This Virginia Backroad Burger Stand Still Tastes Like It Did In 1961

I first stumbled onto Roy’s Big Burger on a lazy Saturday afternoon, following a hand-drawn map from a guy at the gas station who swore it was “the real deal.” He wasn’t lying.

Tucked along Lakeside Avenue in the Richmond/Lakeside area, this tiny walk-up burger stand has been slinging the same juicy, griddled burgers since the early 1960s (most sources say 1961), and somehow, very little about its core experience has changed.

It’s the kind of place where time stands still, the food tastes like your grandparents’ memories, and every bite reminds you why simple is still best.

A Lakeside Landmark Serving Burgers Since 1961

Roy’s opened its doors in the early 1960s—a time when Kennedy had just taken office and gas hovered around the thirty-cents-a-gallon range nationally. That’s not just trivia—it’s proof that when you nail the basics, you don’t need to reinvent the wheel every decade.

I love that this place hasn’t sold out or franchised or turned into some corporate clone. It’s stayed family-owned, locally loved, and stubbornly authentic.

Walking up to that window feels like stepping into a time capsule. The menu board hasn’t been redesigned by a marketing team, and the burgers haven’t been “elevated” with truffle aioli. Roy’s is proof that longevity isn’t about trends—it’s about trust, taste, and staying true to what works.

A Walk-Up Window That Hasn’t Changed in Six Decades

There’s no dining room here. No fancy hostess stand. There is essentially no indoor seating, so there’s no air conditioning to escape into when it’s ninety-five degrees outside. Just a window, a menu, and a line of people who know exactly what they came for.

I remember my first visit—I kept looking for a door to walk through. There isn’t one. You order at the window, wait your turn, and take your food to one of the weathered picnic tables out front.

It’s gloriously inconvenient in the best way. No frills, no pretense, no Instagram-friendly neon signs. Just you, the elements, and a burger that makes you forget you’re sweating through your shirt.

Burgers Still Griddled the Classic Way

Roy’s doesn’t mess around with sous vide or charcoal smoke or brioche buns. They smash fresh ground beef onto a flat-top griddle, let it sizzle until the edges crisp up, and serve it hot with classic toppings.

The first time I bit into one of their burgers “all the way,” I understood why people have been coming back since the ’60s. It’s juicy, salty, perfectly greasy, and unapologetically simple.

No one’s trying to reinvent the burger here. They perfected it decades ago and had the good sense to leave it alone. That’s not laziness—that’s wisdom.

Where Lakeside Locals Have Eaten for Generations

I once stood behind a woman who told her granddaughter, “People in our family have been coming here for decades.” That’s four generations tied to one burger joint.

Roy’s isn’t just a restaurant—it’s a family tradition. People who ate here as teenagers in the ’70s now bring their own kids and grandkids, passing down not just a love for burgers, but a connection to place and memory.

You can feel that continuity in the air. It’s in the way regulars greet the staff by name, the way everyone knows to order “all the way,” and the way nobody’s in a rush to leave.

A Backroad Stop Built Before the Interstate Era

Roy’s sits on Lakeside Avenue, an older corridor that predates nearby interstate development, the kind of place you’d pull over on your way through town—a pit stop between here and somewhere else.

Even now, it feels like a detour from modern life. There’s no highway roar, no chain restaurants flanking it on either side. Just a quiet neighborhood road and a burger stand that refuses to be anything other than what it’s always been.

I love that about Roy’s. It’s not trying to compete with the big guys off I-64. It’s just doing its thing, slow and steady, like it always has.

Picnic Tables, Paper Boats, and No Drive-Thru: The Old Rules Still Apply

Your burger comes in a paper boat. Your shake arrives in a foam cup. There’s no drive-thru, no mobile app, and virtually no indoor dining. If it rains, you get wet. If it’s hot, you sweat. That’s the deal.

I’ll admit, the first time I ate there in July, I questioned my life choices. But halfway through that burger, dripping with mustard and pickles, I didn’t care anymore.

There’s something honest about a place that doesn’t apologize for being inconvenient. Roy’s makes you work for it—just a little—and that makes the payoff even sweeter.

The Big Burger, Fries, and a Shake: A Combo That Defines a Century

Order the Big Burger “all the way,” a side of fries, and a chocolate shake. That’s it. That’s the move. That’s what people have been ordering since the early 1960s.

I’ve tried to branch out—ordered a chicken sandwich once, got onion rings another time. They’re fine. But nothing hits like that classic trio. The burger’s got the perfect meat-to-bun ratio, the fries are crispy and salty, and the shake is thick enough to require serious straw effort.

It’s not fancy. It’s not Instagrammable. But it tastes exactly like it did in 1961, and that’s the whole point.