(Credit: Dan Piepenbring)
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The name isn't the only mystery at Burger Bros. Customers are also haunted—pleasantly, mind you, these are friendly ghosts—by such questions as, "How'd these Bros. score the rare and delicious Fanta Birch Beer as a fountain beverage?" "Does Thousand Island dressing really taste good on a burger?" And "Could I justify the purchase of a $15.99 Burger Bros. T-shirt?" (Answers are "through the grace of God," "yes" and "only if you devote a significant portion of your life to this place, in which case, why not just work here and get one for free," respectively.)
Ensconced in a row of successful Towson eateries, Burger Bros. is a long, narrow room, well-lit and invitingly painted in dandelion and chartreuse. There's a loose aesthetic at work; both the serving trays and the interior sign are made of thick, industrial-grade stainless steel, the kind that says, "We don't pussyfoot around when it comes to this burger-making business." The restaurant's exterior logo depicts a sizeable burger stalked by two rows of fries, as if leading them into a greasy skirmish with your taste buds.
A glance at the menu proves these Bros. are aware of franchised competition, e.g., Five Guys and Cheeburger Cheeburger. Like those success stories, BB boasts fresh ground Angus beef, Idaho spuds and onion rings, and enough cheeses, condiments and extras to transform your arteries into hardened war veterans.
These kinsmen hope to trump those corporate ninnies, though, with more diverse offerings: Fresh-squeezed lemonade, chicken breasts, chicken wings (boneless and, er, boned), hot dogs, turkey burgers, marinated Portobello mushroom burgers and salads. They do carry-out and catering, too.
One local touch in particular goes beyond the call of burger duty. Each table comes equipped with a bottle of malt vinegar and a generous shaker of Old Bay, so you can eat your fries Baltimore-style. It's an accommodation few chains, if any, provide.
Dish: We tried the classic six-ounce burger, adorned with cheddar, lettuce, tomato, onion and pickle. Most of Burger Bros.' 20-odd toppings are gratis; only chili, bacon and/or sautéed mushrooms cost extra ($0.59-$0.79). The burger's size made it difficult to attack without risking jaw damage. That's a good thing, in our book, since we'll gladly forego that skill for civility's sake. The burger was flavorful, comparing auspiciously to its Five Guys equivalent. If there's anything to criticize, it's the bun, which tasted ever-so-slightly stale.
Not wanting to eschew that ever-burgeoning vegetarian sect, another of the Metromix party opted for the marinated Portobello burger. It's difficult to infuse any mushroom with flavor, but a series of spicy toppings—jalapenos and caramelized onions, in addition to pepper jack cheese—saved the day, and the Portobello's texture proved just right.
All orders, it should go without saying, were appended with sides of noticeably fresh fries, which came in those little brown paper cups with pictures of fries on them. Love those. Takes you back to the school cafeteria.
Damage: A hamburger weighs in at $4.99; add cheese and it's $5.49. (The Portobello burger was no different in price.) A small order of fries sets you back $1.89, and a small drink is $1.29. The total sans-tax comes to $8.67. Even giving the State of Maryland its precious due, you can still walk out having spent less than $10.
Decision: It's too early to tell if these Bros., be they literal or figurative, will survive the cutthroat burger market. The genre has seen its share of delicious and dedicated burger joints fold under the pressure. Given its prime location and variety of menu, though, Burger Bros. has a fighting chance. If you're in Towson, support local business by giving these boys a shot. You may find yourself obeying the command of their Web domain name: EatMoreBurgers.com.
