Review: A quest for the best hamburgers in Kansas City

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They griddle thin, almost lacy burgers here and slide them onto buns that have their insides toasted on the griddle. I pop in on a Saturday night. The guy behind the counter, his hair in a ponytail, sporting a Pink Floyd T-shirt, takes my order, then twirls around, his head nearly brushing the ceiling, to make my shake.

I get why his forearms are roped with muscle. He scoops vanilla ice cream from a jumbo-sized plastic bucket to make my malt. He adds a few glugs of milk, spoons in malt powder, squeezes in chocolate syrup and jams the metallic container under the malt machine. It churns for several minutes while the grill cook tends to the sizzling patties.

I abandon protocol and order the chili version. The chili is a finely crumbled chili — no beans, no real spice but a whole lot of messy goodness. I probably needed a fork; instead, I used my bun to mop up the loose bits. It’s a family recipe that dates to 1906.

Fries and onion rings are the frozen kind but still crunchily addictive.

And, as it should be with any old-school, 24-hour-a-day place, Hayes attracts some characters. Like the skinny chick, her eyes shrouded behind sunglasses, her Frye boot knockoffs looped over the stool. Or the solitary gray-haired fellow who shuffled in for a sandwich and cup of coffee. Or the two 20-somethings who enthusiastically inhaled their doubles without saying more than a dozen words between them.

•Westport Flea Market: 817 Westport Road, 816-931-1986. Hours: 11 a.m. to 1 a.m. daily.

It’s cash-only at the Westport Flea Market, a labyrinthine place on the western end of Westport.

The Flea Market has a storied history: Infamous serial killer Bob Berdella had a booth in the flea market part of the building. The place nearly closed a few years ago, until Joe Zwillenberg stepped in to buy it, rescuing it from developers who wanted to demolish the building and build a Hooters.

Hooters? The neighbors revolted. The Flea Market survived.

And you’re likely to share the place with a local politicos and other celebs. I saw former mayor Richard Berkley grabbing a burger with some of his compatriots. Mayor Mark Funkhouser had his election victory party at the Flea Market.

Drinks are delivered by a waitress; burgers are ordered at the bar counter. You pay each tab separately. Food is picked up at a pass-through window by one of the cooks. The guy who grills my patty fancies himself a comedian, singing, yodeling and making goofy rhythms with customer’s names.

I order the 10-ounce Flea Market burger with cheddar. The Flea Market, which just celebrated its 27th year anniversary, gets its meat from McGonigle’s. And yeah, you can taste the quality.

Those with petite appetites can get the Mini Market version, a 5  1/2 -ounce version of the signature burger. And the Patty Melt is a lovely variation on the cheeseburger theme: the same Mini Market burger is served on lightly toasted rye with Swiss cheese and grilled onions.

Even in the midst of a hamburger glut, a bite or two of the Patty Melt got me over the hump. Good ol’ Patty cleansed the palate, cleared my burger brain and I was ready to sample more burgers from other joints around town.

The mostly self-serve concept extends to the condiments table, where you can ratchet up the flavor quotient with shredded lettuce, onions, pickles, tomatoes and a few other goodies. Go crazy with the mustard. Pile on the raw onions. Nobody cares if you pig out. No one is keeping score.

All the sandwiches come with a choice of curly fries as springy as a piggy tail, cottage cheese or coleslaw.

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