Cheesy Taverns
There are sandwiches that demand attention. The club sandwich, a triple-decker stack of meats and frilly toothpicks, aggressively announces its presence. The croque monsieur arrives draped in béchamel like a king in his robes. Even the Sloppy Joe, with its tendency to avalanche onto your plate (or lap), insists on being noticed.
And then there is the Tavern sandwich.
The Tavern does not demand. The Tavern does not beg. The Tavern simply is.
A humble assemblage of seasoned, crumbled beef—unformed and unapologetic—piled into a soft, steamed bun. No flashy condiments, no overwrought sauce. Just beef, bun, and the quiet confidence of a sandwich that knows exactly what it’s about.
The Tavern sandwich, like all great American foodstuffs, was likely the result of thrift and necessity. The story begins in the 1920s, in Sioux City, Iowa, where one David Heglin, proprietor of Ye Olde Tavern, decided that forming ground beef into a patty was, frankly, unnecessary. Why force the meat into a rigid shape when it could simply exist in its natural state? A radical notion, but one that resonated deeply with Iowans, who have never been ones to embrace unnecessary flourishes.
Meanwhile, in 1926, a different man with a similar vision—Fred Angell—opened Maid-Rite, a loose meat empire in the making. The Maid-Rite sandwich was, in essence, a Tavern sandwich under a different name. The beef was loose. The bun was soft. The marketing was restrained. (The most aggressive thing about Maid-Rite is that its name suggests a certain level of quality assurance, which, in fairness, it delivers.)
The Tavern sandwich remains a distinctly Midwestern phenomenon, much like saying “ope” when you bump into someone or considering ranch dressing a viable side dish. If you want to experience one in its natural habitat, see below:
Maid-Rite – The chain that took the Tavern mainstream, or as mainstream as a loose meat sandwich can get. Their version is minimal, steadfast, and untroubled by change.
Taylor’s Maid-Rite (Marshalltown, IA) – An independent offshoot that has stuck to the old ways. No frills, no nonsense, just beef and bun.
Canteen Lunch in the Alley (Ottumwa, IA) – A small, unassuming establishment where the sandwiches are called “Canteens” and the locals will fight you if you say the word “Sloppy Joe.”
Bob’s Drive-Inn (Le Mars, IA) – The Tavern sandwich with a little extra je ne sais Midwest. Bob’s lets you add cheese, mustard, and even ketchup, though you may be silently judged for the latter.
There is something deeply satisfying about a sandwich that does not try to impress you. The Tavern sandwich is comfort food in its purest form: unfussy, unpretentious, and so straightforward that even the most culinarily inept among us can achieve greatness. It is a sandwich that does not ask for attention but, given the chance, earns your respect.
And if you choose to melt some American cheese over it? Well. That’s between you and the sandwich.
The Recipe
Ingredients:
1 lb ground beef
½ small onion, finely diced
1 clove garlic, minced
½ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon black pepper
4 slices American cheese
4 soft hamburger buns
Optional toppings: pickles, mustard
Directions:
Sauté & Brown – In a skillet over medium heat, cook the diced onion until soft, about 2-3 minutes. Add the garlic and cook for another 30 seconds. Stir in the ground beef, breaking it up as it browns.
Season & Simmer – Add salt and pepper, stirring well. Let the beef cook down for 10-15 minutes, stirring occasionally, until it’s finely crumbled and juicy. If needed, add a splash of water or beef broth to keep it moist.
Melt the Cheese – Lay slices of American cheese over the beef mixture, turn off the heat, and cover the pan. Let the cheese melt into the meat for about 2 minutes.
Assemble & Steam – Place a scoop of cheesy beef onto a soft hamburger bun. Wrap each sandwich in parchment paper or foil and let it sit for a couple of minutes to let the bun steam slightly. Serve warm with pickles and mustard if desired.