The 60 Best Burger Joints in the United States

The four-slider pull-apart smash burger, cheese skirt and all, tells you something about what Cordelia is going for: a lively, shareable, anything-goes dinner-out kind of place on East Fourth. The open kitchen is the room's centerpiece, and chef Vinnie Cimino, a Food & Wine Best New Chef and a James Beard nominee, runs a menu that shifts constantly between dips, fresh fish, and daily steak cuts.

Glowing red neon and a tight menu of smash burgers and waffle fries in a downtown Phoenix storefront that used to pour rum cocktails. Bad Jimmy's is a casual burger shop that moonlights as a cocktail bar, which explains why half the room looks like they just escaped a nearby venue. The rotating specials reward repeat visits, and vanilla soft serve finished with olive oil is the kind of thing that sounds wrong until it doesn't. Phoenix New Times named it the city's top smashburger spot.

Somewhere between a diner and a log cabin, this cash-only Tempe burger shop has been grilling patties over a live mesquite fire since forever. You order at the counter while the smoke does its thing, then dress your own burger at the condiment table. Sizes run from a modest fifth-pounder up to a full pound of beef, which should cover most life situations. An old-school Valley institution, and the zucchini fries are not optional.

Holsteins is a casual burger-and-milkshake joint in the Arts District, relocated from its long run inside a Strip casino to a spot where nobody has to walk through a slot floor for a patty. The burgers are stacked high enough to require a strategy, and the boozy shakes arrive buried in doughnuts and marshmallows. Come hungry, wear something you can afford to get sauce on, and plan on being full for a while.

Cowy Burger is a Miami smashburger counter in a scene where half the internet seems to be filming the same fist-on-beef routine. The patties here are pressed so thin they're nearly a rumor, and the move is the one with bacon jam, sweet and chunky in a way that sounds like a band you'd tell your nephew to quit. Come in whatever you're wearing, expect to eat with your hands, and plan on a line.

A hotel lobby bar in a Gothic downtown landmark, where a smash-style burger with a cream cheese and white cheddar blend and house-pickled onions is the draw. It's a dim, vaulted room with bar-food prices, and the crowd runs from packed to tumbleweed depending on the night. Service can wander. The Infatuation put the burger on its list of the best in America, which is a lot of pressure for something that tastes a little like a drive-thru.

A smash burger counter inside The Churchill, Phoenix's shipping-container food hall, Stoop Kid pulls double duty: bagel sandwiches in the morning, crispy patties the rest of the day. The kitchen keeps things small and precise, with homemade dill pickles and a fried-egg option for those who treat lunch like a commitment. Grab a beer from next door, find a table in the shaded courtyard, and wait for your name.

The Brulee Burger, with its torched sugar crust on the bun, explains the whole ethos of this Scottsdale burger shop in one order. The chef here treats fast-casual comfort food as an excuse to get weird in the best way, battering and frying patties, folding blueberry-habanero compote into guacamole, stacking corn-muffin fritters between the buns. Guy Fieri has been by, and the memorabilia is on the wall to prove it. Napkins: take several.

The burgers get a splash of red wine on the flat top, which is either the gimmick or the whole point depending on how you order. Harvey's is a neighborhood dive bar on 16th Street, bright green walls, pool table, jukebox, and cheap burgers that come with fries. Weekend happy hour runs weekend mornings, and last call stretches to midnight. The regulars who never needed a menu figured all this out a long time ago.

The Arcadia Burger, topped with grilled onions, guacamole, and the house sauce, is the one to order at this drive-thru-only burger shoppe with no indoor seating whatsoever. The double-stacked patties are properly juicy, the fries are the obvious companion, and the milkshakes invite mixing flavors in combinations you'll immediately claim were your idea. Phoenix New Times put it in the top ten burger joints in town, and the neighborhood regulars roll through like they know something.

