I'm not a big fan of burger joints.

Raised by near-vegetarian parents, through years of cries for cheeseburgers and fries fallen on deaf years, I absorbed a certain amount of disdain for the purveyors of what some deem "the true American cuisine."

Sometimes I'll think of red and white checkered vinyl and shudder. Often the sight of greasy, ubiquitous red and yellow tubes induces a gag. Don't even get me started with those creepy little salt and pepper packets.

This isn't to say I don't love a good burger. There's something so pure and true and heavenly about burgers, it's almost a little obscene.

While much-hyped Red Mill Burgers in Phinney Ridge may retain some of the stomach-churning, flight-inducing standards de rigueur to the "American Burger Joint"—their burgers made me stay.

True, the conditions are cramped and often frantic (a late Wednesday night found Red Mill with a line almost out the door). The music is banal indie-gone-mainstream. The staff is a slightly hipper, more Seattle, version of the usual McDonald's fodder. What Red Mill lacks in atmosphere though, it makes up in some of the tastiest and freshest burgers around.

The Red Mill Bacon Deluxe ($4.69 and somewhere my mother is shaking her head) comes steaming out of its foil wrap with multiple large strips of bacon dangling at its sides. These aren't your little pinky-sized strips of bacon either, kiddies. These are the kind that come with the breakfasts that make you wonder whether you were really that hungry after all.

Along with the standard burger fillings (lettuce, tomatoes, onions, pickles) and a delicate one-fourth pound of flame-broiled beef, the entire monstrosity is lubricated with a healthy — but not overwhelming — dose of Red Mill sauce, which though secret, surely contains Thousand Island.

The Verde Burger ($4.89), Red Mill's specialty and my partner's weapon of choice, teems even higher out of its foil transport and is stuffed with fire-roasted Anaheim peppers for a sweet, yet heated smoky kick. Reportedly, staff at both Red Mill locations (there's one in the Interbay area, as well) peel 40 pounds of said peppers each day.

Lured by a framed GQ article near the cash register that touted Red Mill's onion rings as the best in America, we indulged and were impressed by the greasy ovoids lightly covered with a spicy, somewhat "south-of-the border," crust. Whether they are the best in the nation is a topic still out for debate — I'm not a big fan of carnival food either.

Perhaps the single best item on Red Mill's menu, however, comes with a straw and a strong demand for suction. The establishment's shakes registered off-the-charts in terms of creaminess, thickness and general sweet chocolate goodness.

While Red Mill's crowds can be intimidating, the line moves rapidly and congenially, and by the time you wrap you hands around a shake and a Bacon Deluxe, any burger joint-associated annoyance will have long floated away.

— Maureen Trantham

maureentrantham@thedaily.washington.edu.