There is no food more democratic than the burger. It turns up at the gas station and the white tablecloth steakhouse, at the backyard cookout and the tasting menu, and somehow it belongs at every one of them. Ground beef, a bun, and heat is the entire premise, and from that premise we have built one of the most beloved foods on the planet.
Which raises an obvious and important question. If the burger is everywhere, then which burger is best?
This is not a question to answer with a shrug. It deserves the same rigor we would bring to any serious problem, so we are going to bring it. Forty burgers, ranked, judged on two things at once: how iconic the burger is, the weight it carries in the culture, and how good it actually tastes when you sit down and eat it. A burger can coast for a while on fame, but it cannot fake the second bite. The ones that score high on both make the pantheon. The ones that score high on neither sink to F, where the gimmicks live.
Two rules before we start. First, every burger here is beef. No turkey, no salmon, no veggie patty, just ground beef in its many glorious forms. Second, every entry is a type or a style, never a brand. You will find the smashburger, the patty melt, and the green chile cheeseburger, but you will not find anyone's trademarked double decker by name. We are ranking ideas, not menus. Before the rankings, it is worth understanding what actually separates a great burger from a sad one, because nearly all of it is decided before the patty ever touches the heat.
What actually separates a great burger from a sad one
A burger is ground beef, so it begins with the grind. Fat is not the enemy here, it is the entire point. An 80/20 chuck, meaning twenty percent fat, is the floor for flavor and juiciness, and the smash crowd happily pushes to 70/30. Lean beef gives you a dry, gray puck no matter how good the cook.
Then comes how you handle the meat, which is mostly a matter of not handling it. Ground beef toughens when you work it, because squishing and kneading draw out sticky proteins that set into a dense, bouncy, almost sausage-like texture. Form the patty with a light hand, barely holding it together, and then leave it alone.
Salt is the great trap. Salt mixed into the raw beef early does the same damage kneading does, dissolving those proteins and turning a tender patty rubbery. Salt the outside, generously, right before it hits the pan, and not one moment sooner.
After that, the whole game is heat and crust. That brown, savory, crackling exterior is the Maillard reaction, the same chemistry that makes a seared steak and toasted bread taste like far more than their raw ingredients. It is also the line that divides the two great schools of burger. The smash school presses a loose ball of beef hard onto a screaming flat top, trading a thick juicy middle for an enormous amount of crisp brown crust. The pub school keeps the patty thick and grills it to a juicy medium, trading some crust for that tender pink center. Both are correct. Neither survives a cold pan, because without real heat you get gray meat and no crust, which is the saddest burger of all.
The cheese should melt, which is a science all its own, and we have strong opinions about exactly which cheeses do it best. The bun should be soft enough to compress in your hand and sturdy enough to not dissolve, toasted on the inside to hold off the juices. And the build should respect balance: something rich, something acidic, something crunchy, and restraint above all. A burger buried under nine toppings is a salad that lost its nerve.
Get the grind, the gentle hand, the late salt, and the hot crust right, and you are most of the way to an S tier burger before you have chosen a single topping. The rankings below assume all of that is handled well, and judge each style on its own merits.
How to read the rankings
Every burger here is judged on two axes at once: how iconic it is, the place it holds in burger culture, and how good it actually is to eat. The pantheon up in S nails both. A burger that is wildly famous but only fine gets marked down for it, and a genuinely delicious burger that almost nobody orders cannot climb to the very top no matter how good it tastes. The bottom of the board is reserved for the burgers that are more fun to photograph than to finish. A tier list is an argument, so consider this the opening statement.
The tier by tier breakdown, with tasting notes for every burger, follows below.
S Tier: the pantheon
Iconic and outstanding at the same time. These are the burgers that earned their fame and then backed it up on the plate.
- SmashburgerS
A loose ball of beef smashed onto a screaming flat top so the edges go brown, lacy, and crisp. It trades a thick interior for the most crust per bite of any burger there is, and crust is flavor. The technique launched a thousand burger joints because it is close to foolproof and very nearly perfect.
- Classic CheeseburgerS
A single griddled patty with a melted slice of American, and the burger everything else is measured against. Nothing fancy, nothing missing, nothing to fix. If most people pictured their last meal, this is the burger on the plate.
- Bacon CheeseburgerS
The classic, improved with smoke, salt, and a textural snap. Bacon adds a second savory layer the plain cheeseburger cannot reach on its own. About as universally beloved as food gets, and an easy top tier pick.
- Double CheeseburgerS
Two thin patties, two slices of cheese, and a far better ratio of seared meat to soft bun. Stacking is not a gimmick here, it is an upgrade, since doubling the crust doubles the flavor. The smashburger's natural final form.
- Oklahoma Onion BurgerS
A Depression era trick that turned out to be genius. A handful of thin sliced onions are smashed straight into the patty so they fry, caramelize, and fuse into the crust. Cheap, iconic, and a serious argument for the best tasting burger on this entire list.