Carl's is a two-sided counter with sixteen stools, a griddle, and staff who treat small talk as a clerical error. The burgers are lacy, paper-thin things, so you order a double the way you'd order a second coffee, and the housemade root beer comes along without discussion. The tamales under chili are a pleasant surprise. Bring cash, and if anyone asks about the Shake Shack rumor, you didn't hear it from me.

This is a fast-casual smashburger counter in Centennial Hills, run by the same people behind Sorry Not Sorry ice cream, so the line-out-the-door routine arrived pre-rehearsed. Black Angus patties get pressed on a hot griddle until the edges go lacy, then land on a potato roll with American cheese and thin onions. The menu is short, the prices are fast-food friendly, and nobody is here to dress up for a burger.

White tiles, pastel trim, and a cartoon burger grinning at you from the wall set the tone at this retro counter-service burger joint on downtown Mesa's main drag. The team behind Tacos Chiwas and Espiritu kept things deliberately simple: a short menu of semi-smashed burgers, hot dogs, loaded fries, and aguas frescas. The Sonora burger, stacked with griddled cheese, chiltepin, and bacon, is the one people talk about.

A burger joint built around an actual cattle partnership, where the menu maps Oklahoma's regional traditions with quiet conviction. The onion burger is here, and so is the theta, with hickory sauce and grated American cheese and a strict no-onion policy that locals will defend without irony. The El Reno coney, dressed in sweet mustard slaw, fills out the picture. This is a place where the menu doubles as a short course in what this state considers non-negotiable.

With Love, Always is a retro diner off the Strip that started as a parking lot pop-up and now draws lines for smashed onion burgers with lacy, crispy edges, finished with a creamy sauce and shoestring fries. It's casual and loud in the good way, packed with families fresh from practice. The soft serve comes with a pickup ticket, so your custard arrives after the burger instead of as soup beforehand. It's on The Infatuation's list of the 25 best restaurants in Las Vegas.

Club Frills is a cocktail bar dressed as a 70s basement, with fake wood paneling, a disco ball, and tabletops that are marble only in spirit. It wears the dive costume without the sticky floors or the low prices. The drinks run low-ABV and funky, often in colors not found in nature, and the kitchen turns out a burger built around diced olives. It was a James Beard semifinalist for Outstanding Professional in Cocktail Service.

Dino's is an East Nashville dive that has been feeding the after-hours crowd since the 1970s, mostly with gooey cheeseburgers meant to talk a hangover out of existing. You can sit at a diner table in the dim main room or out on the covered patio, and the punk rock restroom is considered part of the visit. The bar pours Coors, Shiner Bock, and mezcal, Campari, even Malort, and the line peaks right after the bars close.

The line at the walk-up window is your first clue that this is a burger spot worth queuing for. It's a smash burger operation, the kind that keeps a rotating daily special on the board and double-fries the fries for good measure. The menu also runs a Philly cheesesteak riff for those who need something to argue about. A second location is coming to Highland Park.

A mounted St. Bernard stares you down from the wall, which tells you most of what you need to know. This old-school saloon in a sleepy mountain town between Snowbasin and Powder Mountain has been pouring drinks since the frontier era, and the cash-only, no-fries-ever policy suggests it's not softening up anytime soon. The staff is cheerfully gruff, the service is slow, and the burger is the reason skiers make the detour.

The queso has been pulling in UT students and neighborhood regulars since before most of them were born. Posse East is a campus-adjacent sports bar on Duval with wood-paneled walls, neon signs, a live music stage, and a covered patio that fills up on game days. Outside, a lone palm tree gives it an oddly Californian silhouette; inside, it is pure Texas roadhouse. Cold beer, solid burgers, and that queso keep the cycle going.

This is a concession stand parked outside the Absinthe circus tent, which sets the bar for fare somewhere around nachos in a plastic boat. Instead it sells a smash burger on a soft pretzel bun, with two beef patties, charred onions, and thick pickles, plus star-shaped tots. Order the caviar tots if you're feeling flush, or eat standing up among the hedges like a person who just wandered out of a show.

