the true stories of the yo'legacies


Yo History

The year was 1789 in a city called Copenhagen, in a country by the name of Denmark. The air was as crisp as lettuce and the word ‘fries’ was nothing but a verb. Our founder, Patty, was yet to be born. But his great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, YO Papa, was alive and well, and working as a Wolt delivery guy (delivering bottles of milk and the occasional pizza to the people of Copenhagen).

One night, he awoke from a dream that was so vivid, so life-like, he remembered every detail: He dreamt of two pieces of soft, toasted brioche dipped in melted Belgian butter, smothered with a layer of a dream-like orange condiment he could only later describe as ‘magic sauce’, lettuce and tomatoes so deliciously fresh they must have been harvested only hours prior, a single sizzling slice of all American cheddar cheese and — this is the part where he would usually tear up when recalling to his children — the most sweet, tender, juicy, mouth-watering, saliva-inducing, grilled-to-perfection piece of Danish ground beef he had ever seen. The combination of these few simple ingredients was indeed so magical, it was glowing like heaven’s gates. He knew immediately what this dream meant. It was a sign from the takeaway gods themselves that, yes, he had to quit his job delivering food to the masses and start on making it instead.

So he got to work. He sourced only the best ingredients from only top organic, premium-quality wholesalers around Denmark and began crafting what is today known as: THE YOBURGER. *Pause for impact*. But this took time; more time than he had, in fact. Thus it became a tradition in the YO family -- the eldest son would work day in and day out, perfecting Copenhagen’s best, tastiest, highest-quality burger. And so year after year, decade after decade, century after century, some 230 years later, a young man named Patty, who proved the wisest YO of them all, finally perfected THE YOBURGER. What had been a family secret for all these years was finally ready for the public.

So, with the help of some little YOs, he opened a humble burger restaurant in the middle of Copenhagen and began sharing the magic of YO with the rest of the world. And share is what he did. His family recipe quickly became the best burger in town -- and by town we mean the whole frickin’ world. His great-great-great-great-great-grandfather would be so proud. So when you’re biting into a YOBURGER, you’re not just tasting the most delicious burger you’ve ever tried, you’re experiencing years of research, sourcing, crafting, designing, tasting and finessing. You’re tasting the true story of YO.


So you may have noticed we have a bit of a theme going on in our Copenhagen stores. You know… the yellow floors? The red logo? The dashes of blue? As much as you might think the colours were inspired by mustard, ketchup and blueberries, we didn’t choose these colours. These colours chose us.

It all started when our founder, Patty, was on a business trip in France, taste-testing the champagne mayo he had been collaborating on with Louis Vuitton. On his afternoon off, he was walking through the streets of the 1st arrondissement when he joined what he thought was a queue for the bathroom. Seven hours later he was inside the Louvre. On the way back from the bathroom he noticed his shoelace was undone. As he bent down to tie it back up, he leaned up against a painting on the wall. He heard a small ‘click’ and suddenly, the painting and the wall it was hanging on rotated like a revolving door, just like in the movies, and pushed Patty into a tiny, hidden room.

He was not alone. There was an old man sitting by an easel, painting while rambling in Spanish. His paintings covered the walls. They were strange: disjointed faces and abstract patterns. When he noticed Patty he screamed a high-pitched scream. Patty also screamed. For a minute, they were both just staring at each other screaming. Then the man stopped and apologised for screaming, he had just been startled. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He introduced himself as Pablo. He was a very friendly man. They got talking and Patty told him about his dreams to open up a burger restaurant in Copenhagen. Pablo listened intently and then told Patty about his marital problems. The men embraced and held the hug for a little more than usual. Patty checked the time on his pocket watch and realised he was going to be late for his evening meeting with Mr Vitton.

As he was leaving Pablo told him there was something he wanted to give him. He handed him his last three tubes of paint. A gift to commemorate their random but life-changing meeting. Patty shed a tear and vowed to use them if he ever ended up opening the burger shop. Those colours were purple, black and orange. Our graphic designer didn’t like them so she picked yellow, red and blue instead. Our dear friend Pablo died in 1973, may he rest in peace.


