In North Carolina, we do burgers and hot dogs our own way—all the way. That means mustard, chili, slaw, and onions—always in that order.

It’s how our great-grandparents ate them, how our grandparents and parents did too. And we’re proud to keep that tradition alive.

This isn’t just a regional quirk, either. From the mountains to the coast, you’ll find restaurants all over the state serving burgers and dogs the North Carolina way.

Everybody’s got their go-to spot. For me? Paul’s Place, Frontier Hotdogs, Ammons, Corbett’s, and The Hot Dog King are all top-notch. But Melvins? I’m not sure anyone can top Melvins.

This little Elizabethtown grill has been slinging burgers since 1938, back when it was just a pool room opened by three Melvin brothers trying to survive the Great Depression. The pool tables are long gone, but nearly everything else remains the same—including the line that stretches from the cashier to the back door and sometimes loops back again.

Don’t let that scare you. The line moves fast—five seconds per order fast. Owner Randy Harris, a former industrial engineer, has kept the system running like a well-oiled machine. Every movement is intentional, every second accounted for. Even cheese was debated before it was added to the menu, just in case it slowed down the line.

And that kind of precision hasn’t gone unnoticed. A Japanese efficiency expert once told a group of local seminar attendees to visit Melvins to witness operational excellence in action. McDonald’s executives—wearing diamond-encrusted gold M rings—showed up on the day their own Elizabethtown location opened, grabbed a Melvins burger, and reportedly muttered, “What were we thinking?”

There’s the story of the man who got held up at the Canadian border—until the customs officer learned he was coming from Melvins. The group that flew from Columbia, SC just for a taste. The overseas order from Germany for four dozen burgers packed in Styrofoam and dry ice. And the dying patient at Duke University Hospital who asked for one final thing: a Melvins hamburger. A plane came for that, too.

The burgers are a study in simplicity and perfection. Hand-rolled pink beef, cooked on a blistering flat-top until crisp and caramelized, then mashed, flipped, and finished with that same chili and slaw recipe Melvins has used for generations. No aioli, no pimento cheese, no fancy toppings. Just chili, mustard, onion, and slaw. Maybe ketchup or hot sauce if you really must. It’s six-napkin good and exactly how it tasted in the 1940s.

Randy and his tight-knit staff sign confidentiality agreements to protect those old family recipes. They grind meat in-house daily, adjust the fat content based on the season and source, and stick to the same assembly line, the same tools, the same muscle memory.

Ask any local and you’ll hear the same thing: “I’ve been coming here my whole life.” Or, “It’s a hometown landmark.” For many, a stop at Melvins is as much about seeing friends as it is about getting lunch. It’s where you grab two dozen burgers on your way to the beach—and two dozen more on your way back. Where people come before doctor’s appointments and bring back extras for the nurses. Where strangers become regulars in the time it takes to say, “I’ll have two all the way.”

So yes, North Carolina has its burger and hot dog traditions. But Melvins? Melvins is a living legend.

And if you find yourself in Elizabethtown, follow the scent of sizzling beef and the sound of that lightning-fast line. Order yours all the way—no substitutions. Grab a fountain Pepsi with pellet ice, maybe a cookie. Then get out of the way. There’s always someone behind you who knows exactly what they want.

And trust me—they want Melvins.