Hills Like White Castles

"What should we eat?" the girl asked. She had taken off her hat and put it on the table.
"It's pretty hot," the man said.
"Let's eat sliders."
"Dos Sack Meals," the man said to the bullet proof glass.
"Big ones?" a woman asked from behind the bullet proof glass.
"Yes, Two Sack Meal #2s."
The woman brought two trays of food. She put the trays on the shelf and slide the shelf through the bulletproof barrier and looked at the man and the girl. The girl was looking off at the non-existent hills of St. Paul, MN. To her they were white in the sun and the country was brown and dry. Which it actually was.
"They look like White Castle sliders," she said.
"I've never seen one."
"No, you wouldn't have."
"I might have, bitch," the man said. "Just because you say I wouldn't have doesn't prove anything. You're just like your mother. I hate you."

He stares at me through the bullet proof glass, his eyes cold, hardened. The 1000-yard stare of a Vietnam veteran being channeled through the vestige of a 17-year old boy. His arms crossed, he stands impatiently, as though he is ready to leave at a running pace without hesitation. A life of violence shows across him like a tattoo. Not too unlike the tear drop tattoo under the left eye of the man behind me.

White Castle can be a tough place to dine.

"Welcome to White Castle. What you crave?"

The voice powerful, demanding, grammatically incorrect. My impulse was to tell him everything I craved. Box seats at Target Field. A perfect Canary diamond. My father's love.

Now I stand there, at the counter of the White Castle on University Ave in St. Paul, looking at my dining options:

- Sack meal 1: four hamburgers, regular fry regular drink
- Sack meal 2: two double cheeseburgers, regular fry, regular drink
- Sack meal 3: 10 hamburgers, two regular fries, two regular drinks
- Sack meal 4: 20 hamburgers, four regular fries

Then it gets weird. Progressing times call for progressing madness.

- Sack meal 5: Six "chicken rings", regular fry, regular drink
- Sack meal 6: Two "chicken ring", regular fry, small drink

The chicken ring being some strange creation of Mary Shelly, the idea of chicken in its natural form or at least the more recognizable boot-like shape of the McNugget is out of date, instead going for a doughnut. Sure, why not?

As with the rest of my life, I tend to let me mind draw connections between reality and the great masterpieces of cinema. Orson Welle's Citizen Kane. Federico Fellini's 8 1/2. Alfred Hitchcock's North by Northwest. And of course, Danny Leiner's Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle. 

Thespian and accused rapist Anthony Andersen's soliloquy and ode to the internationally known "slider".   "Just thinking about those tender little White Castle burgers. With those little itty bitty grilled onions that just explode in your mouth like flavor crystals every time you bite into one... just makes me want to burn this motherf***er down!"

My own sentiments regarding the infamous Castle of White are mixed. As a youth, I was greatly opposed to the idea of fried onions and my own father and grandfather's particular penchant for the lovingly referred to "gut bombs" created a confusion deep within my subconscious that has scarred me forever.

"What did you say?"
"I said we could have everything."
"We can have everything."
"No, we can't."
"We can have the whole menu."
"No, we can't. I only brought $10"
"We can sh*t everywhere."
"No, we can't. It isn't our place to sh*t here."

In the lobby of the White Castle I stood. Finally coming to a daring conclusion. I needed to confront my childhood fear of the intestinal damaged caused by the combination of a regrettable meat to bun ratio, fried onions and pickles. I needed a crave pack. $2.99 for 4 sliders, a small fry and a drink. I also got a jalapeno burger. And then packed it all down with some chicken rings.

With fear and a poised gag reflex I took my first bite of the hamburger that looked small even in my baby-sized palm. I have such little hands.

To my surprise, I didn't vomit. Instead, what I tasted was individuality. If such thing can be tasted. For the most part, hamburgers are hamburgers. Subtle variation in patty size or bun being the main difference amongst the major chains. This, however, was different. A small patty in a large bun. Covered in fried onions that were most likely cooked on an ill-cleaned flattop grill and topped off with the briny goodness of pickle slices.

It took three bites to finish the first. Two to finish the second. I fit the third and fourth in my mouth at the same time. Not because they tasted so good that I had to eat them fast. I'm just really weird and tend to make a scene for no reason at all.

The jalapeno burger did not in fact contain jalapenos. Instead, it was a burger with pepper jack cheese. It did not look good. It tasted like a slider with a tiny piece of pepper jack cheese on it in place of the pickles. 

The chicken rings. What can I say about chicken rings? They tasted like rings of chicken. Not sure what the big deal is. If anything, it reminded me of the chicken fingers of the Hardee's of old. The strangely tube-shaped chicken fingers that were no doubt oozed from the same kind of machine responsible for the form of hot dogs. The contents unidentifiable beyond the description of "it tasted like chicken". As so many things do, I was unimpressed.

The crinkle cut fries were as they have always been, perhaps less the trans-fats that we had all grown to know and love, but still, the overly salted familiarity and slightly soggy texture that are far from the best, but definitely their own.

Conclusion: it's White Castle. What the f*** do you want me to say? Is it the best burger out there? No. Not even close. But that isn't the reason to go. The reason is that despite the trend of standing on the shoulders of giants in the fast food industry, no one has even attempted to imitate the White Castle slider. Normally that would lead to a humiliating failure. Instead, White Castle has been around for 89 years. Surviving on tradition and originality.

You go to White Castle for the sake of White Castle. It is an American original and staple in the economic and capitalistic growth of our nation. It is as American as syphilis blankets. Not in a bad way, but in the whole "it worked out for us in the long run" kind of thing. But not in the "I'd give this to my mom" kind of thing.

 He picked up the two heavy bags and carried them around the restaurant towards the exit. He looked up and down the parking lot, but couldn't see his car. Coming back, he walked through the dining area, where people waiting for death were eating. He sipped his Diet Coke by the rail and looked at the people. They were all waiting reasonably for death. He went around the garbage can. She was sitting at the table and smiling at him.
"Do you feel better?" he asked
"I feel fine," she said. "There's nothing wrong with me. I feel fine." Then she got up for round two of  explosive diarrhea that may or may not have been caused by eating a six pack of gut bombs.


So, uh, did anyone actually get the Hemmingway reference or did I just waste a lot of f***ing time? Bunch of savages.

Next Blog: It's State Fair Time, Bitches!