A Tier: elite
A small step below the pantheon, and not one of these will ever let you down. This is where the regional legends, the great diner builds, and the splurges live.
- Patty MeltA
Not quite a burger and not quite a sandwich, and better than it has any right to be. A griddled patty with caramelized onions and Swiss on rye, the whole thing grilled like a grilled cheese until the bread shatters. A diner masterpiece.
- Green Chile CheeseburgerA
New Mexico's gift to the form. Roasted Hatch green chiles bring heat, smoke, and a vegetal brightness that cuts the richness perfectly. Deeply regional, genuinely iconic, and one of the best flavors on the board.
- Steakhouse BurgerA
The thick, char-grilled, brioche bun version you order with a steak knife driven through the top. Juicier and beefier than a smash, if a little harder to keep together. When the kitchen knows what it is doing, it is special.
- Wagyu BurgerA
A patty ground from intensely marbled wagyu, the most expensive grind you can put on a griddle. The extra fat is the entire point, melting into a burger so rich it borders on decadent. More of a splurge than a necessity, and a well cooked one is genuinely spectacular.
- Juicy LucyA
Minnesota's molten cheese landmine, with the cheese sealed inside the patty instead of melted on top. The first bite is a genuine hazard and a genuine delight. More pure fun than almost anything else here.
- Mushroom Swiss BurgerA
Earthy sauteed mushrooms and nutty melted Swiss, a pairing so reliable it has held a spot on every diner menu for decades. Quietly one of the best topping builds ever devised.
- SliderA
Small, steamed, oniony, and impossible to stop at one. The slider proves that surface area and onion can make a tiny burger punch far above its weight. A true American icon, sold by the sack.
- Butter BurgerA
Wisconsin's indulgence, a griddled patty on a buttered, toasted bun with still more butter melting over the top. Outrageously rich and completely wonderful in the moment. Beloved, regional, and not an every day proposition.
B Tier: very good, a notch below the icons
Burgers you would be glad to eat any day of the week. Most are held just short of the top by a heavy reliance on toppings, a touch of fussiness, or simply not being ordered enough to reach legend status.
- Classic HamburgerB
The original, with no cheese, and still a great sandwich. The only reason it sits a tier below the cheeseburger is that, given the choice, almost everyone reaches for the slice. Pure and honest, just a little lonely without it.
- Pastrami BurgerB
Utah's great regional secret, a cheeseburger crowned with a pile of griddled pastrami and a swipe of fry sauce. The smoky, peppery beef stacked on top of the beef patty is a double down that has no business being this good. Order it the next time you are anywhere near Salt Lake City.
- Chili CheeseburgerB
An open faced avalanche of chili, cheese, and onion over a patty, eaten with a fork as often as not. Glorious and chaotic, though the chili tends to bury the beef it is sitting on. A guilty pleasure with deep roots.
- BBQ Bacon BurgerB
Smoky barbecue sauce, bacon, and cheddar, simple and sauce forward. A dependable crowd pleaser that leans hard on its sauce, which is both the appeal and the reason it does not rank higher. Always satisfying, rarely subtle.
- Cowboy BurgerB
The kitchen sink burger, piled with barbecue sauce, bacon, cheddar, and a crown of onion rings. Maximalist and unapologetic, it is a great time even after subtlety has left the building. The order for when you want absolutely everything at once.
- Blue Cheese BurgerB
Funky, salty, assertive blue cheese set against rich beef, usually with caramelized onion to bridge the two. Balanced well, it is sophisticated and excellent. Balanced poorly, the blue grabs the wheel and never gives it back.
- Truffle BurgerB
A gourmet build with truffle aioli or shaved truffle, usually alongside gruyère and caramelized onion. The earthy, funky aroma turns a burger into something you slow down and savor. It tips into perfume when a kitchen overdoes it, but handled with restraint it is a real treat.
- California BurgerB
Avocado, lettuce, tomato, raw onion, sometimes sprouts, on a fresh patty. Lighter and brighter than the classics, and just virtuous enough that purists roll their eyes while everyone else happily orders it.
- Breakfast BurgerB
A fried egg and bacon stacked on the patty, the runny yolk doing the work of the sauce. Genuinely great and slightly ridiculous, best enjoyed before noon or well after midnight.
- Jalapeño BurgerB
Pickled jalapeños and melty pepper jack for a hit of creamy heat. A simple, reliable upgrade that brings a plain patty to life without asking much of you. Easy to love.
- Aussie BurgerB
The burger "with the lot," piled with beetroot, a fried egg, pineapple, bacon, and beef. It should collapse under its own ambition and instead it sings. A glorious, towering icon of the Southern Hemisphere.
C Tier: solid, with a catch
Real beef burgers with a real reason to exist and a real thing holding them back, whether that is a sweet glaze, a loose build, an unusual bun, or a regional obscurity. Each is genuinely good on its day.
