I’ll say it: I’m done with smashburgers.
You know the ones — paper-thin patties pressed into a sizzling griddle until they’re more crust than meat, stacked in threes, and drowned in sauce to distract from how little beef there actually is. Once upon a time, this crispy-edged burger seemed like a foodie revelation. Now, it’s just lazy cooking in a glossy wrapper.
It’s time we reclaim the real burger — the kind that drips juice, not grease; that smells like a summer cookout, not a fast-food chain. Somewhere along the line, we traded culinary craft for Instagram crackle. And it’s showing.
The Smashburger Craze: When Fast Became Fake
The “smashburger” trend exploded because it looks good on camera. That sizzling shot — spatula pressing down, juices popping, smoke rising — is catnip for social media. The Maillard reaction, that browning of amino acids and sugars that creates that crave-worthy crust, makes for perfect TikTok fodder.
But here’s the problem: what started as a clever method for maximizing flavor in cheap diner meat has turned into an aesthetic gimmick. We’ve convinced ourselves that thinner equals tastier, when in reality, thinner just means faster, and faster almost always means lower quality.
Smashburgers began in the Midwest at joints like Dairy Cheer and Culver’s, where cooks flattened meat to make it cook evenly on griddles without fancy equipment. It was never meant to replace the traditional pub burger, a thick, pink-centered masterpiece that actually celebrates beef.
Now, everyone from food trucks to high-end restaurants has jumped on the smash trend, serving up $18 versions of what’s essentially a glorified fast-food burger. According to Slate’s 2025 article “I’m Over the Smashburger – Bring Back a Real Burger,” the fad has reached peak saturation. And like every food trend that prioritizes clicks over craft, it’s wearing thin.
The Science of a Real Burger
There’s nothing wrong with a little crust, but let’s talk science.
The Maillard reaction happens best when the surface of the meat reaches around 300°F (150°C), creating those deep, nutty brown flavors. A light smash can help that along. But once you press all the juices out, you’ve crossed the line from flavor into dryness.
According to Serious Eats culinary researcher J. Kenji López-Alt, smashing at the right moment can create magic, but smashing after the first few seconds just ruins the meat’s structure (López-Alt, 2014). What most short-order cooks and social-media imitators do wrong is press too late and too long, leaving behind a sad, overcooked puck of former protein.
Real burgers, the ones with actual substance, are about balance. A ¾-inch to 1-inch patty, gently formed, minimally handled, and cooked just long enough for a char outside and a blush inside. Not only does it taste better, it’s also nutritionally denser. A thicker burger maintains more of its natural fats and B-vitamins, which get destroyed by overcooking (USDA, 2023).
From Beef to Beige: How We Lost the Burger’s Soul
When did burgers become beige?
The classic American burger used to be a statement, a cook’s pride. Think of backyard barbecues, the smell of smoke curling up from charcoal, someone standing guard with a cold beer and a spatula. It wasn’t just about food; it was about care.
Today’s burger culture feels disposable. Smashburgers epitomize the algorithm’s grip on food: instant gratification, viral sizzle, zero depth. We’re so obsessed with aesthetic crispness that we’ve forgotten what a burger should feel like, tender, juicy, a little messy, a lot real.
The problem isn’t just culinary. It’s cultural.
In 1950, burgers were simple, slow, and communal. The meat came from local butchers, often ground fresh in-house. You could taste the difference, the subtle minerality, the buttery richness of grass-fed fat. But the industrialized fast-food era turned all that into uniform patties of commodity beef.
Smashburgers are just the latest symptom of that decline. They trick us into thinking we’re “elevating” fast food, when really, we’re just re-branding it.
The Real Burger Is Slow
To make a real burger, you need time.
Time to source good beef. Time to rest it before cooking. Time to toast the bun properly, not scorch it on a greasy flat-top. Time to slice tomatoes that actually smell like tomatoes.
The beauty of a thick burger is patience. It’s cooked gently, sometimes over charcoal, sometimes in a cast-iron skillet, to retain its juices and let flavor build layer by layer.
When you bite into a real burger, you taste meat, not marketing.
Chef Alton Brown once said that a great burger “isn’t about the crust; it’s about the core.” And he’s right. You can’t fake juiciness with sauces or pickles or a double-stack. True flavor comes from respecting the ingredient, from grass-fed, dry-aged beef that’s been treated like a craft product, not filler.
