Around January last year, while living in Kirkwood, I noticed a line of people had begun gathering on Hosea Williams Drive every Sunday like a church congregation. Nothing piques human curiosity more than a line, so I got in it. Our communion? Evergreen Butcher and Baker’s burger.
The congregation advanced slowly. At the hour mark, I passed from the line outside to the line inside. Evergreen staff announced that they were running low and instructed us to pass the word back. I did so and began doing mental math, which I reserve for moments of desperation. At the time, customers were allowed a maximum purchase of three burgers, and seven people were ahead of me. Worst-case scenario: There were 21 burgers left, and everyone was hungry. At the pearly gates, it was my Judgment Day: “I’m sorry. We’re sold out.” Upset, I jogged back to my apartment, muttering bitter nothings to myself. I ate a Pop-Tart for lunch.
During the pandemic, Evergreen owners Sean and Emma Schacke made a decision that has brought them success and scandal. Business was slow on Sundays, so they used leftover beef to make burgers for lunch. Evergreen’s burger is simple: two thick patties with grilled onions, garlic aioli, housemade pickles, and American cheese, all between a sesame bun. They started with 50 burgers, and their regulars loved it. Soon, word spread on social media and demand surged to an extreme. Over time, Evergreen stepped it up to 170 burgers and still sold out within the hour.
One Sunday last June, a customer alerted the Schackes that someone was scalping two burgers outside, at an upcharge: $40 for the pair (they retail inside at $16 apiece). When Sean stepped out to confront the burger hustler, he peeled off in a Porsche SUV. Evergreen posted on Instagram to give customers a heads up on the perp; the reseller then shot back with a Google review days later saying, “Apparently this enraged a grown man, after I had already done business with him.”
The controversy increased demand, so much so that Evergreen had to pause the entire operation in late July, after other businesses on the block began complaining about the line. Last fall, they quietly resumed burger operations, with some safeguards in place—including a limit of one burger per customer, to avoid scalpers. “We actually make as many as possible,” says Sean. “But I understand people who get here, wait in line, and don’t get one. I’d be upset too.”
Weeks after my first debacle, I returned, this time 30 minutes earlier and with a level head. Instead of mental math, I manifested a burger in my hands. This time, my wait at Evergreen came with a reward, made even juicier after an hour in line. Satisfied, I strolled back to my apartment, devouring the burger on the way.
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This article appears in our February 2025 issue.
