It started — as good stories often do — with an email that made me stop, reread and say, “Wait, what?”
The message was from John Beck, an associate professor emeritus at MSU, who was reaching out after a recent stop in France on his way to Denmark. He and his wife had been staying in a part of Paris known for its cafés and brasseries.
One night, they took friends to a steakhouse close to their hotel called Le Paris Montparnasse. Not too fancy, just French comfort food done well. At a glance, there was nothing about the place to suggest that there might be a connection to home.
Until the menu arrived.
There, thousands of miles from East Lansing, was a name so familiar, yet improbable, that it would have made any green and white–blooded Spartan do a double take: the Michigan State Burger.
The description made no explicit claim to Spartan heritage: a Parisian baker’s bun, ground beef, confit tomatoes, crispy fried onions, lettuce, cheddar, bacon and house-made béarnaise sauce. Delicious, no doubt, and reasonably priced — for Paris — at 17 euros.
Beck quickly investigated.
“I was greeted by a waiter who was confused by why the burger’s name meant so much to me.”
The explanation was not as gratifying as he’d hoped. A manager said that when the restaurant decided to put an American burger on the menu, staff wanted to give it an authentic-sounding American name — so, naturally, they did extensive research into the history of the iconic sandwich. Just kidding: They threw a dart at a map of the United States, and it skewered Michigan.
Voilà, the Michigan State Burger was born.
Beck, however, remains unconvinced it’s that simple. “I don’t buy that — why did they say ‘Michigan State’ rather than just ‘Michigan,’ and in that order?”
So, the mystery remains, for Beck at least, and he figures that a follow-up investigation in Paris may be necessary. “Maybe a research grant with travel funds,” he suggests.
Strictly for academic purposes, of course.
