The Crown Burger—their signature—features a charbroiled quarter-pound beef patty topped with a generous stack of thinly sliced pastrami, cheese, lettuce, tomato, onion, and the essential Utah condiment: fry sauce. That fry sauce (a combination of ketchup, mayonnaise, and spices, with hints of onion powder, Worcestershire, and possibly pickle juice) is crucial to the experience, providing tangy creaminess that cuts through the double-meat richness.
What's particularly interesting about Utah's pastrami burger culture is the Greek connection. Many of Salt Lake City's burger stands serving pastrami burgers have Greek-sounding names: Apollo Burger, Olympus Burgers, Yanni's Greek Express, Atlantis Burgers. This reflects the Greek immigration to Utah and these restaurateurs' contribution to local food culture.
The pastrami burger shouldn't work—it's a lot of meat, potentially overwhelming—but the pastrami's peppery, slightly spicy flavor profile complements rather than competes with the beef. The pastrami is usually warmed through but not crisped, maintaining its tender texture. Combined with the cooling effect of fry sauce and fresh vegetables, it becomes a surprisingly balanced (if admittedly indulgent) burger experience.
Crown Burgers now has seven locations across Utah, and the pastrami burger has become so synonymous with Salt Lake City that you'll find versions at restaurants throughout the area. It's one of those regional specialties that makes locals smile and visitors do a double-take before taking that first bite and immediately understanding the appeal.
Hawaii's Loco Moco: Rice Plate Evolution
Strictly speaking, loco moco isn't a burger in the traditional sense—there's no bun involved. But this Hawaiian comfort food features a hamburger patty as its central element, and it tells an important story about how regional adaptations can completely reimagine what a "burger" means.
Loco moco was created in 1949 at the Lincoln Grill in Hilo, Hawaii, by proprietors Richard and Nancy Inouye. A group of teenagers from the Lincoln Wreckers Sports club asked for something affordable, filling, and different from the typical sandwich. The Inouyes came up with a simple but ingenious combination: white rice as the base, topped with a hamburger patty, smothered in brown gravy, and crowned with a sunny-side-up fried egg.
This dish perfectly encapsulates Hawaiian food culture's fusion nature. The rice base reflects Asian influence (particularly Japanese, given Hawaii's significant Japanese population). The hamburger patty and brown gravy represent American comfort food. The fried egg draws from both traditions. The result is pure local Hawaiian—a dish that could only have emerged from Hawaii's unique multicultural environment.
Loco moco has spawned countless variations. Some versions use Spam instead of a beef patty (Spam being another Hawaiian staple). Others feature teriyaki chicken, kalua pork, mahi-mahi, or Portuguese sausage. The gravy might be traditional brown gravy or a teriyaki-based sauce. But the core concept remains: rice, protein, gravy, egg, in a format designed for hearty eating.
What makes loco moco relevant to a discussion of regional burger styles is how it takes the hamburger patty—that quintessentially American element—and completely recontextualizes it within a different cultural framework. It's a reminder that regional food evolution isn't just about toppings and condiments; it can fundamentally reimagine the format itself.
Frequently Asked Questions
Can I make these regional burger styles at home?
Absolutely! Most regional styles are surprisingly accessible. Oklahoma onion burgers just require thinly sliced onions and a hot griddle or cast-iron pan. Wisconsin butter burgers need quality butter (Wisconsin butter if you can find it). The main challenge is Connecticut steamed burgers, which require specialized steaming equipment most home kitchens don't have. For green chile burgers, source quality roasted Hatch chiles online if you're outside the Southwest.
Why haven't these regional styles spread nationwide?
Some have—the Oklahoma smash burger technique is now everywhere, and California-style burgers appear on menus across the country. Others remain regional due to specific ingredients (Hatch green chiles), specialized equipment (Connecticut steamers), or simply strong local identity that hasn't had a national marketing push. Regional specialties often thrive precisely because they're associated with a specific place.
Which regional burger style is the most unique?
Connecticut's steamed burger is arguably the most unusual since it defies every conventional burger cooking method. But "unique" depends on perspective—if you're from Connecticut, steamed burgers are normal and butter burgers might seem weird. That's the beauty of regional food culture.
Are any of these regional styles healthier than standard burgers?
Connecticut residents claim steamed burgers are healthier since no additional cooking fat is needed, though they're still burgers with all the calories that implies. California burgers emphasize fresh vegetables and sometimes leaner meats, but again, it's relative. Regional burger styles generally prioritize flavor and tradition over health considerations.
What defines a regional burger style versus just a topping variation?
Regional styles typically involve a distinctive technique (smashing, steaming, butter application) or an ingredient so central to the region's identity that the burger becomes culturally significant there. It's not just "burger with X on it"—it's a preparation method or combination that reflects local history, ingredients, and values, defended by locals and recognized by outsiders as distinctly belonging to that place.
Conclusion
American regional burger styles are edible history lessons. The Oklahoma onion burger shows you Depression-era resourcefulness. Connecticut steamers reveal a community's embrace of unconventional technique. New Mexico green chile burgers demonstrate the power of local agriculture to define cuisine. Wisconsin butter burgers celebrate dairy heritage. Carolina pimento burgers showcase Southern comfort food evolution. California burgers reflect West Coast values of freshness and quality. Utah pastrami burgers illustrate how immigrant influences create unexpected combinations. Hawaii's loco moco shows how burger elements can be completely reimagined within different cultural contexts.
What makes these regional styles fascinating isn't just their differences—it's what those differences tell us about the places that created them. Food doesn't develop in a vacuum; it emerges from available ingredients, economic realities, immigrant traditions, local values, and community creativity. Every regional burger style has a story, and those stories are fundamentally American stories about adaptation, innovation, and making something distinctively your own.
The next time you encounter an unfamiliar regional burger style, resist the urge to judge it against your hometown standard. Instead, ask what circumstances created this variation. What was available locally? What cultural influences shaped it? What problem was someone trying to solve? The answers will give you more than a meal—they'll give you insight into American culinary diversity.
And then, of course, take a bite. Because while the history is fascinating, these burgers ultimately exist to be enjoyed, not just analyzed. From Oklahoma to Connecticut, New Mexico to Wisconsin, each region has perfected something worth tasting. The best way to appreciate American burger culture is to work your way across the country, one regional style at a time, discovering what makes each one special and why the locals swear theirs is the best.