Make mine with mustard, pickle and onion

George Motz urges Americans to go forth across this broad nation to "meet real people and eat real burgers."

He may in fact believe that the only real people are the ones who eat real burgers. And before you toss that off as just another crackpot hypothesis, you should consider that George Motz has done some homework.

Or more accurately, roadwork.

He spent two years crisscrossing the United States, dining in hundreds of the nation's estimated 10,000 hamburger joints. The result was a 2004 documentary, "Hamburger America," which has now spawned a book by the same title.

In the course of his research, Motz sometimes consumed five burgers a day. (He does not recommend this. "Embrace moderation," he counsels.)

Motz's documentary focused on eight burger joints from Connecticut to New Mexico. The print version of "Hamburger America" (Running Press, $19.95) expands the list to 100 in 39 states and the District of Columbia.

Wisely, Motz doesn't attempt a ranking. He is careful not to even claim he has nailed down the 100 best. He says only that his 100 "are among some of the best in America."

Not all of Motz's favorites will suit every taste. I retain varying degrees of doubt about the steamed cheeseburgers he found in Connecticut, the green chili cheeseburger from New Mexico and the deep-fried burger from Tennessee, not to mention the Wisconsin butter burger.

Another unique variant featured in the movie is the so-called "guberburger," slathered in mayonnaise and melted peanut butter. Motz calls it "one of the strangest burger creations ever," but it doesn't even make it into the book: As he was about to go to press, the home of the guberburger, the Wheel Inn in Sedalia, Mo., had a near-death experience and was closed briefly before reopening at a new location.

The guberburger originated 60 years ago. Among the qualities Motz looks for in a classic burger are what he calls provenance and historical context. He also favors "places you'd want to visit, and should, before the wrecking ball comes down." So it comes as no surprise that all six of Motz's Ohio favorites go back at least to the mid-1930s.

Around here, it will also come as no surprise that all six are within 100 miles of Lima, two of them right in our backyard.

One, of course, is Lima's downtown Kewpee. To walk through the door, Motz writes, is to "instantly step back in time."

"You owe it to yourself to visit Kewpee," he adds. "It's part of American hamburger tradition that remains vital in the face of a homogenizing fast-food culture."

Motz also recommends Wilson's Sandwich Shop which, for the uninitiated, is Findlay's answer to the Kewpee. If there is a surprise here, it's that Motz somehow overlooked The Spot, the 95-year-old landmark cater-cornered from the Shelby County Courthouse in downtown Sidney.

I've done my own research in all of the region's four-star burger joints. If there's one other place I'd like to eat after reading "Hamburger America," it's the century-old Meers Store and Restaurant in tiny Meers, Okla., 70 miles southwest of Oklahoma City. The specialty of the house is the half-pound Meersburger, made from locally raised longhorn beef and served on a seven-inch bun.

Any discerning carnivore eager to follow Motz's lead and head out in search of the ultimate burger would be well advised to pack this book right next to the road atlas. Unfortunately, the book comes along at a time when nobody can afford such an extravagant road trip.

On the other hand, Motz acknowledges the view of Calvin Trillin, who said, "Anyone who doesn't think their hometown has the best hamburger place in the world is a sissy."

Maybe when it comes to burgers, there really is no place like home.