The Billy Goat Tavern ditched its kaiser roll ‘cheezborger’ bun. Is nothing sacred?

No need to panic, but the Billy Goat Tavern changed its hamburger bun.

For most restaurants, this wouldn’t matter in the slightest. But few places in Chicago have changed less over the past 40 years than the Billy Goat Tavern. Save for a bathroom renovation and a private event room added in 2018, the subterranean hangout, famously located a floor below the glitz of Michigan Avenue and the inspiration behind a 1978 “Saturday Night Live” sketch, still has the lovably disheveled feel of a neighborhood dive.

Considering the surrounding area is now flooded with upscale lounges, this is part of the appeal. The food still comes out on a flimsy sheet of wax paper. Nearly all the tables and chairs wobble. The lighting does no one favors. It’s just an unpretentious place to grab a drink and order a “cheezborger.”

Which makes the recent bun news, first reported by Axios Chicago, all the more surprising. It’s a bit like hearing Gene & Jude’s wanted to start adding ketchup to its hot dogs. That kaiser roll was the burger’s most distinguishing feature. Though I’ve eaten hundreds of burgers around Chicago, I can’t think of another place that uses one.

There’s also a reason why most places don’t. The kaiser roll at the Billy Goat Tavern was thick and often crumbly, which differs dramatically from the soft and squishy buns the majority of burger joints use. They were also huge, dwarfing a single beef patty. Two patties did better a better job, but even then, the bun-to-beef ratio tilted heavily toward the former.

Yet, how could we not feel conflicted? Isn’t the Billy Goat great because it doesn’t change? We don’t go there to chase trends. We go there to belly up to the same bar as icons of old Chicago, like Mike Royko and Roger Ebert. Too many of our cherished institutions have disappeared. Marshall Field’s is now a Macy’s, the Tribune Tower houses million-dollar condos instead of a newspaper, and both the John Hancock Center and the Sears Tower have been renamed. Can’t we just hold on to one cherished Chicago tradition?

But, said third-generation co-owner Bill Sianis, there’s more to the story.

Sianis actually switched the bun last year. And he wasn’t even actively trying to make the change. During the pandemic, his bread supplier stopped producing fresh kaiser rolls, so he had to find a replacement. “We’re now using what’s called a yellow kaiser,” Sianis said. “It’s sort of in between a kaiser roll and a brioche, so it’s sweeter and softer than a kaiser, but less buttery than brioche.”

At first, Sianis hoped to use it temporarily until he was able to figure out a new place to get quality kaiser rolls, but then customers started commenting on how much they liked the new bun. “We’re getting a lot of good feedback,” Sianis said. “If we find a better kaiser, we might do both. But right now, it’s working out.”

To make matters even more confusing, Sianis said they’d only been using the old kaiser roll for the past 15 years. Previously, Sianis believes the restaurant’s kaiser rolls were made in an oven better suited for the job, probably first by S. Rosen’s, which was then purchased by Alpha Baking Co. But 15 years ago, the old oven broke, and Sianis thinks the rolls have never been quite the same.

“I’ve probably cut a million kaiser rolls over the years,” Sianis said. “The original kaiser roll was crispy, but once you put it on the grill it became soft as butter. It made the whole sandwich great. Then it became a little more dense after the oven broke.” He kept working with the baking company to tinker with the recipe, but he admits it never quite measured up.

This means if you never visited the Billy Goat before 2007, you haven’t experienced the burger at its best. As someone who moved to Chicago in 2008, this one hurts.

I obviously can’t go back in time to try the original kaiser roll, but I can declare that the yellow kaiser bun one trounces its predecessor.

The new bun features the same curved indentations on top, but give it a touch, and you’ll see that it easily compresses. While I still wouldn’t recommend ordering a single, the double cheeseburger on the new bun is a genuine improvement. Though thin, the beef patties are fresh, not frozen, and they get a decent sear on the griddle.

The beef still needs a hearty shake of salt and pepper, because for some reason the cooks don’t season the beef while it cooks. Considering just about every burger joint in the country salts the beef on the griddle, this will always baffle me. But when you pick up your burger at the counter, you’ll immediately see a shaker of salt and pepper, so it’s not the biggest deal.

Personally, the only thing that could make me disavow eating at the Billy Goat is if they got rid of the condiment bar. Along with no seasoning, the burgers always still come out unadorned, leaving you to load up on toppings however you see fit. I add an absurd amount of the thick-cut pickles, along with an ample supply of raw onions, a smear of relish and a huge squeeze of mustard.

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Start examining the bar’s history, and you’ll notice that change has been a constant companion. (Start with Rick Kogan’s excellent 2006 book, “A Chicago Tavern: a Goat, a Curse, and the American Dream.”)

When William Sianis purchased a bar in 1934, at first he kept the old name, the Lincoln Tavern. It was only after a goat fell off a truck and limped into the establishment during that first summer that he got the idea for the Billy Goat. For its first 30 years, it was also located on the West Side by the old Chicago Stadium, where it didn’t even have a kitchen. It only started serving cheeseburgers when it moved to Lower Michigan Avenue in 1964. The Billy Goat now has an additional seven locations.

While the Billy Goat on Lower Michigan did serve as neutral ground for the many newspaper employees that used to work nearby, by the 1990s, even Mike Royko had noticed a clientele shift. In his classic 1991 column about refusing to meet the first President George Bush at the Billy Goat, he wrote, as ever, candidly: “It used to be a really good bar before it became famous and tourists started coming in.” Despite the harsh words, Royko continued to visit.

Sam Sianis, who started working for his uncle in 1960, even told Kogan in 2018, “Everything changes. It’s not the same anymore.”

If that means a new bun every few decades, so be it.

nkindelsperger@chicagotribune.com

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