"Hamburger Things" by Hilary M. Korabik

It’s early November, before the delirium of the holiday season begins, but the most wonderful time of the year has already begun for my family. My mom and three of my uncles are cooking up a celebration all their own. The Sammon siblings are in their own kitchens prepping for the annual family competition. A heap of ingredients is spread out along the counters, the family phonebooks are ready and the caller ID is set. Several prank phone calls are to be expected throughout the day. A handmade red cape, a floppy crown, and a broken wand are placed by the back door. This is the day. This is the end-all-be-all of family festivities. This is the Franny Burger Bake-Off.

Fran and Barney Sammon, my grandparents, raised their six kids—Bob, Danny, Marty, Betty, John, and Mary—in the north side Chicago neighborhood of Roger’s Park. Growing up in the 50’s and 60’s, my mom and her siblings were expected to eat their broccoli and cauliflower, but every once in a while, my grandma would indulge them with a tantalizing treat. Now known as the Franny Burger, these “hamburger things,” filled with ground beef and a selection of spices were a rare delicacy that Fran’s children would savor whenever they were lucky enough to get their hands on one. Although Grandma Fran died in 1981, her memory lives on in the annual Franny Burger Bake-Off.

The first Franny Burger Bake-Off that I can recall was at my house when I was probably about six or seven. I was an extremely picky eater and I didn’t start eating Franny Burgers until several years later. My uncle Bobbo helped me make a hat and a bouquet of flowers out of printer paper for the winner. Uncle Dan and Aunt Sally won that year and I was upset that my mom didn’t win so I wouldn’t give them the prize. I don’t remember when I ate my first Franny Burger but it must have been after Uncle Dan started hosting the bake-off. [The bake-off has moved around throughout the years, starting off at my mom’s house on Highland where the Sammons grew up, then moving with our family to houses on Mango and Kent, but for at least the past ten years it’s been at Uncle Dan’s house on Ottawa.]

My mom started making plain Franny Burgers for my brother Tom and me. She had to force me to try one but before I’d even finished the first bite I was addicted. After I experienced my first taste of bliss—my first bite of a Franny Burger—I started waking up early on the 2nd Saturday in November to help my mom make them. Well, I always pretend that I’m going to help but I usually end up sitting around tasting the food while my mom does all the work. While she’s busy mixing in the spices and cooking the meat, I make prank phone calls. When I was little I remember covering the phone with a towel and making my voice deep. Don’t even bother. Your Franny Burgers stink! The prank phone calls aren’t as fun anymore because everyone in my family has caller ID, but thanks to *67 I can still get by without being singled out.

Now it’s late afternoon and here we are, crammed into a little house on the north side of Chicago where we can hardly move. There’s a small living room, a little kitchen, and a bathroom. Everyone has to fight for chairs and most people stand around, mingling to the best of their ability. A delectable aroma wafts from the oven as Uncle Dan takes out the Franny Burgers. Each contestant’s Franny Burgers are arranged on a paper plate with a number on the bottom. There’s so much variety in the shape, coloring, and even the contents of the Franny Burgers. My cousins Lindsay, Danny, Corrie, and Katie have all started making their own. They’ve added their own flair to the competition and we’ve had taco flavored, vegetarian, and even vegan Franny Burgers. You can always tell when a judge has tasted a vegan Franny Burger by the exclamation of disgust. What is this crap? The traditional Franny Burger always comes out the winner.

The judges are whatever family friends are lucky enough to be invited. When the judging is going on, we’re all packed into the living room because we’re not allowed in the kitchen. The judges taste samplings of the Franny Burgers and rate them, making comments. Let me tell you right now that cozying up to the judges won’t do you any good unless your name is Dan Sammon. The catchphrase “If you ain’t cheatin’, you ain’t tryin’” was no doubt coined by him.

Now the judging is over and we all crowd back into the kitchen. The third place winner is… Uncle John—the meat was a little too plain but the dough was perfect. The second place winner is… my mom—the spices were a delicious blend, but the dough was too thin. The first place winner is… Uncle Dan, of course—a flawless combination of flavoring with professionally crafted dough. Uncle Dan is gloating as, crowned and cloaked, he is handed the Franny Burger Bake-Off trophy. Yeah, he gets to brag for the next year but the siblings turned rivals won’t give him much glory because they are all too stubborn to admit defeat.

All the Franny Burgers are thrown into a pile on the counter and we all grab at them until our stomachs are stuffed. There is one more thing you need to know about Franny Burgers. Unlike with sandwiches and other food, which normally tastes better if someone else makes it for you, your Franny Burgers always taste the best. And you make sure everyone knows it.