Jan. 22, 2003 - Years from now, sociologists will have a field day with the burger madness gripping New York this winter. 

The frenzy began a week ago, when, despite a tumbling economy, the Old Homestead steakhouse slapped a $41 Kobe beef burger on its menu. 

A day after the burger was introduced, 180 New Yorkers coughed up the cash to try it. 

With this menu addition, the venerable Chelsea chophouse with the life-size cow above the awning dethroned the $29 burger at db Bistro Moderne (stuffed with braised short ribs, preserved truffles and foie gras) as the priciest patty in the city, and possibly the world. 

After the Kobe beefburger made headlines, Daniel Boulud upped the ante by sliding shaved fresh black truffles between his buns -- er, the burger's, that is. He called it a "Burger Royale" -- and jacked up the price to $50. 

At a time when we could all use a distraction from the looming threat of war, the story of the $50 burger spread like spitfire. Imagine, a hamburger costing more than most entrees in the city's toniest restaurants. 

On national television, Boulud said he hoped this new beret-clad burger -- available only until March, the end of the fleeting truffle season -- would become the "best burger in America." 

Anyone can slap a burger together, but "it takes a real chef to make a db burger," he said to justify the exorbitant price. 

Someone should tell Boulud that the beauty of the hamburger, the most identifiably American food, has always been its simplicity; that even your uncle Sal -- who couldn't distinguish a truffle from a trifle -- could master one in his own backyard. 

For a sorely needed reality check, we decided to pit these big-buck burgers against some of the city's longstanding sentimental favorites -- both the paper plate and knife-and-fork varieties. 

At db, we ordered one regular burger and one Royale. The two look identical save for the fresh truffle slices canoodling on the Royale's Parmesan roll. The 9-ounce burger is indeed a little work of art with its geologic layering of tomato confit, frisee salad and a mosaic sirloin patty stuffed with the shredded short ribs braised in red wine, a dice of root vegetables, preserved truffles and that stick of foie gras shoring up the middle. 

But eating this lofty burger requires as much concentration and coordination as a game of Jenga. 

After only two bites, Wynton Marsalis' famous line about jazz fusion came to mind: It may be good, "but it ain't jazz." Sorry, Daniel, this is no hamburger. 

The short ribs are delicious but overpower the chuck. I say bag the ground beef, trade the bun for a baguette and turn this into the best short-ribs sandwich in town. Of course, you might not be able to charge $50 for a mere sandwich. 

We knew what we were getting into, but the sticker shock was still offensive: $110 for two burgers and two drinks. The burgers, by the way, are selling well. 

You'll be happy to know that for what you might leave as a coat-check tip at db you can get the real McCoy burger at the landmark Peter Luger steakhouse in Williamsburg. The Luger burger, my hands-down favorite, is a 10-ouncer made with fresh ground chuck mixed with trimmings from dry-aged porterhouse. It comes on a naked, cold but not clammy sesame bun, baked in Brooklyn, with a bull's-eye of crisp white onion and a crock of fiery mustard. If you want a slice of tomato, you won't get the onion. 

It's big, but not so big that you can't pick it up and eat it Pacman style. And no one at this classy rustic tavern will look at you sideways if you do. 

Served only at lunch, the burger will run you $5.95 -- throw in an extra $2 for fries as thick as a carpenter's pencil (though not as good as db's). Downside? Expect to wait up to an hour for a table -- even with reservations. 

As for the Kobe beefburger? Pretty disappointing. At 20 ounces, it makes Mickey D's quarter-pounder seem positively puny. Definitely big enough to share. The drawback? Order it rare, and it can't help but arrive blood-blue in the middle. 

Kobe beef -- from coddled cows brought from Japan and raised here, weaned on beer -- is not lean, and eating it close to raw felt like a stick of cold butter had landed on my tongue. If I'm going to spend this much money on superior beef, give me a steak. Kobe seems to lose a lot in the grinding, including aroma, which is central to the burger experience. 

The Kobe burger is served on a plump, surprisingly sturdy brioche-y type bun with a tuft of microgreens and sides of racy ketchup, horseradish aioli and grainy mustard. It is generously crowned with sauteed cremini and oyster mushrooms. At that price, Old Homestead throws in the shoestring fries -- so wispy they were cold when they hit the table. Filling to be sure, but not satisfying. 

There is something delectably sensuous about eating a blue-collar burger in a hoity-toity restaurant. If you're itching to spend more than $20 on a burger, do it at '21." Until Boulud came along, the '21' burger was easily the most expensive hamburger around. In its heyday, tourists would make a point of ordering it so they could tell all their friends back home how much they'd spent on a burger in New Yawk City. 

Over the years, each new '21' chef has put his or her personal brand on the '21' classic -- a favorite among oil tycoons, celebrities and Presidents. The current chef, Erik Blauberg, mixes rendered duck fat, cumin and fresh herbs into his lean ground sirloin, which he graces with caramelized onions and serves with haricots verts (that's green beans to youse). Pommes frites sail in on a silver platter, and your tuxedoed waiter will gently spoon the kitschy house ketchup onto your plate. Sit back with a martini in Bogey's corner, and your classy $26 burger will seem like a relative bargain. 

If what you crave is an all-American burger and atmosphere is moot, try the Corner Bistro in the West Village (where Jane meets W. Fourth). 

Burgers are served on paper plates in this dark and dingy bar, and you'll be lucky if you can get a napkin or a peep out of your waiter, but the iconic, throwback burgers are monstrous and surprisingly juicy given how often the line cook flattens them with his spatula. (The typical hour-long wait affords you plenty of time to watch him juggle 20 burgers at once). 

The nicely charred burgers come on a pillowy grilled bun with sliced onion and tomato. Yoke-yellow American mustard comes in a squeeze bottle. We had to use a straw to coax our Heinz ketchup out of its bottle. The cooking can be inconsistent here: We ordered two rare burgers and one was rosy-pink perfect while I swear I heard the other one "moo." But, heck, at $4.50 (without fries) you can afford to order a second burger to get it just right. 

I'm a little afraid to see where the big-buck burger craze takes us next. 

I find comfort in those long lines at Peter Luger and Corner Bistro, though. They tell me New Yorkers may be the first to jump on a crazy, even obscene fad, but they also know good value when it hits the grill. 

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(c) 2003, Daily News, New York. Distributed by Knight Ridder/Tribune Business News.