Run to the Shake Shack and Don't Forget the Good Burger

New Yorkers are not known for their patience. While we are a more affable, easygoing species than generally advertised, the one thing none of us can tolerate is having to wait: inconvenient service changes on the subway (say, the 1 line on weekends), dawdling, sun-dazed pedestrians obstructing us on the sidewalk, or indecisive people ahead of us in line at Starbucks are certain to provoke most of us to towering heights of rage. Perhaps the most significant aspect of the unbridled success of Danny Meyer's Shake Shack, then, is the apparent willingness of its customers to wait in line.

The line at Shake Shack is famous by now-it's the only advertisement that Meyer needs. The Web site even has a "Shack Cam" where you can check the length of the line before heading over (it also has a handy-dandy weather report, so you know how much to bundle). At the time of this writing, the line looks just about as long as it was when two companions and I visited recently: approximate waiting time, over an hour.

Many outsiders are baffled as to what would possess a person to wait in the cold for over an hour for a burger. That this is no ordinary burger is hardly an excuse. The burger is phenomenal, but the truth is that it suckers people in by its mystique. The Shake Shack has only been open a few weeks (it's closed in the winter), and since its inauguration last year it has become a rite of spring just like Shakespeare In The Park is a rite of summer for New Yorkers. It's hard to explain why people are so willing to wait; in any case, it's a more pleasant spring ritual than, say, sacrificing a virgin.

The burgers, however, shouldn't be down-played-they are extraordinary. They are also reasonably priced (though one could say that after an hour's wait, they had damn well better be), running from $3.50 for a hamburger to $7 for a double Shackburger. The best thing about the burger, though, is its relative simplicity. The bun is unseeded brioche, soft, giving, and the perfect complement to the beef patty, which is cooked medium, and shows itself tender and juicy. The Shackburger, which comes with cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and the secret Shack sauce, is a particularly good example of how an ensemble cast should operate: no one part of the burger, not even the sauce, calls too much attention to itself, instead working in unselfish harmony, and the overall effect is a paean to restraint and simplicity-like eating pure grace. I have rarely felt such unneurotic, spine-shivering pleasure in eating anything.

That the burgers are so simple yet so delicious is a true testament to the Shake Shack. We live in an age which has seen every quotidian staple, from the pizza to the PB&J, get the super-premium treatment: New York alone has a $120 burger (DB Bistro Moderne), the $200 baked potato (Four Seasons), and now the $1000 pizza (Nino's Bellissima Pizza). In that light, it is a relief to see that Danny Meyer, who might be this city's preeminent restaurateur, has taken the opposite tack.

That is not to say that Shake Shack has monkish austerity as a theme; its shakes and concretes (a shake so solid it can be turned upside down in the cup) are monuments to the glory of excess. The "Shack Attack," for example, was a riot in chocolate: chocolate custard, hot fudge, chocolate truffle cookie dough, and Valrhona chocolate chunks-and sprinkles.

The only quibble-and as quibbles go, this is a very piddling one-was the hot dog. The Taxi Dog came with sauerkraut and tomato-fried onions piled high, and was well-cooked and juicy. Almost too juicy. The very quiet confidence that made the burger so flooring was absent in the hot dog-unfortunately, when hot dogs come on too strong, you tend to start thinking about where they come from, which is the last thing anyone wants. It's a well-made hotdog, to be sure, but perhaps a misjudged one. It's the overacting scenery-chewer in an otherwise sparkling ensemble production.