I'm a lifelong, fourth-generation Minnesotan whose (very bad!) 2008 Minnesota Daily article serves as the third citation on the Jucy Lucy Wikipedia page. I've eaten dozens of the molten-core cheeseburgers; I've authored stories about their appearances in Vietnam; I've asked the Twins which ones Carlos Correa inhales; I've called out the Star Tribune for committing Jucy Lucy heresy.
So you can imagine my provincially skeptical amusement upon learning that a California company (Juicy Lucy Inc.), in conjunction with a celebrity chef (Aldo Lanzillotta), had inked deals with Minneapolis-based Target Corp. and Encino-based Gelson's Markets to distribute frozen Jucy Lucys across this vast and dumb land. (Well, mostly around L.A. and the Upper Midwest, per the distro map.)
“This is our way to honor this best-of burger, and we believe the more people who can enjoy a Juicy Lucy, the better, so we are making it more available to more people,” says Lanzillotta, whose Hollywood gastropub chain Barney's Beanery has offered Jucy Lucys for decades, via press release. A helpful local PR firm was enlisted to distribute review samples of the two varieties available now at Target for $15 per six pack—Cheese and Jalapeño Cheese.
Distressingly, the boxes are void of copy that credits the Jucy Lucy as a regional delicacy that emerged from either Matt's Bar or the 5-8 Club in the 1950s. (Appearing last week on WCCO-TV, Lanzillotta was quick to cite Minneapolis as "the birthplace of the Jucy Lucy.") We followed the instructions on our freezer aisle version to the letter of the law: no thawing, six minutes per side atop a medium-heated pan. Ours achieved nice chars with minimal cheese oozing, despite pokes from a meat thermometer. The finished product was placed inside buttered King's Hawaiian buns.
Thus concludes our looooong windup to the verdict on Juicy Lucy Inc.'s national leverging of Minnesota's unofficial state food.
Folks... they're quite bad!
The patties do form a nice pocket for the cheese, though the beef casing itself proves bland and dense, providing none of the crumbly, juicy cascade local Jucy Lucy fans crave. As far as frozen ground beef goes, it's acceptable if unspectacular.
The problem here is with the main event, that (ideally) gooey core deposit of cheese. Look up at that main photo and the problem is even visually apparent: The cheddar cheese product spilling from these burgers is the consistency of Play-Doh—grainy, clumpy, paste-like. It looks like hotel scrambled eggs. It looks like a Minions crime scene. It looks like the Great Stuff foam spray keeping various parts of my house together. “It took us years of passion and precision to perfect a recipe that people can enjoy in the comfort of their home," Lanzillotta tells news outlet, but the end result of that processed-food quest is way off the mark.
Would opting for American cheese have offered a better consistency with at least some viscosity? Don't ask me, I'm not a food scientist! Flavor-wise, both versions of cheese smacked of gas station nacho, though the Jalapeño did pack a nice burst of heat. If you can't stick the landing with the beating cheesy heart of a Jucy Lucy, you're as DOA as that Angus-certified cow.
Which brings to the Jurassic Park-indebted dilemma at the heart of this enterprise: *Jeff Goldblum voice* Juicy Lucy Inc. was so preoccupied with whether or not it could, it didn't stop to think if it should.
We could get all high and mighty, accusing the Cali company of making our culture its costume, etc., etc., whatever. But maybe it's more simple than that. Maybe the bubbling cheese alchemy achieved at so many flat-top grills across the Twin Cities isn't meant to be mimicked and mass-commodified. I've never had a frozen Philly cheesesteak, a frozen NYC pastrami sandwich, or a frozen Maine lobster roll, nor would I ever seek one out. The bar to clear here was lower, as frozen burger patty technology was aced long ago, and perhaps the formula can be tweaked to one day clear it.
In the meantime, there's magic happening every day inside Matt's, 5-8, Blue Door, The Nook, and other battle-tested Jucy Lucy purveyors—you still have to leave the house to taste it, however.
