By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
By City of Ate
By Scott Reitz
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
On Main Street in Rowlett sits a florist and other storefronts, a few park benches, a grassy median and Big Star Burgers. The town square vibe is lost out on the pavement—it's forced and a bit awkward. Only once the Big Star's large glass and wooden doors are breached does the classic, small-town feel shine through. The restaurant is the town's leading light.
The old-time, counter-service burger joint is the brainchild of brothers (and original owners of the late Crescent City Café) Scott and Brian Shiell and their wives, Amy and Sharon. Brian is a friendly gent and self-proclaimed "opportunistic collector." His passion for estate sale hunts is evident in Big Star's décor. Vintage movie posters and theater cards hang on the expansive exposed brick walls flanking the dining area. Zsa Zsa Gabor's signature is scrawled across a subway-sized The Queen of Outer Space movie poster. Ann-Margret, Katharine Hepburn, "Baby Jane" and even Truman Capote—big stars, naturally—peer down from the walls and give the restaurant a warm and interesting feel. Big Star's food has the same effect.
Over the course of three visits and substantial, nay, very high caloric intake, it became clear that down to the chalkboard menu, Big Star makes every attempt to provide a quality experience in atmosphere. What's better, they provide food that is crafted from the freshest ingredients.
3813 Main St.
Rowlett, TX 75088
Region: Garland & Vicinity
The first bite of bacon cheeseburger was an experience in "house burger" perfection. The fat, round patty was tender, juicy and seasoned simply with just a hint of black pepper and, perhaps, Worcestershire, though it is possible for a well-seasoned griddle to provide just as robust a flavor. The apple-smoked bacon countered the tender ground beef with a sweet and crispy snap—an ideal support player.
The blue cheeseburger enjoyed the same hearty beef in the leading role but reveled in its costume of blue cheese crumbles. More cheesy than blue, the crumbles were a very mild addition that added more of a textural element than a pungent one. It had less tang than even the common Gorgonzola blue cheese.
As if beef and cheese weren't enough to clog the arteries, Big Star has the big line on guilty sides. Fresh-cut fries are a french fry lover's delight—only slightly greasy, lightly salted, fresh, skin-on treasures fried to a golden brown.
Shoestring onion rings are light, crispy and downright magical. The thinnest of onion slices are hand-battered in a black pepper-happy batter that ends up salty, flaky and almost reminiscent of the crunchy french-fried onions that adorn a homemade green bean casserole...and I mean that in the best possible way. The level of comfort food at Big Star increased tenfold with the first bite of onion ring. Dip them in ketchup and bask in pleasure, or dip them in homemade ranch and plan ahead for that angioplasty. They're that good.
And here's something my indecisive personality really appreciates when it comes to side item crunch time: The co-star basket is piled high on one side with fries and the other with onion rings. I am required to make no decision. Now if only they offered a half-sandwich/half-salad option.
I tried a Cobb salad with grilled portobello mushroom replacing the chicken breast (apologies to Hollywood's inventor Robert Cobb for messing with the original). It held its own with fresh avocado, blue cheese, tomato, egg and bacon, but was quickly overshadowed by the performance of my dining companion's spicy Buffalo chicken sandwich. That piece of heaven ought to be bronzed. The fried chicken breast is exceptionally tender with no evidence of grease. The Buffalo baste is brilliant. Most Buffalo sauces fall in the too tart, too vinegary, too spicy categories; rarely do restaurants get it right. Big Star's Buffalo is neither too tangy nor too spicy. And here, there's no need for a dairy dipper such as blue cheese dressing to break the heat or acid, just a desire for one because it tastes so damn good in combination with the sauced sandwich. Polishing off his entrée, my mate commented, "I wish I had room in my stomach and the nerve to order a second one."
Big Star may be named for burgers, but chicken sandwiches received top billing from my co-diners. The second blockbuster was the grilled chicken and avocado club. A perfectly cooked chicken breast sat atop buttered toast (a touch heavy on the butter the first time, but that was remedied on a later visit) with a just-melted coating of Swiss cheese, bacon (oh yes, friends, more bacon), tomato and, as the title suggests, avocado. It's a simple sandwich, no doubt, but it's made well, and "made well" trumps "high-brow and poorly executed" any day.
We found but one poor choice in the Big Star culinary constellation: the patty melt. In theory, the sandwich was just fine. The one-third-pound beef patty, Swiss cheese and sautéed onions on rye toast were all present. The problem lies in the patty. The fat, roundish patty was far too thick a choice for the toasty sandwich. Patty melts should ideally be horizontally in proportion to the bread slices between which they lie. Instead, this model had a meaty boulder in the middle and toast planks that jutted out on either side by almost two inches. The interior areas of the bread quickly grew soggy and the beef overwhelmed the other elements.