The 8 oz. Burger Bar is hardly what you would consider a burger joint. Stepping into the brand new restaurant on Broadway Avenue and Union Street is like stepping into a modern-day saloon. Above diners' heads hangs an ultra-rustic chandelier made from an old wagon wheel. Complete with spurs, horseshoes and old Carbine rifles, the unusual centerpiece embodies the aesthetic of the restaurant: rustic-industrial chic. Unlike many of Capitol Hill's oh-so-hip eateries that get carried away with their voguish themes, 8 oz. Burger's Midwestern appeal does not detract from its humble and delicious food.

The 8 oz. burger is the restaurant's classic burger. Topped with iceberg lettuce, tomato, shredded pickles, onions and special sauce, the $9 burger indulged all of my taste buds. A savory mix of mustard, mayo and "secret stuff," the special sauce tasted like a fancy version of Thousand Island dressing. Unlike those dissatisfying burgers that are 75 percent bun, the always-tricky bread-to-burger ratio was exquisitely balanced. Though large in size, I never felt that unpleasant unhinging of the jaw that is so often the downfall of a gourmet burger.

Perfect proportions aside, the 8 oz. reminded me of a sophisticated Big Mac. As someone who loves a good Big Mac, this isn't a bad thing. However for Big Mac haters, the $8 Broadway Burger is more likely to hit the spot.

Six fresh ounces of meat smothered in baby arugula, garlic roasted tomatoes and red onion marmalade, the Broadway Burger is a creative alternative to the classic 8 oz. The red onion marmalade gave the burger a taste of red wine and added a subtle hint of red cabbage, which was as tasty as it was unusual. Filled with flavors more pungent than those in the 8 oz., daring beefeaters will enjoy the burger's richness.

8 oz. Burger's fries, on the other hand, were not so enjoyable. Best friend to the burger, a burger joint with bad fries is unacceptable. Costing an additional $4, the Kennebec fries were satisfying only in quantity. Crispier and less greasy than the traditional fry, they were run-of-the-mill.

Although the Kennebec fries were a little disappointing, 8 oz. Burger has other side selections.

The sautéed bacon brussel sprouts were particularly intriguing. With a bad reputation preceding them, I spent my culinary life avoiding the mini-cabbages until my trip to 8 oz. Burger. The sautéed sprouts were coated in just enough oil, had a smoky flavor and were particularly yummy, much to my surprise. The drawback: all sides cost an extra $4 and there is a limited combo selection. However, 8 oz. Burger recently announced they will be giving a 20 percent discount to Seattle University students with ID, making the restaurant considerably less spendy.

VERDICT: Comparing Dick's to 8 oz. Burger is like comparing Rancho Bravo to Barrio. Dick's is the cheap lunch counter that diners drunkenly stumble upon in the middle of the night. Greasy, simple and fast, Dick's value-menu-style curbs those midnight tummy-rumbles and fills a square. A fatty food haven, Dick's is good at what it does. 8 oz. Burger Bar appeals to a principally different type of eater. Instead of standing outside and stuffing your face, 8 oz. Burger invites you to savor your meal, admire painted pastoral scenery and sip lager from a jar. It approaches its dining experience with a modest artistry that is the very antithesis of Dick's.

Comparing only burger quality, 8 oz. Burger takes the cake. The burgers are large, inventive and mouthwatering. The meat was fresh and didn't taste like it had been reheated from a year-old box of frozen patties. With a menu ranging from a Northwest grass-fed burger to a Wild Boar sandwich and an array of unique toppings, 8 oz. Burger offers an unexpected interpretation of the burger. Hands free of paper wrappers and no trace of that post-Dick's greasy guilt to be found, 8 oz. Burger left my stomach full and my taste buds pleased.

Kellie may be reached at kcox@su-spectator.com