Et tu, Ken Dynamo?

I’ll confess that when I posted the photo of the Shackburger this morning I figured the voting to be more one-sided, and this writeup to be something like building up a strawman and knocking him down. But I planned to proceed nonetheless, because I have seen and heard some doubt over the cheeseburger’s sandwichitude in the past and because it always seems like good fun to wreak havoc on a strawman of my own design. Great stress relief, too: Just beat the hell out of that strawman, then maybe set him ablaze and dance in the light of the pyre.

But to my surprise, as of right now 27 percent of TedQuarters readers polled believe a cheeseburger is not a sandwich. And because that number includes some of this site’s most reasonable and respected commenters, I will try to proceed in a more thorough and thoughtful fashion than I previously thought necessary.

The candidate: The Shackburger from Shake Shack, various locations. This particular one came from the Shake Shack on 86th St. between Lexington and 3rd Ave. in Manhattan, which usually lacks the lines associated with the locations at Citi Field and Madison Square Park.

The construction:  A ground-beef patty with American cheese, lettuce, tomato and “Shack sauce” on a hamburger bun.

Arguments for sandwich-hood: It’s meat and cheese between two pieces of bread with lettuce, tomato and dressing.

Counter-arguments: Based on the comments earlier, the principal arguments against a cheeseburger’s being a sandwich seem to that it has its own name — “cheeseburger” — which is not “sandwich” and does not include “sandwich,” and that it comes on a bun. Also, burgers and sandwiches sometimes occupy distinct sections of restaurant menus, though they’re usually nearby.

How it tastes: Delicious. That’s not really up for debate. Though the burger is pretty small, the meat is the focal point: a juicy, tasty and loosely packed mix of ground sirloin and brisket.

The rest of the ingredients play nice: The bun is soft and fresh, the lettuce adds crunch without weighing the thing down or getting too much in the way, the tomato brings a touch of sweetness and moisture, the cheese provides melty, salty goodness and the mayo-based Shack Sauce adds some tangy flavor and creaminess to the mix without overpowering anything.

Here’s what I wrote about the Shackburger in August:

Biting into it, you taste everything at once: crispy lettuce, sweet tomato, tangy shack sauce, creamy cheese, soft bun, juicy meat. It’s damn near elegant. No, screw that; it is elegant.

I’ve long since given up comparing sandwiches to baseball players but I think I’m prepared to make the following call. And this is not a distinction I would bestow upon a sandwich lightly: The Shake Shack burger is the Carlos Beltran of sandwiches. Deemed overrated by some but still appreciated by legions of Mets fans, every element of its game is excellent without being flashy. It will sometimes require a wait — diminishing its value, no doubt — but patient fans can recognize its greatness in center field at Mets games.

What it’s worth: $4.55 plus tax at the Upper East Side location. But when your parents give you a Shake Shack gift card for Christmas, it’s totally free. Thanks, mom and dad!

The verdict: Guys, c’mon. Just… c’mon. It’s meat and cheese with lettuce and tomato on two pieces of bread. Hell, the first thing the Wikipedia page for Hamburger says about the hamburger is that it’s a sandwich, and we all know the Wikipedia is infallible. You pick it up with your hands. At least one origin myth claims it was invented specifically to be eaten while walking.

It’s a sandwich.

So it comes on a bun, yeah. But a lot of chicken sandwiches come on buns, too, and we don’t just call those “chickens,” because chickens are a different thing. Plus plenty of hamburgers come on brioche or kaiser rolls or English muffins. They’re all sandwiches, I’m sorry to say.

No, wait: I’m not sorry to say. I’m happy to say. Hooray for the hamburger, one of our greatest and best sandwiches!

As for the argument that it’s not a sandwich because it’s called a burger, well… that just doesn’t hold up at all. We rarely distinguish a Reuben as a Reuben sandwich, but that is undoubtedly a sandwich, no? And heroes and subs and grinders and po’ boys all pretty clearly fall within the sandwich of spectrum, and yet in most cases are not referred to as sandwiches.

Here’s our man kendynamo:

I have a question. Let’s say you had a bunch of friends over, and they all got hungry, so you said, “no fear dudes, I’ll get us some sandwiches!” Then you come back with a sack of burgers. Don’t you think your friends are going to wonder why you came back with burgers instead of sandwiches?

Yeah, that’d be a bit weird for sure. First off, I’d be a bit disappointed that my friends were so ungracious about all the delicious burgers I just brought them. And mostly, it would be strange of me to say “sandwiches” when I knew I was going out to get a very specific type of sandwiches. It’d be the same thing, I think, if I came back with a bag of BLTs or banh mi.

I mean, say you were having a party and one of your friends was like, “Hey, is it cool if I invite a few people over?” And there’s plenty of booze around and you generally trust your friend’s taste in friends, so you say it’s fine. Then a half hour later, the G-Unit shows up.

Maybe it’s a pleasant surprise — just like it was with the hamburgers — but it’s always going to be weird for someone to use the less-specific descriptor when there’s an easier way to say exactly what to expect. Your friend’s not wrong: The G-Unit is “a few people.” But maybe if you knew the people he was bringing were the G-Unit you would have taken the time in the interim to purge the playlist of your Belle and Sebastian.

In conclusion, a burger is a sandwich. “Sandwich” is not the most specific way to describe a hamburger, but if you were playing 20 Questions and you thought of a hamburger and someone asked you “Is it a sandwich?” you’d have to say yes before he asked you more questions to narrow it down to a burger.