Orlando's boss burger trucks are grillin' – and killin' it

Nov 06, 2024

It is 6:30 p.m. on a Friday in Orlando’s Mills 50 District, and I have had some drinks.

I am not an anomaly. This is what people do here. And not just on Friday nights, though, as this Main Street neighborhood continues its steady march toward bar crawl mecca, the food scene has stomped right along with it.

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There are food truck events (Orlando Parking Lot Party), trendy izakayas (Tori Tori), soaring pan-Asian palaces (Hawkers) and quasi-American catch-alls with absolutely stellar cocktails (Death in the Afternoon). There’s also The Strand’s newish and adjacent offering, d.b.a., which is where I have found myself, talking shop with rock star restaurateur Pom Moongauklang, in the 90 minutes or so before she heads to a Halloween party, and I spin over to walk the trails at A Petrified Forest.

We’re in need of mop-up. And so, across the street, we go. To the all-new permanent parking spot for The Burger Jawn, a popular burger pop-up whose spanky new trailer calls to Mills Avenue wanderers like a Saharan oasis. Only it’s the hooch, not the heat, that makes them look all wavy-like in the distance.

I’ve only had a couple, but I’m a little thing. Burgers sound good. And the ones that Michael Di Battista is making are about as good as it gets. They hit the grill at 5.5 ounces, a hand-ground blend of three cuts that were tested and curated over time with his partners, Brandon Mohess and José Tejo, with whom he grew up in Kissimmee, attended college and now calls his business partners. But it’s more like a family.

Di Battista was a dietician whose hospital gig paid well but didn’t jazz him like his time spent with the Utah Jazz, where he was during a post-collegiate internship.

“It was awesome because the head dietician was also the head chef, so not only did we do nutrient analysis and plan out the team’s meals and snacks and such, we actually got to make and curate them. And that was my first opportunity in a real kitchen.”

It was an experience so profound that even while working his clinical gig, he grabbed up a side hustle at Ocean Prime, where for about a year, he soaked up as much as he could.

“French techniques, how to use the fryer, the broiler, how to roll sushi, everything — I really loved it — but the other job paid more, offered more security, so I went back.”

Around that time, though, a visit to a cousin up north in Philadelphia inspired him.

Best Burger: 2024 Orlando Sentinel Foodie Awards

“I was mind-blown by the local mom-and-pops,” he said. “Some of them go back four generations, and you can taste the difference in the quality.”

Once back, amid a conversation with his two best friends, there was a discussion of dining options in Kissimmee.

“We felt like there weren’t a whole lot of burger options in our area. It was all fast-food franchises.”

They began testing recipes and serving friends and family.

“Five people, then 10, then 20. Next thing we know, the whole neighborhood is coming over and trying it. We got great reception, fine-tuned everything: the size, the flavors, the combinations and the first one that made it onto the menu was the Apple Marmalade ($16).”

“This one is my favorite,” Pom said, mouth full.

A study in all the senses, its perfect medium-rareness was capped in color and flavor: tangy white blue cheese, a field on which chopped red chilies and maple candied bacon and the house Jawn sauce beckoned. Beneath the beef blend, the chef’s jammy apple marmalade, Pom opined, added the perfect sweet counter to all the savory elements.

Di Battista had cut it and our other choice, the Fun Guy ($16), in halves so we could share.

But I’ll get back to that because the fries were kinda blowing my mind.

“I think they make these,” I said, holding one up to examine before making it disappear. There’s nothing wrong with the bagged-n-bought fries. Some are really good. But these were too good. Perfectly salted, too. An art form.

“I dunno…” she said, skeptical.

I thought about it. And the 100-proof rum in my cocktail. Were they not as good as I thought?

“I’m asking!” I announced.

And was validated.

“If you do all the small things right, in the end, you’re going to get the whole thing right,” Di Battista told me, noting that the process, while no secret, is labor-intensive.

“The best way to make fries is to triple-cook them. Boil them. Fry them a little. Cool them down and freeze them to get that nice, firm rigidity, and then you cook them the third time to order, in the fryer, all the way through.”

The result is a creamy inside and crispy texture outside.

I informed Pom, and the discussion moved to the brioche, which she’d also been skeptical about when we’d taken our haul to her car for consumption.

“You see these big brioche buns, and you think it’s going to be too much, too hard to eat, but these were so soft, and they held everything together so perfectly,” she said, wondering where they got them.

