My first and strongest impression of Mill Valley, CA can be found in television reruns. Captain B.J. Hunnicutt of the 4077th proudly hailed from the up-and-coming Marin County township, and for years he was my sole example by which to measure it. Thanks to M*A*S*H, my mental picture of Mill Valley teemed with laid-back, wise-cracking, playfully-mustachioed pranksters riding motorcycles. Then I went to Mill Valley, and as it turned out, my mental picture didn’t have to change much. Of course, you can’t really ride a motorcycle up and down the idyllic hillsides of Mount Tamalpais. B.J. would have to trade in the bike for one of those hybrid seven-seaters with five-star safety ratings that everyone else drives. Besides that, and a quick shave, Captain Hunnicutt would fit right in. He’s white, he’s liberal, he works in a high-paying profession and he’s… well… fiction.

Maybe Mill Valley is an actual place, but after hanging around the town a few times, I can’t shake the feeling that everything there is a little bit storybook. The streets are clean of litter and loiterers, the sidewalks are full of mommies pushing strollers, the public education system is well-funded, and a cheerful woman hands you a free tote bag when you walk into the supermarket. Everything is just right in Mill Valley and that’s a little off-putting, because it doesn’t seem real. It’s like some kind of 21st-century Pleasantville, as if Mill Valley took American culture, re-engineered it for its own purposes, and then bottled it for families with household incomes of at least six digits.

Mill Valley’s food culture is no different. Everything looks the same, but the recipes change, like a B.L.T. made of applewood-smoked bacon, arugula and roma tomato. It’s delicious, and it’s classically American, but its authenticity is part pageantry. At least, this is how I felt when I walked into Pearl’s Phat Burgers, Mill Valley’s version of the American fast food diner. The small restaurant is sparse white, with minimal red trim and a couple cafeteria tables. It gives the impression of a generic greasy spoon due to a classic menu board on the wall and the lack of a wait staff, but a closer look at the options obscures the place’s definition. Pearl’s may be dressed up as a generic American grease peddler, but the burgers aren’t plain old American burgers. They’re just pretending to be.

I guess – for an upscale, forward-thinking population like Mill Valley – cheap, greasy diner food is a matter of nostalgia. For me, taking a gourmet burger and trying to pass it off as being ungourmet sounds like some kind of prank that Hawkeye Pierce and B.J. Hunnicutt might come up with. I have to give Pearl’s credit, though. There’s a psychology to the experience, and for someone like me, who can’t help but despise the idea of “gourmet” burgers, the disguise works in everyone’s favor. If Pearl’s served burgers on ceramic plates and wood tables, I would have liked it less, because, you know, I’m prejudiced.

Gourmet or not, Pearl’s burger has found fans. Bobby Flay and friends awarded Pearl’s Phat Burgers as the Best Burger in the Bay Area at the Great American Food and Music Fest. The prize winner was the Kobe Bula Burger, Pearl’s reinvention of the Hawaiian burger using bacon, swiss, mayo and spicy pineapple teriyaki sauce. As a fan of Hawaiian teri-burgers in general, it wasn’t hard for me to like the Bula, whose tangy, sweet sauce gives the impression of eating a messy, teriyaki-glazed pineapple slice without the accompanying physical difficulty. The bacon is thick cut and chewy, the way bacon should be, and the patty itself is pink on the inside, the way patties should be. Still, I remain skeptical of the burger’s “Best” title, because the combination of fatty Niman Ranch beef and a generous portion of swiss cheese left pools of grease in my digestive system. Maybe I should have forked over the extra four dollars for the Kobe.

Definitely not the generic burger joint, Pearl’s offers buffalo and turkey patties, too. I liked the lean texture of the buffalo more than the fat and grease of the beef; however, as per usual, the buffalo burger was not quite as flavorful. That said, I’ll gladly order the Bula Burger with beef again, maybe without the cheese, but I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend the buffalo to anyone who doesn’t want to feel like crap after her meal. This is Mill Valley after all, where eating at a classic greasy spoon doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice your health and where food culture doesn’t have to end in a food coma. That’s the Mill Valley brand, bottled and ready to go, coming to a city near you. There’s already a Pearl’s in San Francisco. Next time you order a burger at a generic diner near you, beware – it just might be gourmet.

Pearl’s Phat Burgers
8 E Blithedale Ave
Mill Valley, CA 94941
(415) 381-6010

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This entry was posted on Friday, February 5th, 2010 at 12:07 pm and is filed under travel.