An ox burger? Say no more! Soon as I learned of the restaurant’s existence, I was off to lunch at Ox Burger, on Seattle’s Capitol Hill. The bus got me there ten minutes before they’d open at 11:00, so I strolled the neighborhood.
It’s an upscale area, but I’m downscale so everything looks upscale to me. It has well-maintained old apartment buildings, brick and shrubbery, but it’s marred by an ordinary, ugly 7-Eleven.
Numerous joggers and passing yuppies wore elongated earbuds, something I’ve seen for several years but given no thought to until this morning. They’re vaguely antenna-shaped, so they’re probably internet-connected via Starlink, downloading stock prices directing into the joggers’ brains.
More joggers in spandex thudded past, and by nature I’m a list-keeper so I kept count. In ten minutes on a Monday morning on Madison Street, five spandexers came jogging down the hill, three up the hill, all white, and seven out of eight were men.
A gang of four high school boys, also all white, tried the door of Ox Burger, but it was still locked. And I was thinking, Ah man, anything but high school boys. They’ll be rowdy or loud, or simply high school boys. Don’t wait, kids — give up and eat somewhere else. But then the restaurant’s door was unlocked and the boys stepped inside, and I sighed, walked up the hill, and followed them.
It’s a tiny place. There’s a readerboard menu, which to my instant disappointment lists all the burgers as beef. WTF? It’s OX BURGER — I came for ground oxen, something different, not just another cowburger.
I came hungry, though, so I stayed, and when the high schoolers finished ordering, I asked the young woman at the register what she’d recommend. “The Lao Burger is our best-seller,” she said, which didn’t quite answer the question I’d asked, but I ordered it ($18) plus a side of fries ($7).
There are no counter seats, and only perhaps two dozen seats total, at all the few tables. I took a smallish square table, far as I could get from the high school kids, in a sliver-narrow almost-hallway with a view of the sidewalk to my left, and an open broom closet to my right.
Bad rap was in the air, but after a few minutes it became classical music, which sadly soon proved only a preamble to anguished death metal. Thankfully, it played at a low volume of annoyance.
It wasn’t long before the order-taker/waitress brought my burger and fries, under checkerboard paper on two separate, small platters.
The burger was large enough to take seriously, a beef patty accompanied by “cured pork belly, provolone, jaew bong mayo, jaew tomato, pickled red onion, taro stem, and cilantro.” It’s a slippery concoction, held together during bites by a long plastic jabber.
I’d come for something different, and this was different. Jaew bong mayo is a Laotian sauce, hot but not nuclear, but overpowering. I ate and enjoyed all of what looked like a hamburger, but between the sauce and so many other flavors going on, it didn’t recognizably taste like a burger.
Seven bucks for the fries had seemed steep, but it must’ve been three whole potatoes, so I’m not complaining. They’re fat finger fries, cut a smidge bigger than the length, width, and circumference of my middle finger, and topped with paprika and salt. An accompanying honey mustard dip was good, slightly spicy, but the fries were better naked.
As the meal progressed, the music evolved from death metal to a genre unfamiliar to me — death folk? Guitar and tambourine with drums, and moaning where you’d expect lyrics. Waterboarding with a beat.
After eating it, the Lao Burger sat teetery in my belly for hours, but the scent of jaew bong mayo stuck with me too, and wasn’t unpleasant. It lasted overnight and into the next morning’s shower.
As for the high school kids, they were direct from Disney. After a few minutes, several more joined the original four, but with none of the rowdiness I associate with their age. Guess they teach ’em good manners at the Northwest School.
The order-taker/waitress was efficient, but nobody ever asked if my lunch was OK. When I stood mid-meal to try closing the broom closet door, no luck, it seemed to be welded open. The music slightly soured the experience, but the fries won me over, and when I’m hungry and happen to be in the neighborhood I’ll come back.
If you’re adventurous, you might enjoy Ox Burger. Just, don’t come expecting ox, or a burger.
Ox Burger
1523 East Madison Street (Capitol Hill)
Food & drink: good
Price: OK
Service: cold
Transit: #2, #10, #12, RapidRide #G
Verdict: YES.
5/13/2025
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