The slider phenomenon is upon us! Hard to believe, but true. Small, bite-size hamburgers are all the rage, from the lowliest diners to some of the trendiest high-end restaurants throughout the land. Trouble is, are they really sliders?
It should come as no surprise to readers of this column that, despite my love for diners and street food, I proudly do nothing to encourage the patronage of the more popular fast-food chains. As you may imagine, that effort is doubled with my students at the School of Culinary Arts at Kendall College. Imagine their surprise, then, when I admit to an annual surrender to “the crave,” that once-a-year (or so) taste I get for the now famous mini-hamburger that debuted at White Castle in 1921, making it our nation’s oldest hamburger chain. Trouble is, the “slider” of today pales in comparison to the original. And my “crave” goes unsatisfied.
Aside from the price (a White Castle cost a nickel in 1921); frozen beef patties are now the norm. Even worse, dehydrated onions are used instead of the freshly chopped. So much for progress.
Getting back to the slider phenomenon, it seems chefs today feel free to call anything on a mini-bun a slider, be it a patty of any ground or sliced meat, chicken breast, seafood, or even grilled vegetables.
Let’s get real here — the bun alone makes not a slider. A classic slider is made only with a ground beef patty (punched with five holes), chopped onions, a mini-bun no bigger than 2.5 inches across, and a pickle chip. That’s it! But the bigger secret is in the cooking method. A classic slider, even though it’s cooked on a griddle, is not grilled. It’s steamed! Here’s how I do it at home, with one slight, but necessary variation.
Frank Chlumsky, former executive chef of Philander’s restaurant in Oak Park, teaches in Chicago at Kendall College’s School of Culinary Arts. In his 37-year career, Frank has owned restaurants in Michigan City, Ind., and in Lake Geneva, Wis. He has also been executive chef at the Saddle & Cycle Club in Chicago. Frank lives in Forest Park, where he cooks for pleasure.