“Ask,” I said. And so she did, returning a few minutes later.

“They make them!” she said.

Di Battista explained it away as part of the mission.

“Improving constantly has always been a part of the process,” said Di Battista.

“Over time, we wanted to check all the boxes, but one we never really checked was the bun. How could we improve it? So we tested out a bunch — potato rolls, brioche and so on — and eventually decided we didn’t want to leave it in someone else’s hands. That’s when I started hitting the books. It took some time. Baking is its own world.”

There was a lot of practicing, of trial and error, but eventually, Di Battista landed on the bun that won Pom over.

“We just want to put out the best product,” he said.

Case in point is the 12-hour mushroom reduction he puts on The Fun Guy, along with Swiss and mushrooms and some sweet potato chips for a lil’ crunch.

“You don’t reduce a sauce for 12 hours to put it on a burger. But we do. We wanted to treat it more like a steak, have it cooked to temperature. Offer sauces using multiple techniques. Bring stuff to the burger scene that’s not usually there.”

Mission accomplished.

By the way, “jawn” is a Philly term, an homage to the city that inspired him. It’s a complicated piece of regional language that can essentially replace a word while simultaneously emphasizing it. It’s got history (whyy.org/articles/jawn-more-than-a-noun-philadelphia-eyes-on-the-street) but, in essence, says, “when you think of burgers, burger joint, shop, popup — that burger thing, that burger jawn? That’s us.”

The Burger Jawn: 800 Mills Ave. in Orlando; theburgerjawn.com

In this colorful trailer, chef/owner Giovanny Artiga keeps it simple: smash burgers.

His oniony, mashed-flat patties — an amalgam of grass-fed Lake Meadow naturals chuck and short rib that Artiga grinds himself — their edges an achievement in crispiness, come in single, double and triple. They’re topped with scratch-made pickle chips and “Magic” sauce.

It’s a profoundly American offering for a culinarian, in particular, one whose early childhood was spent in the Central African nation of Gabon with a tween/teen follow-up in Paris (he zags a little with his cheese choice of cheddar) and one that Artiga takes seriously.

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“The ultimate goal is just to have it be really, really good,” he said.

Once mastered, and he’s just about there, he thinks, the menu will expand some, which is why its name gives little indication that burgers are the sole entrée.

“The eventual goal is to do specials where I can explore other burgers and the chicken and fish sandwich I’m working on,” Artiga said, noting that the chicken should be on the menu before the year is out. Logistics has been the main thing, as the truck is new territory. Before that, Artiga was under a pop-up tent, slinging burgers in lots all over town, from Redlight Redlight (his first ever in Orlando) to Whippoorwill Beer House to the popular Orlando Parking Lot Party.

Artiga was all-new in the 407 back then, but before long, he acquired many friends on the food truck scene who’ve helped him along the way, from constructive criticism to hands-on help, which has been key since he got the trailer back in February.

“Seth from Red Panda Noodle taught me how to turn on my fryer,” he laughs.

His fellow cooks digging on the food has been a confidence booster, but the lines outside the truck window are mostly civilian.

“I went to culinary school, but only for a couple of months. I just enjoyed cooking with friends, barbecuing with friends, learning things on YouTube and I was just stupid enough to believe that when my friends and family told me that my hamburgers were really good, I should pursue it.”

The Pink Salamander name was inspired in part by the slippery creature’s symbolism, rooted in immortality and passion. Pink figures in, too, said Artiga, for a brand he says reps his “eternal passion for food.”

It seems that the burger-loving masses can taste it.

“People really seem to like what I do,” he said, noting that feedback in person and online has been overwhelmingly positive since he started.

“People really showed up. The community in Orlando is just amazing. Supportive. Understanding as I am learning things. Always willing to try new things. Very, very nice.”

The Pink Salamander: instagram.com/thepinksalamander; facebook.com/profile.php?id=61556643975581

What’s more, they’re rolling all around the metro, from their neighborhood to yours, including places like Lake Nona, Davenport, Altamonte Springs and Oviedo. Follow them and the rest of the trucks to find out where they’ll be. And maybe check in with your cardiologist beforehand.

Benny’s Burgers: eatbennysburgers.com; instagram.com/eatbennysburgers

Find me on Facebook, X or Instagram (@amydroo) or on the OSFoodie Instagram account @orlando.foodie. Email: [email protected]. For more fun, join the Let’s Eat, Orlando Facebook group.