You know Narnia? And the secret wardrobe? We’ve got one kind of like it. Except it’s in Copenhagen. We found it in our stock basement on Nørregade. Funny story, really. Like all good stories, it started with a burger. Well not just any burger, but the best burger in Copenhagen. Wait, no. ThE WoRLD. The routine was: every Monday we would get a new order of our sweet, tender, juicy, mouth-watering, saliva-inducing Danish ground beef. The delivery man or woman would come, descend the stairs, pile the sweet, tender, juicy, mouth-watering, saliva-inducing Danish ground beef into the stock fridges and be on their merry way back the farm to change over the jazz vinyl our YO cows were listening to and massage their calves. This was until we got a knock at the door one morning (and by knock we mean a SWAT team owe us a new door) and it was the FBI. They came to report that a bunch of delivery men and women had gone missing, and their last known GPS location was our basement. We were utterly bewildered. How could 54 people go missing in our tiny basement?!

We were forced to close while the FBI rendered our shop an official crime scene and got to work dusting for fingerprints and hair samples (of which they found absolutely zero because we have the smiley-est smiley from Fødevarestyrelsen). It wasn’t until one of the policemen asked if we had any saaawwwse for his boring homemade sandwich he was eating for lunch that the whole case was solved. As he opened the supply fridge, usually containing our sweet, tender, juicy, mouth-watering, saliva-inducing Danish ground beef and a little bit of mayonnaise he was knocked to the ground with an incredible force and a blinding light. Yes, he had just stumbled upon what could only be compared to Narnia — only instead of a mystical land filled with lions and centaurs, there was just stacks and stacks of what, we would later learn, was called ‘Magic Sauce’. Like, insane amounts of the magical stuff.

And what else was hiding in this ‘supply fridge’? Yep, the 54 delivery men and women, completely alive and thriving (although their skin had turned slightly sparkling from too much Magic Sauce, but that was a sign of good health, if anything). There were enough burger patties in that fridge to last them another few weeks so they were more than content. And that was how Magic Sauce came onto the YO menu (and got its name). We didn’t ask many more questions regarding its origin or contents, all we know is it tastes amazing!


Do you know how the truffles for our YO TRUFFLE mayo are collected? No, they’re not sniffed out by pigs, that would be ridiculous. They’re hand-picked and delivered to us in Copenhagen by little truffle elves we found with the Magic Sauce in the wardrobe. If that sentence threw you off, you might want to go back and read about where our Magic Sauce comes from… this next part will make a lot more sense that way. Or less. Who knows.

Anywho, we have these truffle elves. They live in our basement, or more specifically, in our supply fridge. It’s all legal, don’t worry. They were discovered by the delivery guys and girls that got stuck inside the fridge (that part wasn’t legal but we figured it out) — once they were found, they struggled to integrate back into the ‘real world’. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. They attempted to get back into their normal routines but it was no use -- their life was inside that fridge now. They had entered the wonderful world of YO and they never wanted to leave. Some say they are the Oompa Loompas of YOBURGER (just as orange, but slightly taller).

As Magic Sauce was in abundance, they decided to build a laboratory to research, mix and taste new sauces that could complement the YOBURGER… or just some fries. They had heard rumours of the fruiting body of a subterranean ascomycete fungus, otherwise known as a truffle, that mixed exceptionally well with mayonnaise. Amongst the rumours was a tale that referred to the taste of truffle like coriander — you either love it or it tastes like soap. They just HAD to try it. But they couldn’t find it. They searched everywhere. They searched so far and so wide, that they found something they weren’t even looking for: elves. Elves the size of ants. But they were definitely elves. Not ants. They followed these elves deep into the YO woods until they lead them to the best, strangest-looking mushrooms they had ever seen. They plucked them (or whatever verb you use to harvest a truffle), bathed them, dried them and tucked them in at night. Then, they mixed them with our world-class mayo to create what you now know as YO TRUFFLE — yeah, YO welcome.


Ah, Dijonnaise. We stole this one from the French. Well, no, that’s a lie — we didn’t ‘steal’ it. It was actually the best trade deal in the history of trade deals, maybe ever. It all began back in 1675, during the The Scanian War. The war began after the French lost their temper at Denmark for making very subpar croissants and selling them for completely absurd prices. Denmark retaliated at France for beating them in handball, a supposedly Scandinavian sport. Then France’s anger only grew when they found out the Danes were serving cava and calling it champagne. But things got really heated when they heard the Danes had named literally the cheapest bread you can buy in the whole country after them.

They couldn’t believe the nerve of these Scandos and called war. There was a battle in the centre of Copenhagen. There was bloodshed. The Gasoline industry suffered immensely. A man named Tommi was beheaded. Mick Jagger’s album sales went down by 160%. The king of a town called Burger fell from his horse and was trampled on by a stampede of animals from Old McDonald’s farm. It was a catastrophe.For the French, mainly. So they surrendered, kind of. The two countries agreed on a peace treaty: France would give Denmark the recipe for YO DIJONNAISE — which is basically an exquisite mixture of mayo, mustard and magic touches, we can now tell you — in return for a bunch of free YOBURGERS. Seemed fair. If you don’t believe it, head to the Copenhagen library, level two, shelf 45 and find the book titled World History For Dummies. Flip to page 62 and there you’ll find it in all its glory.


