Texas’s Trump Burger Is Not Worth the Drive (or Your Dignity)

From Civil Rights-era lunch counter sit-ins to restaurant kitchens operated by immigrants across the country, food — its systems, histories, and cultural patterns — has always been political. Some restaurants, however, make it more evident than others.

Trump Burger, which loudly proclaims its support for President Donald Trump, has quickly become one of the most controversial fast-casual restaurants in Texas. What started as one politically charged burger joint in Bellville, Texas, in 2020 has since expanded to a chainlet across the region, bringing its unapologetically MAGA branding to cities like Flatonia, Texas; Kemah, Texas; and, most recently, West Houston on Chimney Rock Road.

Owner Roland Beainy, a Lebanese immigrant who says he opened the restaurant in support of Trump, has been candid with local media. Though his restaurants have no official affiliation with the president, Beainy has said he thinks Trump greatly improved the economy during his first presidency (spoiler: he didn’t) and hopes to collaborate with him one day. Not everyone, however, seems as enthusiastic. Even before opening its doors in May, Trump Burger’s Houston outpost was met with middle fingers from passing drivers, according to a Houston Chronicle report — a sign of the friction in a predominantly Democratic city. But Trump Burger isn’t trying to win everyone over. From the “Made in USA” logos plastered on the menu to burgers literally stamped with the Trump name, the restaurant makes its deference to the president (and a particular group of diners) resoundingly clear.

So, how does Trump Burger really stack up to the compelling burger options already in Space City? Eater Houston tried it so you don’t have to. Here’s the rundown.

The Food

With five different styles of burgers and a Philly cheesesteak, the menu features the same Trumpy vibe threaded into the entire restaurant’s decor. The namesake Trump burger is a relatively straightforward 8-ounce chargrilled Angus beef patty topped with two goopy slices of yellow American cheese, lettuce, tomato, onion, pickles, mayonnaise, and homemade barbecue sauce, all on a bun that’s gaudily stamped with a bolded “TRUMP” insignia (the final touch is an American flag toothpick that stakes its claim in the bun). The Trump Tower burger, named for Trump’s New York skyscraper, offers an attempt at grandiosity — but really, it’s just a double cheeseburger (two 8-ounce beef patties, four slices of white and yellow cheeses, with the restaurant’s standard toppings). The Bellville Zinger, likely a tribute to its hometown, sounds the most interesting, with grilled onions, peppers, jalapeños, and Sriracha.

As with most aspects of Trump Burger, a menu isn’t just a menu. It takes jabs and attempts to drive political points home with brutish humor. The Biden Burger, which is reportedly the “Harris Burger” on its Houston menu, features a 1-ounce beef patty topped with “old tomato” and “the oldest buns available due to cheating and inflation.” Listed under an illustration of former President Joe Biden with a red X over his face, the burger is priced at a very random $50.99. “It’s a joke,” a cashier said when I asked if it was a real dish to order.

The Prices

Burgers and sandwiches — the main event here — all come as a combo with fries and cost between $14 and $17. Salads are $11. Starters, which include fries and onion rings, are between $6 and $7. A five-count basket of chicken strips served with honey mustard is $13. The kids’ menu features a 4-ounce burger and a chicken tenders meal with fries for $10 each. The drinks section keeps it simple, with bottles of water, sodas, iced teas, and Otto’s root beer, for between $2 and $3.

Brett Coomer

Brett Coomer

The Vibe

Every Trump Burger location tries to outdo itself in nationalist and personality cult aesthetics. Though Houston’s exterior is more subdued and minimalist, the Kemah location features a stage for live music and cocktails. The Bellville location seems most over the top: Images of Trump dominate the space, with life-size posters alongside flags, slogans, and merchandise that blur the line between restaurant decor and propaganda. A particularly jarring image shows Trump raising his fist, bloodied ear and all, after surviving an alleged assassination attempt in 2024 — an image positioned not far from shelves stocked with Trump-branded mugs, hats, and koozies.

But for all the visual noise, the actual atmosphere can feel eerily subdued. As I walked in on a recent Sunday, the tension, likely combined with our nervousness, felt palpable. Here, the vibe wasn’t festive — it was stiff, uncertain, and uncomfortable, particularly for me, a woman of color. The other diners present avoided eye contact. Even the playlist, looping music videos on wall-mounted televisions, couldn’t inject life into the space. The most excitement I saw was among families toddling around with their kids, many wearing Trump memorabilia (a boy, no older than 7, donned the shirt that read “Daddy’s Home”). It was a stark contrast to the raucous, family-friendly energy you’d expect at most burger joints.

Brett Coomer

The Verdict

If you are someone who voted for Trump and supports his administration’s many compromising decisions, this place is likely for you. If you don’t fall into that category, is the food good enough to look past its rhetoric? The chargrilled burger patties are thick but bland, topped with a waxy cheese that lacks any memorable flavor. The fries are crisp, and the meals affordable, clocking in at around the same price as you can get a burger and fries at another, arguably better, burger joint. However, for those who see Trump’s legacy differently — as a man who has deported innocent people; stoked division; subverted the Constitution; and acted against values that include equality, access, and opportunity — eating here feels like an endorsement of someone whose vitriolic rhetoric has harmed, in many cases irreparably, the people he was elected to serve.

Trump Burger isn’t really about burgers. It’s about broadcasting allegiance to an administration through capitalist, consumerist means: buying a cheeseburger. It’s a chance for Trump supporters to floridly rally behind a figure they admire. But with countless burger spots in Houston that serve far better food, Trump Burger is easy to pass up. Every bite becomes a political statement, that, frankly, leaves a bad taste.