Paper plate-sized burgers sizzled and popped as three sisters did battle with the lunch rush.

They took orders and made change. They plopped massive patties onto buns, slathering the bread with mayonnaise and mustard, then topped the meat with lettuce, pickles, tomatoes and onions.

The family restaurant sports no sign on its exterior, and the sisters have never formally advertised. The phone book doesn't even hold a listing for Gonzalez Burgers, built onto the side of the family's home in a Donna neighborhood.

Regardless, a daily crowd of customers packs the six-decade-old burger joint. The lunch rush - sometimes complete with an hour wait - is now a daily occurrence for a once-failing business.

On a recent afternoon, the capacity crowd chattered as they munched burgers, fries and onion rings. When they left, their chatter would likely continue - they'd be talking to friends and family about a blink-and-you-miss-it burger joint.

That chatter has fueled Gonzalez Burgers' customer flow - evolving the tiny restaurant from a grocery store to a family dream.

History of Gonzalez Burgers

The burger joint started as Gonzalez Groceries in the 1950s.

Berta and Enrique Gonzalez ran the operation, supported by enough neighborhood traffic to turn a marginal profit.

Then H.E.B., the largest grocery store chain in Texas, came to town. The monster grocer offered better selection and lower prices. Gonzalez Grocery faced doom.

At the same time, students down the street at Ochoa Elementary School enjoyed an open campus for lunch.

Down the street on Silver Avenue was Ochoa Elementary School, where students enjoyed an open campus for lunch.

A little boy often came to the grocery store, buying a sandwich, chips and drink. He told Berta he disliked the yucky cafeteria food.

Berta began preparing the boy's lunch each day, says daughter Nelda Gonzalez, who is now 46 and running the shop with her sisters. When winter came, Berta refused to let the boy eat his usual bologna sandwich. In typical motherly fashion, she insisted on cooking him a hamburger. He loved it.

She cooked him burgers daily. One boy became 7, then 15 and 20. Gonzalez Groceries morphed into Gonzalez Burgers, selling the students lunch for a quarter each day.

The restaurant stayed small scale, without advertisement. Hurricane Beulah destroyed the grocery store's sign in 1967. At first, the family couldn't find time to replace it, but eventually the store didn't even need it.

In 1981, the school district switched to a closed campus for lunch. And the students stopped coming.

But it wasn't long before new clientele flowed in. Mechanics from nearby factories supported the joint. In recent years, however, the clientele has changed again and business has risen to previously unbelievable levels.

The Winter Texan era

The Gonzalez family often ate dinner at Luby's Cafeteria growing up.

Nelda remembers a long-stretching line of other diners waiting for their meal there. Most of the customers were Winter Texans.

The mother turned to her daughter and shared with her a dream: One day, hordes of Winter Texans would come to Gonzalez Burgers for lunch.

Both Enrique and Berta Gonzalez died in the early 1990s. The business fell to Nelda, and her sisters Nora, now 48, and Victoria, now 53, often worked until midnight to make ends meet.

Then about eight years ago, a Winter Texan's bicycle tire popping nearby.

The man used a pay phone across the street from her family's burger joint and noticed people crowding into the restaurant - he was the first Winter Texan to patronize Gonzalez Burgers. Dozens of his neighbors returned the next day, spreading word through the rest of the Winter Texan community and crowding the restaurant during cooler months.

"My mother would be so proud to see this," Nelda said as she stood inside the store.

In the corner near the entrance sit shelves covered in groceries. A few boxes of rice, some pickles, a jar or two of sauce. Patrons rarely buy the items. The groceries simply honor the store's past.

"This was my mother's dream."

Today

The customers begin arriving at 10:30 a.m. The line starts at the front counter, runs out the door and along Silver Avenue.

One of the sisters arrives at 6:30 a.m. to cut vegetables. The sisters' nephew Rick Cavasos grinds the 180 pounds of fresh beef they will use that day.

Winter Texan season has slowed down in mid April, but the few remaining in the area still come for lunch. Also, locals now seize this opportunity to buy burgers with a shorter wait. Customers range from families to businessmen to a satellite television work crew.

Gonzalez Burgers opens for business at 10:45 a.m., customers already packing in. The sisters move without pause. They turn off the phone; a single called-in order would be too much.

Jo Anne Arquette, 70, and Elroy Bohach, 69, arrive around 11:15. The Weslaco neighbors come about twice a week.
They each order a cheeseburger with everything and pay Nelda $3.85. The cost covers a drink, fries and onion rings.
Bohach grabs a Coke, Arquette a Diet Pepsi. They sit down to wait for their meals.

"Jo Anne," Nelda says, knowing them both by name. Jo Anne turns and picks up the meal for herself and her friend.

They start by cutting the burger in half, storing one piece in a plastic bag for that night's dinner.

"It's too big," Bohach says.

They aren't the store's only long-time customers. Some loyalists have even frequented the joint since their time at the nearby elementary.

At about 11:30, Oscar and Sonia Cardona push through the doors with a stroller. They've driven down from Elsa with their 1-year-old daughter, Savannah. Oscar visited a few weeks ago with a friend. He waited in line for more than an hour that day, but he said it was worth it.

He has come back, introducing his family to "the best burger in the Valley."

"I haven't ever eaten a burger like this," Sonia says after her first bite. "I'll tell my friends."

And so the word of mouth continues.

By 3 p.m., Gonzalez Burgers closes its doors - staying open until midnight is no longer necessary, all the business its family needs done in a matter of four hours.

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Zack Quaintance covers law enforcement and general assignments for The Monitor. You can reach him at (956) 683-4447.