- Chopped CheeseC
A New York City bodega institution, ground beef chopped on the flat top with onions and melted cheese, piled onto a hero with lettuce, tomato, and mayo. Humble, cheap, and beloved by everyone who grew up on it. It lands in C only because the loose chopped build gives up the clean patty and bun structure, not because anyone in the Bronx would forgive the ranking.
- PljeskavicaC
The Balkan burger, a wide, thin, intensely seasoned beef patty served in fluffy lepinja bread with onions, kajmak, and ajvar. Smoky and garlicky and genuinely excellent, it is an icon across Serbia and the region even if most Americans have never tried it. Seek it out.
- Bulgogi BurgerC
A Korean inspired patty glazed in sweet, garlicky bulgogi marinade. Tasty and increasingly common, though the sweetness can drift toward teriyaki and smother the beef. Fun, if not quite essential.
- Teriyaki BurgerC
A Japanese staple, sweet and savory under a glossy teriyaki glaze, usually with lettuce and mayo. Hugely popular in Japan and a little one note everywhere else. Worth trying at least once.
- Hawaiian BurgerC
A grilled pineapple ring and teriyaki glaze over a beef patty. The caramelized fruit is a genuine pleasure for the first half, and then the sweetness starts to wear. A summer novelty done right.
- Pretzel Bun BurgerC
A standard beef patty dressed up with a soft, chewy, salt flecked pretzel bun. The bun is the entire pitch, adding a malty, salty chew a plain roll cannot. A pleasant upgrade that lives or dies on whether the pretzel stays soft.
- Loose Meat BurgerC
The Midwestern tavern sandwich, also called a Maid-Rite, loosely cooked seasoned ground beef spooned onto a bun rather than pressed into a patty. It is essentially a sloppy joe without the sauce, more nostalgic than thrilling, and people are fiercely loyal to it.
- Onion Jam BurgerC
A beef patty topped with sweet, slow cooked onion jam and melted cheese. The jam brings a deep, almost balsamic sweetness that plays beautifully against the savory beef. A small, smart upgrade that punches above the effort it takes.
D Tier: it works, but you are fighting the burger
All beef, all real, and all carrying a built in problem: a build that falls apart, a missing crust, or so many toppings that the burger underneath gets lost.
- Rice BurgerD
A beef patty served between two compressed discs of rice in place of the bun, a clever Japanese invention. Tidy and novel in theory, structurally doomed in practice, since the rice gives way the moment you bite down. Full marks for creativity.
- Olive BurgerD
A Michigan oddity, a patty crowned with chopped green olives and mayo. The briny, salty hit is genuinely good and a little addictive, but it stays a regional curiosity most of the country will never meet.
- SlugburgerD
A Depression era patty stretched with soy or cornmeal and then deep fried, native to Mississippi. Crispy, cheap, and historically fascinating, though the extender means it is more a monument to thrift than to flavor.
- Steamed CheeseburgerD
Connecticut's contribution, a patty steamed in a metal cabinet until gray and topped with steamed cheese. It is moist and the cheese is genuinely molten, but you surrender the entire seared crust, which is most of what makes a burger great.
- Poutine BurgerD
A Canadian act of joyful excess, a beef patty topped with fries, cheese curds, and brown gravy. It tastes fantastic for about four bites and then becomes an engineering problem, sliding apart into a knife and fork situation. Delicious chaos that barely holds together as a burger.
F Tier: more spectacle than sandwich
Good beef wasted on a bad idea. Every one of these is more rewarding to photograph than to actually eat to the end.
- Ramen BurgerF
A patty pressed between two discs of compressed ramen noodles, a viral sensation back in 2013. It makes a fantastic photograph and a frustrating meal, sliding apart in your hands while the noodles add nothing the bun did not do better. Novelty over substance.
- Luther BurgerF
A bacon cheeseburger built with two glazed doughnuts where the bun should be. An icon of state fair excess and a punchline far more than a meal, sweet and salty and faintly overwhelming by the third bite. Iconic, yes, for all the wrong reasons.
- Peanut Butter BurgerF
Yes, peanut butter on a beef patty, a real and weirdly persistent oddity from Wisconsin to Atlanta. The warm, salty, savory sweet combination has genuine devotees and just as many people who try one bite and never again. More dare than dinner, which lands it down here.
Build a better burger
Rankings are for arguing. Dinner is for eating. A few principles and combinations worth stealing.
- The default upgrade. A smashed double with American cheese, griddled onions, pickles, and a swipe of special sauce. This is the ceiling for most home cooks, and the ceiling is high.
- The flavor bomb. Sharp cheddar and a pile of caramelized onions on a thick pub patty. Sweet, savory, and deep.
- The regional pilgrimage. Roasted green chiles and melted cheese, no other distractions allowed. Let the chile lead.
- The grown up. Blue cheese, caramelized onion, and a little arugula on a thick beef patty. Funky, rich, and bright all at once.
- The brunch. A fried egg, bacon, and American cheese, with the yolk standing in for the sauce.
- The cheat code. Whatever you are cooking, smash a handful of thin onions into the patty Oklahoma style. It quietly improves nearly everything.