The Health and Quality Gap
There’s another angle people aren’t talking about: nutrition.
A 2024 Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health analysis found that ultra-processed fast foods, including thin-pressed burgers, contribute significantly to higher rates of sodium and preservative intake, even when they appear “freshly cooked.” Many smashburgers use pre-ground, pre-seasoned beef blends with added stabilizers to prevent shrinkage.
Compare that to freshly ground, 100% grass-fed beef, which contains up to 50% more omega-3 fatty acids and conjugated linoleic acid (CLA), both of which are linked to lower inflammation and improved heart health (Daley et al., Nutrition Journal, 2010).
So while the smashburger trend pretends to celebrate simplicity, it often hides the opposite: factory-processed, overcooked, sodium-heavy fast food disguised as gourmet.
Nostalgia Isn’t Backward — It’s Real
Remember your first backyard burger?
Maybe it was your dad flipping patties in the rain, or your grandmother insisting you didn’t need ketchup because “the beef’s already seasoned right.” Maybe it was a small-town diner where the cook knew your name and your burger came medium-rare, not medium-dead.
That’s what we’ve lost, not just taste, but ritual.
The smashburger represents efficiency; the real burger represents memory. One is for your feed; the other is for your family.
Food writer Michael Pollan said it best: “The shared meal elevates eating from a mechanical process of fueling the body to a ritual of family and community.” (Pollan, In Defense of Food, 2008). Burgers, of all foods, used to do that, they were an excuse to gather, to grill, to talk.
Now we eat them alone in cars, scrolling TikTok.
The Pub Burger Revolution
There’s a quiet rebellion happening, though.
Across the country, chefs are reviving the pub burger, a thick, indulgent, unapologetic patty that takes time and confidence. At places like Emily in Brooklyn or Au Cheval in Chicago, the burger is treated like a craft beer: locally sourced, perfectly balanced, deeply personal.
According to a 2025 Eater report, demand for premium pub-style burgers has surged 38% in the past two years, particularly in small independent restaurants. Consumers are starting to tire of the smashburger gimmick. They want substance, not spectacle.
This shift isn’t just about taste, it’s about values. People are craving authenticity again. They want food that feels human, not algorithmic.
What “Real” Actually Means
A real burger isn’t defined by nostalgia alone, it’s defined by intent.
- Real ingredients: grass-fed or pasture-raised beef, simple seasoning, fresh produce.
- Real technique: no smashing after sear, no microwaving, no over-handled meat.
- Real experience: cooked to order, eaten hot, ideally surrounded by people.
Cooking should feel deliberate. We’ve forgotten that making something slowly doesn’t make it boring. It makes it meaningful.
The Call to Reclaim the Burger
The smashburger was cute for a while, like avocado toast or rainbow bagels, but the novelty has worn off. What we need now is not another food fad, but a return to fundamentals.
Let’s bring back the backyard grill. The patience. The thick burger that drips onto your wrist and makes you close your eyes in bliss. The burger that reminds you that food is supposed to nourish, not perform.
Because the truth is, real food doesn’t go viral, it just lasts.
So next time you’re at the butcher, skip the pre-pressed patties. Buy a pound of grass-fed chuck. Season it with salt and pepper. Form it gently. Cook it until the center blushes. Toast your bun with butter, not oil. And when you take that first bite, remember: this is what a burger was meant to be.
Check out ImmerHealth’s book, The Carnivore Lifestyle
References
- Slate. (2025). “I’m Over the Smashburger – Bring Back a Real Burger.” https://slate.com/life/2025/10/best-burger-near-me-smashburger-pub.html
- López-Alt, J. K. (2014). “The Food Lab: The Science of the Best Smash Burger.” Serious Eats.
- Daley, C. A. et al. (2010). “A review of fatty acid profiles and antioxidant content in grass-fed and grain-fed beef.” Nutrition Journal, 9(10).
- USDA FoodData Central. (2023). “Beef, ground, raw, and cooked nutrient profiles.”
- Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health. (2024). “Ultra-processed foods and cardiovascular risk: An updated analysis.”
- Pollan, M. (2008). In Defense of Food: An Eater’s Manifesto. Penguin Press.
- Eater. (2025). “Why the Pub Burger Is Making a Comeback.”
Final thought: If you want to taste America again, stop smashing it.
