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Orem, UT: Satisfying Burgers Far From the Boardwalk at Coneys Frozen Custard

[Photographs: David Kover]
Coneys Frozen Custard
242 East University Parkway, Orem UT 84058 (map); 801-371-0500; coneyscustard.com
Cooking Method: Griddled
Short Order: The fast food-style burgers get third-billing on the menu, after frozen custard and hot dogs, but prove just as satisfying
Want Fries with That? No; save room for frozen custard
Price: Hamburger, $3.25; cheeseburger, $3.65; double cheeseburger, $4.65; fries, $1.85; frozen custard, $1.95 to $3.35
Find yourself in Utah in the middle of August and any establishment with "frozen" in its name will earn a second glance. That's half the reason I ended up at Coneys Frozen Custard, though the rather attractive picture of a Coneys double cheeseburger on the cover of Salt Lake magazine's issue listing the 75 best burgers in Utah sure didn't hurt.
This little fast food joint in a strip mall in Orem is named after Coney Island, where frozen custard supposedly originated. This explains why Nathan's hot dogs figure prominently on the Coneys menu, along with a signature desert they call the Cyclone, after the rickety wooden roller coaster on the Coney Island boardwalk.
Coneys' burgers also would fit right in getting passed through the window of an old-timey beachside burger stand—skinny, griddled, quarter-pound patties swathed in melted American cheese, served with shredded lettuce, onion, and tomato. The whole arrangement sits atop a soft, eggy bun, that gets slathered with what Coneys calls "burger spread" (but that most other Utahans would probably call fry sauce).

On their own, the thin patties of never-frozen ground chuck are tasty enough, though they could do with a bit more salt. But its the whole package of the double cheeseburger that really shines. The melange of griddle grease, gooey cheese, and sweet-tangy spread that intermingles with the meat as you eat creates a sightly sloppy, but wholly satisfying seven or eight bites*. Upon finishing, it was only fear of ruining a reasonably nice shirt that discouraged me from picking up the blue-checked wax paper that had briefly housed my burger in order to nibble off the little bits of melted cheese and the glistening slivers of lettuce that had been left behind.

Despite a relatively crisp shell, the under-salted, too-thick fries at Coneys produce a mouthful of bland starch. You can heap on the fry sauce, but it can't save these spuds.

So skip the fries, and save room for Coneys' namesake frozen custard. They always offer chocolate and vanilla versions of this rich and creamy dessert, along with a rotating daily special. I happened in on Reese's Peanut Butter Cup day and felt pretty pleased with my luck. The restrained peanut butter-flavored base meant one could indulge in the healthy allotment of Reese's in the mixture without fearing for immediate tooth decay.
We're a long way from the coast, and there's no boardwalk on the Great Salt Lake, but the burgers at Coneys happily fulfill the spirit of tasty Americana implied by the name. And if, after your burger, you can't take your cup of frozen custard for a walk along the beach, at least it will help you beat the Utah heat.
* Estimate based on author's own mouth size and voracity.
About the author: David Kover is a San Francisco-based freelance writer and food enthusiast. He's not above chewing on a greasy burger wrapper here or there, as long as he doesn't end up ruining a reasonably presentable shirt in the process.
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