Burger joint serves up oldies but goodies

The Babe at Franky N the Boys, a retro-themed burger, fries, and shake place in Brookline. (Wiqan Ang for the boston globe)

Classic burgers. Real fries. Thick shakes. The holy trinity of fast food in its purest form is all you get at Franky N the Boys in Brookline, and - if they make a few tweaks - it's all they need to.

When we walk into this 20-seater, which opened in August, the 1950s-style decor makes clear which era they think got the burger right. Cheery red and white walls, Coke-themed cafe tables, and vintage Coke ads give a nod to the sock hop days. But a drop ceiling and wood floor dilute the retro look, so the final effect is more homage than time capsule.

The menu, however, delivers true '50s burger simplicity. Nary a topping strays from the standards. Cheese is American, stackers are simply tomato, onion, lettuce, and pickles, and choices are few. The menu is in fact so short it would easily fit on a crib sheet: eight burgers, one size of fries, three shakes, and drinks. Franky's is owned by Brighton dentist Dr. Peyman Beigi.

We start with the basic burger ($3.99), a juicy, griddled, pink-in-the-middle 4-ouncer dripping with Russian dressing and cradled in a plastic yellow basket. The bun is the soft, pillowy classic that squishes beneath your hands as you grip it. Toppings, though plucked from the past, are updated: a leaf of curly lettuce replaces shredded iceberg, a thick red tomato slice subs for the old thin, pale placeholder, and hand-sliced Kosher dills outshine the usual dull pickles. The Angus beef is fresh. As one fellow diner put it, "It did what a burger should do."

Whether it's a new contender for the burger battles depends on who's judging. Char fiends will miss the taste of flame-grilling, but others will like the crisp-edged, juicy-on-the-inside griddling. Fans of fat half-pounders and up (you know, SUVs on a bun) will likely find the patties too small (though Franky's is adding 6-ounce burgers soon). Others (me among them) will enjoy not having to order a gut buster.

Franky's other burgers are merely variations on the basic: a double patty burger ($4.99), cheeseburger ($4.99), double cheeseburger ($5.99), a bunless "protein" burger ($3.99), and a no-toppings "baldy" burger ($3.99). Franky's Babe ($5.99) is the one exception. This juicy specialty kicks up the flavor by working onion into the ground beef and grilling the tomato slice. The effect is a little like eating good meatloaf on a bun.

Shakes too are satisfying. Rich, thick, and made-to-order with Hood Premium ice cream, they come in vanilla, strawberry, or chocolate ($3.99).

But the fries and the fear-inducing "veggie bun" bring us to the makeover portion of this review. Franky's uses thick, skin-on, fresh-cut potato fries ($2.99 medium), which could be great if they would do two things: lose the overbearing seasoning salt and the tightly packed cartons where the fries wilt in their own steam. On one visit, my fries were too salty to eat and too limp. Another time, I requested no seasoning and tossed the fries into my burger basket. They were a joy that recalled Eastern Shore boardwalk fries, with crisp edges and soft, steamy centers. They were even better drizzled with malt vinegar from the well-stocked condiment bar, which also includes seasonings such as garlic and basil.

The veggie bun ($3.99) is the one retro item that might be best left in the past. Just a bun with the usual toppings, this un-burger revives the only meat-free option some burger joints served before alternative patties caught on. Adding a veggie patty would help this nostalgic eatery make it into the future. The place gets many things right. Sometimes it's a comfort to go back to the days of no frills, no fuss, and no Kobe.