What came first? The chicken or the cow? Well for YOBURGER it was the cow. We had a field just outside of Copenhagen filled with happy, chubby YO cows. They would first live their own marvelous lives, and then make everyone else’s lives marvelous with their sweet, tender, juicy, mouth-watering, saliva-inducing beef -- the most important layer of the most important burger in Copenhagen. This is how we operated for years. We gave them a good life, and an occasional back rub, and they gave us the YOBURGER. This was how things were. Until one day, the strangest thing started happening.

Our farmer went out to give the cows their food and brush their hair/give them a foot bath when he noticed little gold balls all over the field. He thought someone had been playing golf. He investigated further until he realised what was happening and ran by foot into our Nørregade store and told us: THE COWS ARE LAYIN’ EGGS. Yes, you heard right. He told us our cows had started laying EGGS. (!!!!!!). And not just any eggs. GOLDEN EGGS. The ridiculousness doesn’t stop there, either. The cows then proceeded to perch on their eggs, keeping them warm and safe as if they were light, fluffy chickens. It was astonishing. How the 950kg of big fat (big-boned?) cow did not break the eggs, we still don’t understand.

This continued for some weeks until finally, the eggs started hatching. There were film crews from all around the world watching. We all waited in anticipation. What would be inside? Daenerys’ new dragon? A turtle? The main ingredient of an omelette? No. Inside were dozens of tiny YOCHICKINGS (scientific name: chickens). So then all of a sudden, we had chickens and cows. Definitely not Cock’s & Cows. No cocks here. Just tender, juicy chickens, they were. Hatched from miracle golden eggs from the world’s happiest cows. And that, our friends, is how that beautiful YOCHICKING in your hands was born.


The best thing about our burgers is actually not just one thing. It’s a lot of things that are equally as amazing. There’s of course the sweet, tender, juicy, mouth-watering, saliva-inducing cooked-to-perfection food (read: burgers, fries, bacon, mayo, chicken etc). There’s the hottest burger-flippers and order-takers in the whole city of Copenhagen. There’s the locations in the best parts of the city. There’s the music, the food trucks, the catering and the delivery service. Then there’s the fact you can take all of this -- literally TAKE it -- and go wherever you like with it. Like, how crazy is that.

You can go home and do yoga in your living room and watch Narcos upside down while dipping a fry in some truffle mayo. You can get into your Ferrari, pump up the volume so high that that old women give you the eye and cruise down Gothersgade, burger in hand listening to Big Poppa. You can put it in your bike basket, grab a 6-pack from the kiosk, open the bag slightly so you can grab fries as you ride, and cycle down to the harbour with your summer lover in tow (free date idea, ur welcome). You can get your mate to hold the bag, position them in front of you on your e-scooter and speed-weave through the crowds at Nyhavn like you’re in Mario Kart and the tourists are bananas. You can do it all old-fashioned way and walk (or just sprint) until you find a nice park bench and stuff your face while you people-watch people people-watching you eating alone on a park bench. You could do all of that and MORE. Do not let our suggestions limit your imagination.

OR. OR!!!!! OR... you could get your perfectly greasy takeaway and sit in our garden. Didn’t know we had a garden? Well of course we have a garden! We have a yard that can be enjoyed by all our loyal customers. The garden, built in the 17th century, is a humble 30 acres of lush grass and fresh water fountains situated on Gothersgade. It was originally established as the private gardens of King Christian IV’s castle but he gave it to us as a gift for our help in acquiring the recipe for tartar sauce from the French. You might have seen it before -- it’s quite popular amongst students and Tuborg Grøn when the weather is above 14 degrees. If you go up to the guards standing on the left-hand side and show them your YOBURGER bag and slip them a fry, they will let you in. And, if royal gardens aren’t your thing -- or perhaps the amount of vodka you drank last night is physically limiting you to your bed -- we also have delivery. Where you get ‘takeaway’ without actually having to ‘take’ it anywhere. Except from the bag into your mouth. What a world we live in!

No matter how and where you choose to eat your takeaway, it is always possible to pick it up at our three restaurants: Gothersgade, Nørregade and Østerbrogade


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