Burgers Have Been Coming Off The Grill At This Tiny Texas Joint Since The 1950s

Plenty of burger places claim to be old-school because they bought a neon sign last year. This Texas joint has been charcoal-grilling burgers since 1957, which gives it considerably stronger credentials.

The family-owned restaurant still focuses on flame-grilled burgers, sandwiches, and hot dogs, and much of the original menu has stayed familiar even as a few newer choices have been added over the decades.

It even reopened after a kitchen fire in 2025 and immediately drew huge crowds, with hundreds of burgers leaving the tiny kitchen during its first days back.

Texas burger trends can come and go, but there is something reassuring about a place that has spent nearly 70 years basically saying, “The charcoal grill still works, so why exactly would we mess with it?”

A Blond Brick Landmark

Finding the place took me about ten seconds longer than expected, mostly because it is genuinely small. Del’s sits low and wide on the corner, its blond bricks softened by decades of sun.

The painted Texas flag on the outside wall is the giveaway. Someone gave it a slight ripple, as if a breeze caught it mid-motion, and that little artistic touch does more for the building than any modern sign ever could.

Downtown Richardson has changed plenty since 1957. New apartments, fresh paving, restaurants with menus printed on tablets.

Del’s just stayed put while all of that grew up around it.

Parking is tight, and that is part of the charm. Visitors often end up walking a short block, which gives a moment to take in the surrounding neighborhood before ordering.

The building itself does not shout. There is no oversized logo or flashy patio setup competing for attention on the street.

What it has instead is presence. Locals know exactly where it is, and out-of-towners tend to spot the smoke first and the sign second.

Standing outside for a minute, the contrast struck me as pretty wonderful. A tiny burger joint from the Eisenhower era, still cooking, still busy, still holding down its corner.

Anyone driving through Richardson should slow down here. Blink and the whole thing slips past the window, which would be a genuine shame given what waits behind that unassuming brick front.

Sixty-Plus Years Of Smoke And Sizzle

Del Smith opened the doors in 1957, and that date alone gives the place a kind of quiet authority. Six decades of burgers is not a marketing angle.

It is a track record.

Ownership has changed hands six times over the years, which usually spells trouble for a small restaurant’s identity. Somehow the opposite happened here.

The design stayed. The menu stayed.

Even the signs stayed, hanging in the same spots they have occupied for generations of hungry customers.

Hossein Taherzadeh, known around town as Hoss, took over in 2003. He arrived in the United States from Iran back in the 1970s with the idea of cooking American burgers, having noticed how deeply Americans love them.

That detail delighted me. A Texas institution built in the fifties, carried forward by someone who crossed an ocean specifically to grill burgers.

Continuity like that is rare. Most restaurants reinvent themselves every few years, chasing whatever the current trend happens to be.

Del’s went the other direction and simply kept doing the thing it already did well. The result feels less like nostalgia marketing and more like an unbroken habit.

Sitting in the dining room, it occurred to me that people have been eating in this exact spot since before the interstate system was finished. Kids who came here in the sixties now bring grandchildren.

History does not always come with plaques and guided tours. Sometimes it comes with a paper wrapper and a side of fries.

Teal Walls, John Wayne, And A Room Full Of Character

Stepping through the door, the color hits first. Bright teal walls wrap the whole room, the exact shade of a mid-century kitchen that someone loved very much.

Quirky art fills the gaps. Bob’s Big Boy figurines stand guard on shelves, and a life-size John Wayne cutout keeps an eye on the dining area with typical stoic patience.

My favorite detail is the restrooms. James Dean marks the men’s door and Marilyn Monroe marks the ladies’, which is about as fifties as a doorway can get.

There is an antique refrigerator near the seating area, still in use for food storage. Not decoration.

Actually working, decades after it was built.

Space is limited, so tables sit close together. During the lunch rush the room fills fast and the noise level rises in a friendly, buzzing sort of way.

Nobody seems bothered by the crowding. If anything, it adds to the feeling of being somewhere real rather than somewhere designed.

The whole look could easily tip into gimmick territory, but it does not. These pieces accumulated over time instead of arriving in one themed delivery truck.

Casual is the operating principle here. Order at the counter, grab a seat, relax, eat with your hands.

I found myself scanning the walls between bites, spotting something new each time. Small rooms packed with personality tend to reward the patient observer.

Bring a friend who appreciates vintage clutter and watch them light up immediately.

Why The Charcoal Grill Makes All The Difference

That smoky aroma outside the building is not an accident. Everything centers on the charcoal grill, and it has been that way since day one.

