There’s something about Wisconsin food that blurs the line between comfort and devotion. It isn’t just eating here… it’s ceremony. You start with cheese curds that squeak their approval, beer cheese soup dense enough to support small construction, and frozen custard so rich it makes you rethink dairy as a food group. Then there’s the bratwurst: coiled, smoky, and usually served beside a beer colder than common sense. These aren’t guilty pleasures, y’all, they’re sacred dining acts dressed in fryer grease and nostalgia. But if we’re being honest, all those dishes orbit one glorious, buttery sun: the butter burger.
Let’s get something straight. A butter burger is not a gimmick. It’s Wisconsin’s edible love letter to fat, fire, and flavor. The recipe is simple, almost primitive: nothing more than ground beef seared over a real grill, preferably charcoal, until the edges crisp into a whisper of smoke. Then comes the butter, salted, unapologetic, melting over the patty like a slow sunset. When you eat a butter burger, the butter seeps into the bun, runs down your wrist, and briefly convinces you that cholesterol is a myth. The story goes that this indulgent wonder was born in Wisconsin diners in the 1930s, when someone (a genius, let’s be real) decided burgers were good but could be better… specifically, with more butter. It stuck.
Which brings us to Mihm’s Charcoal Grill in Menasha, Wisconsin: a living time capsule of everything that makes the state taste the way it does. Opened in 1958, Mihm’s is one of those places that could never be replicated in a lab or a corporate test kitchen. It smells like oak smoke and grilled beef the moment you walk in, and there’s a rhythm to the place: orders called out, spatulas clanking, butter hissing against hot metal. It’s recently been named one of the Elite Eight finalists by the Wisconsin Beef Council in their “Best Burger in Wisconsin” contest, which feels less like a competition and more like destiny.
Menasha itself sits right in the heart of the Fox Valley, a place that still knows its own pace. It’s small enough that you’ll see your server at the grocery store later, big enough to have a few secrets. Around the corner from Mihm’s, the Fox Cities Trestle Trail stretches across Little Lake Butte des Morts: a perfect post-burger walk where you can let the butter situation settle and pretend you’re on a pilgrimage. The town hums with thrift shops, old neon, and that brand of Midwestern warmth that’s equal parts charm and brutal honesty: no frills, no fakery, just real.
Back at Mihm’s, all that butter burger magic happens over real charcoal—no gas, no shortcuts. That’s why their burgers taste like summer, memory, and a backyard barbecue that never ends. The signature butter burger comes stacked with onions, dill pickles, and a generous scoop of fresh Wisconsin butter. Each bite feels engineered to hit every primal craving at once: smoke, salt, fat, crunch, and a touch of sweetness from the toasted bun. You leave equal parts full and grateful.
The menu reads like an anthology of Wisconsin cravings. There’s the Pizza Burger, a saucy nod to nostalgia; the Western Burger, dressed up with smoky charm; and a Black Bean Burger that proves the vegetarians don’t have to sit this one out. Bratwurst and haddock sandwiches round out the savory lineup for those seeking variety (or pretending to.)
The sides alone could start a local argument. Frites, tots, and cheese curds in their natural, garlic, or jalapeño incarnations (I recommend the jalapeño, which pairs beautifully with a cold beer). Green beans if you’re pretending to behave. There’s chili that deserves its own fan club and chicken dumpling soup that tastes like the inside of a grandmother’s kitchen, if your grandmother knew her way around a grill. For dessert, they go full soda-fountain nostalgia: thick malts, root beer floats, sundaes, and pies that make you reconsider your life choices in the best way possible.
Mihm’s is the kind of place that shouldn’t exist anymore, but thank goodness it does. It’s living proof that real flavor doesn’t need reinvention; it needs respect. The grill has been humming since Eisenhower was president, and the locals keep coming back because it’s not just food, y’all, it’s identity, grease-stained and glorious…