The Scott’s Addition location, having debuted this past December between Ardent Craft Ales and ZZQ, is their flagship, a proving ground for the Eazzy Burger concept, which Fultz, Graf and their investors have plans to build upon in the future. And one can easily see it being scaled into a fast-casual franchise of its own.

“We definitely want to build a local chain that could perhaps even spread across Virginia,” Fultz says.

There are rules, of course, to making a proper Eazzy burger. It must come on a shiny La Bella Vita bun. It must be precisely 5.3 ounces of dry-aged Black Angus beef. It must use an 80-20 blend of chuck, short rib and, like anything ZZQ-related, brisket. And it must get a gentle press, not a full-blown smash as so many places in town do, yielding a beefier physique without the meatloaf-iness of a bistro burger.

As regulated as this sounds, the end products are anything but. The burgers won’t ruin the environment. But it doesn’t mean they won’t wreak havoc on your best pair of jeans.

Don’t come expecting dainty, feel-good burgers. The ones here are incredibly messy — to a napkin-destroying degree. Served on a silver canteen tray, pretty much the only thing keeping their contents from spilling out is a sheet of parchment folded around them like origami.

All the burgers have decidedly big personalities. The “Cheazzy” ($11) greets you with a sloppy smooch of cheddar and orange sauce: the creamy, zesty kind that every burger spot claims to be their own “secret” recipe. It’s the same greasy, juicy carhop-style cheeseburger you’ve known and loved your entire life, only a more grownup version of it. A salad’s worth of vedge — lettuce, red onions, tomatoes, pickled cukes — fills out its buns like wads of cash at a strip club, adding a flirty amount of freshness to each mouthful.

The rest of the Eazzy Burger family is full of surprises, too. Oaxacan cheese explodes out of a dynamite stick of charred poblano, onto a patty laced with crispy coils of onion, stealthily doused in green pepper salsa ($14). The burger’s smoky-salty-spicy spirit hails from the American Southwest, a region that Fultz and Graf have always been specially drawn to.

Another by the name of “Guthrie” ($12) vows to tug on your heartstrings. Its luscious layers of American cheese and Duke’s mayo and sweet, achingly-soft onions woo you with all sorts of pleasantries. And a pickled jalapeno or two pipes in every now and again to keep the banter lively and interesting.

Or perhaps you’ll be courted by the “Big Iron,” ZZQ’s closest kin, a burly but tenderhearted Texas cowboy of a burger ($15). For a patty that’s been cold smoked, then topped in smoked cheddar and smokehouse bacon, this big guy is not quite the smoke show you’d expect — and yet, it’s honestly a relief. The last thing you want from a burger is the sensation of inhaling an open campfire. A schmear of onion jam imparts just enough chirpy sweetness to avoid that. I only wish the jam had more of a twang to it.

With burgers this good, you may almost forget Eazzy Burger’s noble mission of environmental stewardship.

“Agriculturally, the way the beef industry has been managed for decades and decades and decades is really horrible on the planet,” says Fultz, who admits that, as much as he hates the whole situation, the amount of brisket needed to sustain the barbecue business at ZZQ has always kept them from renouncing the use of industrially-raised cattle.

It’s a known fact: commercial meat production has led to a massive increase in greenhouse gases, water contamination and deforestation. A quarter of all food production emissions is caused by the beef industry alone. And until lab-grown proteins become a reality (and we’re not far off, from what I hear), we should probably find some middle ground between going cold turkey on beef and, quite literally, eating ourselves into oblivion.

At Eazzy Burger, they’ve been able to achieve this ethical balance.

A solar-powered cattle farm in Maryland, whose sustainable grazing and watering practices are designed to mitigate the impact of the operation on the environment, supplies the meat for their burgers.

Even their serving ware is eco-friendly. As signs around the restaurant helpfully inform you, “everything on your tray is compostable — the papers, the last few fries, forks, the sauce cups and lids, even those drinking cups.”

While a sense of morality and social consciousness helps defy its corporate identity, the business also runs like a well-oiled machine. It reminds me of Shake Shack in the early days, before the Danny Meyer-owned burger brand became a global chain.

The menu, the handiwork of a trained graphic designer, optimizes an array of face types and colors in a neat but visually appealing way. Service is streamlined yet courteous. And orders are dispatched efficiently and consistently — with the option of text notifications for customers dining indoors or at one of the picnic tables in the Ardent beer garden.

As well thought out as it is, however, not everything works at Eazzy Burger.

The place has mixed success with its non-burger menu options. Fries are reliably delicious, a détente of crunchiness on the outside, creaminess on the inside. And I’d gladly partake in a rugged tangle of the shoestring onions.

But the Not-A-Fish sandwich ($12) is a flop. They say a jury could indict a ham sandwich. Still, I’m not so sure any jury, from here to Alaska, would find anything remotely fishy about the restaurant’s meatless alternative to a Long John Silver’s fried fishwich. It is, in theory, a cool concept; the unflaky and decidedly soy-based texture and flavor of it isn’t. Even if it weren’t as overfried as it was, the whole thing is, sadly, just a block of tofu in cod’s clothing.

The hot dog corner of the menu, though, makes a fun pitstop, for everyone but vegetarians. All-beef franks, spatchcocked and grilled from cheek to cheek, are packed like double-wide trailers full of ingredients — from wild sloshes of chili con carne, freighted with cumin and other warm spices and loaded with all the fixings ($11); to a spunky Mexican-Chinese mashup of elote corn, crumbly cotija cheese, mayo and a garlicky Fritos-filled chile crisp ($12).

One day, we may be asking ourselves, “How many burger joints is too many?” Not just from an environmental standpoint, but from the angle of an oversaturated market. There have been so many new additions to this category with Richmond’s latest burger boom that it was named “No. 1 burger city in America,” according to one website’s algorithm.

Even so, Eazzy Burger has shown that there’s still room left in this city — and the world — for more of anything, even burgers, at least if one is willing to do things differently and just a little bit better.