Smashy, 42 Union Square E.
Smashy Club — not to be confused with Smashiess — started in Budapest and has opened here to, it seems, re-import smashburgers, of all foods, to New York. When I ordered a classic single and fries, both were plucked from heat-lamped zones. Sadly, my shoestring fries were cold, making a signature sprinkle of paprika all but imperceptible. Within its wrapper, a single cheeseburger patty was smashed until lacy and hanging invitingly outside of its Martin’s bun, but there was way too much of the mayo-heavy spread, and I didn’t sense any of the onions that are supposedly grilled into the patties. I stopped eating halfway through, by which time a line had formed and a full assembly was underway, but it was too late for me.
If this is the best that Hungary can do, Hamburger America has nothing to worry about.

Salt Hank’s, 280 Bleecker St.
This shop only sells one sandwich, dreamed up by its namesake TikTok creator, a master of the rapid-cut, deluxe-sandwich recipe format that social media loves so much. At 12:45 p.m. on a Sunday, I joined a 30-person line outside, where the smell of caramelized onions hung in the 88-degree air. It was a relatively swift 20 minutes before I got inside, thankfully lined with tables and counter seats. Salt Hank himself was in the kitchen, along with an assembly line of employees, which is probably why it only took a couple more minutes for my sandwich (no mods allowed) to come out. The $30 price tag has proven controversial, but once I ate it, it seemed fair. This is a heap of shaved prime rib on a crusty mini-baguette: How much should it really cost? It doesn’t need the jus, but it’s a nice French-onion sidecar regardless.
Yes. I especially appreciated the sanitizer and hand wipes available throughout, as well as wrappers and packing materials — since I could only finish half the sandwich in one sitting.

Deli Boyz, 2275 Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Blvd.
More beef: I stopped into this late-night deli around 9 p.m. on a Saturday. The entire space has been overhauled to display a hot bar while a full home range sits alongside an industrial-grade flattop, where a cook wraps up large bundles of lamb suya in paper like it’s Texas barbecue. I ordered steak, as recommended, but I was unfortunately not alone. Soon, the orders backed up, and customers were being quoted 30-minute waits. Mine was more like an hour, and when the rib eye did arrive, it had been hacked up into strips. At least the peppery, fluffy jollof was okay.
Not until they figure out a better system for managing orders.

Montagu’s Gusto, 645 Second Ave.
According to my cashier, the “Charrua Bravo” is a favorite of customers, to say nothing of TikTok. The kaiser roll was piled with an appropriate amount of skirt steak for the $18 price tag, and although not cooked medium rare as requested (they ask!), the meat was steaming from the grill and dripping juice into its paper wrapper. The chimichurri melded with the juices and wasn’t too garlicky, but I do wish the steak had been sliced more carefully since it was a little awkward to eat.
I would endure a lunchtime line to give it another shot.