Trill Burgers is a counter-service smash burger joint run by Houston rapper Bun B, and it debuted to lines that suggested the city had never been told burgers exist. The patties come under American cheese, pickles, caramelized onions, and the house Trill sauce, with an Impossible version for vegans who'd rather not be left holding the fries. Plan on $15 to $20 for a combo, and come in whatever you wore to the gym.

A fully plant-based burger shop where the patties, cheese, and buns are all vegan, yet every meat-eating friend you drag here tends to go quiet mid-bite. Counter service, casual prices, shopping plaza setting. The menu runs from a straightforward classic to pineapple or jalapeño-topped builds, with loaded fries worth the mess. Phoenix New Times has named it among the top burger joints in the metro two years running, vegan or otherwise.

Life-sized Spider-Man watches you eat your burger, which feels about right for a counter-service spot where the menu hangs on the wall and you can hear the flat-top sizzling from the register. The patties come on sweet King's Hawaiian rolls, loaded with things like mac and cheese or pastrami, while Marvel films loop on the TVs and kids work free arcade games. Gyros and other diner bites round out the menu for anyone not in a superhero mood.

This Hyde Park counter-service spot does meatless versions of the comfort food you'd normally eat in a parked car, burgers first among them. The Big Mik takes obvious cues from a certain drive-thru classic, double patties and special sauce included, with the choice of dairy or vegan cheese. It's casual and inexpensive, the kind of place where ordering ahead online is the smart move. Eater has it on its Chicago burger list.

Champ Burger is a walk-up burger stand in the East End with no indoor seating, just a few outdoor spots and a line of loyal regulars that tends to be the main attraction. Third-pound patties of ground chuck go for roughly seven to eleven dollars, and the fries are the standard kind. The menu also stretches to vegan black bean and falafel burgers, plus an old-school Texas Size Steak Sandwich.

This is a drive-thru burger chain, not a destination restaurant, though the line of cars wrapped around the Dean Martin Drive lot would suggest otherwise. The Double-Double is two patties, two slices of American cheese, and a spread, ordered by people who have never once looked at the rest of the menu. It's cheap, quick, and a ritual for Californians and tourists alike. Eater counts it among the best burgers in Las Vegas.

This is a counter-service burger joint in Lower Nob Hill where napkins sit on every table, which is less hospitality than a warning. The patties come in beef, turkey, chicken, or veggie, and the bigger plays involve hot dogs or housemade chili stacked on top. Dress for sauce, because the barbecue pineapple one tends to travel down the wrist. White shirts are a bold choice here.

Rosemarie's is a casual beach-town burger and beer joint on Coast Highway, the kind of place where flip-flops count as dressing up. The wings are fried in duck fat and come in flavors like honey buffalo with ranch zig-zags and blue cheese crumbles, teriyaki, and mango habanero. Eater listed them among San Diego's best chicken wings. A dozen runs under twenty bucks, and the draft list rotates, so the pairing tends to sort itself out.

The red leather booths survived the renovation intact, and the 1970s diner vibe is so well-preserved you half-expect a harvest-gold appliance somewhere in the back. The Heyday is a casual burger shop on North Palm Canyon serving smash burgers, fried chicken sandwiches, and wings alongside strong classic cocktails and a retro playlist that earns its keep. The kind of place that makes Palm Springs feel less like a wellness retreat and more like a road trip stop.

SuperNormal is a burger counter in Sylvan Park, and the move here is the packaging. Your burger and fries ride side by side in a bright orange cube with three vent holes punched in the lid, so the steam escapes and nothing goes limp on the drive home. It's fast-ish food with the design instincts of a gallery gift shop. Nashville Scene gave it Best Presentation/Packaging in 2025, which tells you where the effort went.

Gabby's is a no-frills burger counter that was smashing patties onto a hot griddle back when that wasn't yet a personality trait for every new restaurant in town. The menu stays short: grass-fed burgers, hot dogs, fries, and shakes, with a secret menu named after regulars, though you'll have to know the password. Nashville Scene gave it a Best of Nashville for Best Burger. Order at the counter, wear whatever you like.