Perhaps the only time it’s acceptable to challenge your stomach with a hamburger that’s seven inches across is after a day spent engaged in light-to-moderate exercise, so it’s kind of a freebee that Meers (the town and the restaurant are synonymous, evidently) is only a few miles outside of the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge. If you’ve never been to Lawton’s Not-the-Rockies, get out there on the next warm Saturday and make a day of it. It’s only about an hour-and-a-half southwest of Oklahoma City on I-44, and it’s quite a sight to see majestic bison roam semi-freely. The chance to get your soft pink flesh within striking distance of a live rattlesnake is obviously a bonus, and it’s almost a rule that my day hikes in the Wichitas end with a stop at Meers Store & Restaurant.
The suspect in question is the “world famous” Meersburger, a construction of 97 percent lean, grass-fed Longhorn beef, normal hamburger stuff in the middle, and a large white mass of bread baked into a vaguely bun-style shape. Now, I’ve been going to Meers for years (rhyme!), and I have to say that my one sort-of complaint with the place is the hamburger-bun switcheroo of 2013. They changed bread suppliers and somehow found a way to openly blame Obama for it (because of course they did). Not that I’m against the new buns, really; they’re just different. But when you have a product that satisfies that very specific hunger that you can only work up by speed-walking away from a buffalo that’s suddenly decided to get pissy, different is usually not great.
So, all this talk about the Meersburger when what you and I both know you really need is the Seismic Burger. This one-pound kick in the face is the answer to whatever question has been keeping you up at night. Seriously, burgers that have to be cut into fourths and served in pie pans are not just for gastro-athletes anymore; they’re for me, you, your mom, and your mom’s Bichon Frisé. And, realistically, all four of us should probably share just one. It’s like a Meersburger except significantly bigger, and its insides are slathered with jalapeños and bacon. I’ve killed half a dozen of these things singlehandedly, and I’ve only recently discovered that I miss nothing by going halfsies with a friend.
Actually, the divide-and-conquer method for entrees at Meers opens up valuable stomach real estate for something I’d mostly just read about and glimpsed in half-forgotten dreams: Meers’ dessert menu. Now, if the Seismic Burger hasn’t got you thinking “gigantism” is the theme of this 100-year-old restaurant, allow me to not at all exaggerate the amount of homemade ice cream that comes on top of an oversized serving of peach or cherry cobbler. Airplanes must be alerted whenever someone orders one of these, and instead of a cherry on top, there’s one of those big, red, flashing lights you see on the top of broadcast antennae. Other desserts include pie, pudding, and a root beer float.
Hiking all day in the mountains, and then sometimes waiting in line at Meers, you can work up quite a thirst. (During peak hours, I’ve waited up to an hour in line, but usually I can walk straight in and sit down without delay.) The drinks here are served in mason jars, and that fits the nail-everything-in-grandpa’s-attic-to-the-walls aesthetic just fine. They’ve got a special beer brewed in-state at Choc Beer Co. that, of course, comes in a giant 22-ounce bottle. It’s called Meers Gold Beer and it’s an American Pale Wheat Ale. It’s pretty dang tasty, but I almost always go for the nostalgic sweetness of RC Cola. They also have other soft drinks, lemonade, tea, and coffee.
There are a variety of sides and alternative entrees on the menu (good luck deciphering that thing, by the way), but, like Eischen’s with fried chicken, Meers is one of those destination restaurants where you should just sit down, order what they’re known for, and hold on to something. Because maybe it’s the rush of endorphins from narrowly escaping that bison, or perhaps it’s delirium from the snake venom setting in, but I think Meers’ burgers are stomp-the-floor-while-you-chew delicious. Is it the absolute best burger in the state? Of course not. This is Oklahoma. We have at least 10 places eligible for that title. Is it an essential stop for the Sooner State’s burger-literate? I’d say yes.
One final word: Bring cash, as credit cards are not accepted. And you can probably forget trying to Instagram your meal while on-site. Service likely won’t restore until you’re closer to civilization, but there seems to be a pocket of coverage somewhere out in the parking lot near the cat cages. Have fun trying to find it.