Charcoal cooking is slower and messier than a flat top. It also produces a flavor that no griddle can imitate, and the difference lands on the very first bite.

Patties here are thick and cooked to order. Ask for a specific doneness and the kitchen actually honors it, which is not something every burger counter manages.

The smoke works its way into the meat rather than sitting on top of it. There is a richness underneath the char that keeps pulling you back for another bite.

Fresh ingredients back the whole operation up. A great grill cannot rescue tired beef, and Del’s clearly understands that arithmetic.

What impressed me most is the consistency. Sixty-plus years and six owners later, the cooking method never got swapped out for something faster.

Plenty of places advertise flame-grilled flavor. Fewer commit to hauling actual charcoal and dealing with the heat and cleanup that comes with it.

Watching the smoke curl out over the parking lot, I understood why regulars talk about this place the way they do. The technique is the whole personality.

Order it however you like, but consider keeping the toppings modest on a first visit. Letting the charcoal flavor take the lead is the smarter play.

Simple food, done stubbornly right, ages remarkably well.

The Texas Cheeseburger Earns Its Reputation

Ask around Richardson and one order comes up more than any other. The Texas Cheeseburger is the headliner, and it does not hold back.

Two beef patties, two slices of cheddar, mayonnaise, jalapeños, lettuce and tomato all stack together into something that requires a genuine two-handed grip.

The jalapeños give it a bright kick that cuts straight through the richness. Without them the whole thing would feel heavy, and with them it stays lively.

Turkey bacon is used here, keeping the kitchen in line with halal customs. It works nicely, adding a savory layer without overwhelming the charcoal flavor.

Word about this burger has traveled surprisingly far. People have made the trip specifically to try it, which says plenty about a sandwich from a tiny corner shop.

Napkins are essential. Anyone eating this in a nice shirt is making a bold and probably regrettable decision.

The bun holds up better than expected under all that weight, which is a small engineering victory worth appreciating.

My advice is to split one with a friend if lunch is only a stopover. It is a substantial burger, and pairing it with onion rings makes for a serious afternoon.

Bold is the right word for it. Nothing subtle, nothing fussy, just a large and confident burger that tastes like the grill it came from.

Order it once and the reputation makes complete sense.

Where Generations Of Richardson Keep Meeting Up

Lunchtime is when the personality of the place really shows. Tables fill with an unusually mixed crowd, and the room takes on a comfortable hum.

Older residents who ate here as kids share the space with students from Dallas College’s Richland Campus. Families squeeze in beside travelers who tracked the place down on purpose.

The staff move quickly without seeming rushed. Friendly and attentive is the general vibe, even when the line stretches toward the door.

Something about tiny restaurants forces people to interact more. Elbows are close, conversations overlap, and the whole thing feels communal rather than crowded.

Nostalgia comes up constantly in how people talk about Del’s. For plenty of locals, this is where birthdays, after-school snacks and first jobs happened.

International visitors have found their way here too, which is remarkable for a spot this size. Word travels in strange and wonderful ways.

Timing tips are worth knowing. Arriving slightly before noon or a bit after one makes for a calmer experience and a better shot at a table.

Takeout is always an option, though eating in captures the atmosphere far better. The room is half the reason to come.

My take is simple. Restaurants become landmarks when enough people build memories inside them, and this one has been collecting those memories for well over half a century.

Come hungry and be ready to share a little space.

Still Standing, Still Grilling, Still Looking Ahead

April 2025 brought a scare when a grease fire broke out in the kitchen area. Fire crews responded fast, and the building came through it.

Reopening happened within a short stretch of time. The original menu and signs survived and needed only minor restoration, which feels like a small miracle given how old they are.

Losing those boards would have meant losing part of the story. Seeing them still hanging in place makes the whole visit land differently.

Hoss Taherzadeh has bigger plans, too. He has floated the idea of franchising under the name Del’s Charcoal Burger International, imagining a location in every downtown.

The ambition is charming coming from a corner shop this modest. Whether or not it happens, the intention says a lot about how much he believes in what he inherited.

Preservation and growth do not usually travel together comfortably. Here they seem to share the same goal of keeping the charcoal grill lit for another generation.

I left thinking about how few places manage this. Sixty-plus years, multiple owners, a fire, a completely transformed neighborhood, and the burgers still taste like the grill they came off.

Anyone passing through the Dallas area should carve out a lunch hour for it. The food is genuinely good, and the room is a small time capsule that still functions.

Bring cash for a root beer refill, sit under John Wayne’s watchful gaze, and take your time.

Address: 110 S McKinney St, Richardson, Texas.