Folger's Drive-In: A burger for the ages

Traveling south for Memorial Day? Get a taste of history in Ada, don't forget the hand-cut fries

Memorial Day weekend is upon us, and I will have a couple of posts to share before it’s over. By now, many of you have watched the Oklahoma Burgers episode from First We Feast’s, The Burger Show. Since hanging out in El Reno with the crew, I’ve been consuming burgers Pacman-style in an effort to rerack my list of favorite burgers in the 405 diningscape,. But perhaps the most memorable I ate won’t make my final list.

On my way back from McCurtain County, I zagged through the 580 diningscape of Pontotoc County to be in downtown Ada for lunch at Folger’s Drive-In and then stumbled upon an odd little gem called Whip Dip.

If you consider yourself any kind of burger connoisseur or hunter, Folger’s is required dining. Anyone considering the relative quality of Oklahoma burgerdom without a visit to Folger’s is flying blind like I was.

Now I see.

For my first visit, I went with a simple cheeseburger, not “educated,” with a basket of fries. Educated apparently means “with mayo” because of course it does. The burger was perfection.

But what does that mean?

Folger’s, which opened in 1935, tastes like the kind of burger that quickly set a standard for its era and has never wavered. A place where innovation has always aimed at sustaining that standard. This cheeseburger tastes perfected – not yesterday, not last decade but many decades ago. Knowing the struggle it takes to tow the line that high for so long made every juicy bite even better. You really and truly won’t get that many places. Folger’s is a half century older than Sid’s Diner in El Reno.

As fancier, fatter, taller, wider burgers emerged, Folger’s stood firm. Sure, you can get a double now, but frills are nonexistent. If Folger’s has a conceit, it’s the custom hamburger bun and I am here for it. That bun would improve sooooo many burgers I’ve had over the years. Seriously.

The basket of hand-cut fries won’t be for everyone. Thin-cut like McDonald’s, they’re from a different era. Back before double and triple-frying was in fashion, you cut the potatoes then, soaked them best you could and fried the hell out of them. My dad never liked the French so he always referred to fries as “fried patatas” or “shoestring patatas.” The fries at Folger’s helped me understand what he was talking about. This was as close to the “shoestring patatas” in my dad’s mind as I think I’ll ever come. He would’ve loved them, and yours probably will, too.

There isn’t much of a drive-in anymore, though there is a pickup window now. Folger’s is negligibly larger than Nic’s Grill but does manage a few two-tops against the windows. Locals don’t have to specify soda, the staff knows what they’re drinking. Now I understand why East Central alums visit Ada more often for Folger’s than they do Homecoming.

On the way out of town, I passed by the Whip Dip, which apparently opened in 1951. Noticed the tiny drive-in had a line extending out the entrance and winding onto an intersection so lunch got a little bigger.

The menu was a mix of very old signage and recently hand-scrawled signage. All signs pointed to Whip Dip being home of the “pepper burger.” In. My “pepper burger” was small and doused in powdery black pepper. I don’t mind too much powdery black pepper because when I was growing up that was the only kind available for over-peppering pretty much everything I ate. I wish Whip Dip over-peppered with better pepper, but it didn’t stop me from finishing it.

Put simply, Whip Dip is a trip. Worth a trip to Ada? Not unless you’re going to Folger’s, too. Folger’s is absolutely worth a trip on its own. Like Lovera’s in Krebs, it’s a portal to a delicious place in time. Take the family, and you’ll talk about it the whole way home.

Love to hear your impressions of the episode or any of the burgers discussed.