The author of the new ‘Burger Bible’ picks her top 5 Chicago burgers. Let the debate begin.

For a city and country with a profound love of beef and melted cheese on a bun, the burger represents far more than salty sustenance. It is a beautiful, indulgent, messy, no doubt nostalgic moment in time.

I spent a chunk of 2025 writing a book on this ubiquitous, beloved handheld. Out April 2, it’s called “The Burger Bible,” and it traces the origins, lore and most beloved styles of this friendly handheld, culminating in 80-plus profiles of iconic, mouthwatering, viral and unique burgers from around the U.S. and beyond.

There’s also the bread, an important aspect, if not more so than the rest. I profess an inordinate love of raw and griddled onions, the latter of which factor heavily in flavoring the likes of, say, the excellent Big Baby burger at Nicky’s The Real McCoy in Alsip, though nowhere more exemplary than Ragadan in Uptown.

Indeed, my all-time favorite Chicago burger remains the brawny Slagel Farms burger heaped with caramelized onions on potato bap at the bygone gastropub, Owen & Engine. (This beefy specter still teases us from time to time, when owner Bo Fowler pops up with an O&E menu at her modern brewpub BiXi Beer.)

Does all of this make me biased? Wildly subjective? Untrustworthy even? Absolutely. But isn’t this the great joy of our collective burger obsession? Behold, here are the five Chicago burgers I love eating most. Want to share yours? Tell us about it at arts@wbez.org, and we may add yours to a reader favorites list.

Charly’s Burger at Charly’s Burgers

Belmont-Cragin, 2320 N. Cicero Ave.

Entering this brightly lit storefront at the harried intersection of Cicero and Fullerton, your eye trains on a wild-eyed, grinning burger mural. Then, boom! It hits you: the gently smoky, beefy-scented sizzle of maybe 100 burgers cooking at once.

Charly’s positively cranks out patties from open to close, mostly for carryout since it contains just three coveted stools. The namesake double cheeseburger ($12 or $15 with fries and a drink) lives in the towering, sloppy-good burger realm, packing two six-ounce house-ground beef and bacon patties with a satisfying char, melted American cheese, a pile of caramelized onions and shaved pickles, and a generous smear of mayo-based secret sauce. Have I mentioned that the fries — lacy-crisp outside, fluffy within — count among my favorite anywhere in the city? You’ll want a side of cheese sauce for dipping.

Double Cheezborger at Billy Goat Tavern & Grill

Streeterville, 430 N. Michigan Ave., lower level

Descending below street level into the OG Billy Goat Tavern makes me feel wonderfully small. There’s history in this old joint in the shadow of Tribune Tower. I can almost hear the grinning mugs of famous Chicago writers, politicians and lovable crooks whispering profanity-laced rumors from behind their photo frames.

Billy Goat does not make the city’s best burger (a steal at $6.99); rather, it evokes the delicious nostalgia found at backyard Midwestern grillouts and in good old neighborhood taverns. Two thin patties are griddled with cheese before getting slapped on a soft Kaiser roll and slid across the counter on butcher paper as the bell goes ping! “Double cheezborger up!” Top to your ideal specs with thick pickle chips, raw onion, mustard, ketchup and mayo from the condiment bar. The service here is topnotch, by the way — fast and kind without fuss. No kid leaves without a paper-boat hat. Grab a stool at the silver-flecked Formica bar and a draft Old Style. This is the big-shouldered Chicago of your dreams.

Oklahoma Onion Burger at Ragadan

Uptown, 4409 N. Broadway

The onion burger was born in Oklahoma, during the Great Railroad Strike of 1922. Burger slingers stretched their precious beef supplies by whacking haystacks of slivered onions into small pucks of ground beef before griddling them until caramelized. How, then, did Chicago’s best version end up at a tiny joint beloved for tender falafels?

Owner and first-generation American Danny Sweis’ parents immigrated to the Midwest from Amman, Jordan, eventually opening a diner in Oklahoma City. Sweis himself worked for years in Chicago’s fine-dining scene before returning to his roots, opening this superb falafel and burger shop alongside his wife, Maria, in 2022. Ragadan’s onion burger ($11) blends fatty grassfed beef and a heap of onion shreds, smashed and griddled together so the onions draw in the beef drippings as they sear, lending a savory-sweet quality like French onion soup. Sticky American cheese and herbaceous z’tar mayo up the creaminess. Pro tip: Ask for a side of vinegary chopped fresh green chilies for dabbing.

The OG Cheeseburger at The Loyalist

West Loop, 177 N. Ada St.

For a city that treats burger gamesmanship like an Olympic sport, the chef-driven burger category takes on special intensity. Everyone is using beef trimmings from the choicest beef, making their own pickles and fancy aiolis, and plucking the most flavor-concentrated produce for topping. Many of these chefs even have a James Beard award or Michelin star. So what makes one outnudge another?

For me, it’s a clear identity perfected, and I found that in the OG cheeseburger ($28, with fries) made by chef couple John and Karen Urie Shields in their 10-year-old, subterranean bistro. Affectionately known as the Dirty Burg, it starts with a thin-ish burger patty made from a mixture of short rib, chuck and smoky bacon. It’s topped with gooey American cheese, plenty of house-made pickles and charred onion bangles kept in place with an ingenious smear of onion-infused aioli. The anchor is a Tempur-Pedic Martin’s roll bun, bedazzled within an inch of its life in sesame seeds.

RHR Double Cheeseburger at Redhot Ranch

Locations in Bridgeport (500 W. 35th St.), Lake View (3057 N. Ashland Ave.) and Logan Square (2449 W. Armitage Ave.)

Redhot Ranch opened in 2005 and built a following with piquant, Depression-style hot dogs heaped with golden fries served up picnic-style at iconic red tables in Logan Square — my go-to outpost. Founders Barry Nemerow and Jeff Greenfield didn’t add a cheeseburger to the menu until 2013, after they fell hard for In-N-Out and decided to replicate its burgers at home.

Critics and chefs pounced, proclaiming that food people in the know got RHR’s cheeseburger. Whether for contrarian reasons or my nostalgic connection to the joint’s hot dogs, I spent several years refusing to order the burger. Oh, my hubris! This simple, deliciously greasy cheeseburger is like a fast food sonnet. The buttery toasted bun encases thin but meaty patties edged in crunch, oozing American cheese and a tangy slick of Thousand Island dressing. A ruffle of iceberg, raw onion and tomato add freshness and crunch. At $8.50 all in, including those iconic, mildly beefy fries, this is one of life’s great affordable pleasures. Not that it needs my poetry.