Lot-A-Burger
928 W. 23rd St.
Tulsa
Sept. 5, 2024
I just know a burger hate to see me comin’.
Though not on the level of a George Motz, I consider myself a bit of a burger historian. I’ve been to the longhorn pastures of Meers’ Burger and the onion-fried mecca of Sid’s Diner in El Reno, and am very annoying on Facebook when In-N-Out is mentioned. In 2017 I ate at all six Lot-A-Burgers in Tulsa for an article in The Tulsa Voice, and subsequently won a journalism award for my efforts.
You can say I’m a self-styled burger authority, and if you don’t, I will. All “self-styled,” like.
But the last seven years have been unkind to the Tulsa Lot-A-Burgers, leaving only one of the landmarks standing: the oldest original Lot-A-Structure, on Charles Page. With Claud’s and JJ’s closing in the same span, Tulsa has been running at a burger deficit. And though Tulsa still has the likes of Ted’s, Hank’s, and Bill’s, I’m of the opinion you step away from possessive monosyllabism for Tulsa’s true GOAT.
And with the reopening of West 23rd Street’s Lot‑A, our GOAT count has re-upped to two.
I was originally informed of Lot-A-Burger by This Land’s Stuart Hetherwood, who also informed me the one on West 23rd shut down for “keeping it too real.” I later learned this meant it had burnt to the damn ground, but let’s not split hairs.
After a brief stint as the Food Dude’s Burger Joint, West 23rd’s Lot‑A is back in its trademark white with red and blue trim and an offering of covered picnic tables to accommodate its walk-up-window diners.
To celebrate its return, I snagged a double meat, double cheese, onions fried with everything on it from both the 23rd Street and Charles Page locations for us to taste test.
The verdict: they’re basically identical. And that is a solid W for Tulsa burger fans.
“A six out of ten Tulsa burger is an eight out of ten anywhere else,” Hetherwood said as he choked down a burger bite. “To be clear, either Westside Lot‑A is a Tulsa 9.5. I don’t think burgers get THAT much better than that.”
He’s right. I gave El Reno a mention earlier as ground zero for THE Oklahoma onion burger, and I threw out Motz’s name as THE burger historian. I’m not sure how to qualify, but those are both facts. Motz considers Oklahoma the “burger belt” of America, and Sid’s as the prime example why. The closest you can get in Tulsa is at Bill’s Jumbo and Lot‑A.
A double double with onions fried and everything on it is the proper way to judge an Okie burger, and Lot‑A passes the check with every ingredient melding into one perfect whole. You need the extra patty to make the burger bite back, and it most certainly does.
And as Hetherwood said, burgers don’t get THAT much better than this.
To “improve” much further on these is to achieve escape velocity from the orbit of Planet Proper Burger. Make em with Wagyu, give it a challah bun, put an egg, ranch, or goddamn peanut butter on it. All good, and great, even!
But a Lot‑A doesn’t need that sort of help.
When I first perused Tulsa’s Lot‑A offerings, all six had their own unique flavor. Each had its own flattop, seasoned in its own epoch. But now there are only two, and it’s a blessing that they are separated only by proximity, not quality.
