Sequels Mostly Suck

Based on the writing schedule that I try to keep, I produce close to 2500 words per week on average in the way of blog posts and and columns. With a bit of simple math (which is about as much as I am capable of in spite of a couple of years as a math major in college), this adds up to over 10,000 words per month. I write on any number of subjects in a given thirty day period, some of which I would consider of some importance, some that act as intellectual exercises in writing, and some that are little more than mindless entertainment (usually for me rather than those few twisted souls reading them).

It may surprise you to find that not all of these exercises will ever be remembered as works of literary genius. (Yeah, I can tell you're shocked.) In fact, when looking back, I find that many of them barely pass the sniff test. The simple truth of the matter is that for me at least, it's lucky if even a tiny percentage of what I write is remembered 24 hours after I've sent them on their merry way into the ether of the Internet. If one of them is remembered however, more often than not it's a piece of ridiculous rubbish that wrote itself without any conscious thought on my part; and that I find myself barely able to take credit for. (Hmm, there may be something worth learning there...) 


Such was the case two weeks ago with an effort entitled "In Praise of Sliders". The whole thing started with a couple of my cousins complaining on Facebook about abdominal pains after a recent visit to White Castle, continued through the soul-crushing case of jealousy that I experienced because I couldn't get to one, and came to a head on a Saturday morning that required a writing effort that I couldn't come up with a subject for. What came next wrote itself with no more research that how to find the home position on the keyboard for touch-typing, and no more critical analysis on the subject than whether to use a comma or semi-colon at a certain points in a sentence. 


Now at some point I should probably back up and say that I actually take writing seriously, often agonize over every word and punctuation mark and edit my efforts almost to the point of nausea (something that many of you appear to experience while reading them). I enjoy taking on serious subjects, and occasionally even believe that my perspective on them carries some value by putting in writing what many might be thinking. (Yeah, I know. We all have our delusions.) 


All of that being said, it has become apparent in the last couple of weeks that writing about a steamed hamburger has had a far greater impact than much of what I've written of a more serious nature. To my credit, let it be said that not only am I not disturbed by this, but in fact am secretly pleased. Anyone who knows me can tell you that I'm mostly about nonsense, with a healthy sense of the ridiculous thrown in. (Some might even say that's its an unhealthy sense, but those are people that I never buy a drink for.) 


This is also the long way around to telling you that after agonizing for almost two weeks on a way to do a suitable follow up for the 'Sliders' effort, I have come up more sadly empty than that small, white cardboard box after its tiny treasure has been removed. I'd like to give you a suitable explanation for this, and believe me when I tell you that I had any number of grand excuses lined up for the attempt. (I edited them out of the piece, thank goodness.) 


I tend to believe however, that the actual reason for my lack of consistent achievement has something to do with blind squirrels and acorns. So if you're reading this today in the hopes of finding a riveting sequel to the posting on 'belly-bombers', you will be sorely disappointed. Good sequels, as most of us have come to understand, are almost impossible to produce. (Just look at 'Caddyshack'.) 


If you'll stick with me though, I promise to keep trying to be occasionally entertaining, if not insightful. I promise to be no more disappointing than your average politician, no more a waste of your time than your average reality show, and no more tasteless than the frozen variety of White Castles (which currently reside in my freezer, BTW). You know, the more I edit (and re-edit) this week's pitiful effort the more I come to the conclusion that no matter how hard you try, sequels mostly suck.

In Praise of Sliders

Some of my relatives were indulging in the guilty pleasure of a trip to White Castles earlier this week. Having failed to invite this humble scribbler to the festivities evidently placed a curse on their efforts, and they suffered gastronomic retribution that should keep them from committing such offenses in the future. 


Having enacted what in the minds of many would already be considered an all but unpardonable action however, they went on to further transgression (some might even go so far as to call it blasphemy) by blaming their abdominal affliction on the objects of diminutive ambrosia that they had previously enjoyed. 


For those of you still confused through a lack of experience with this humble gourmet delight, I am of course speaking of those miniature marvels of ground beef ... White Castle hamburgers. But the 'White Castle' is not your ordinary hamburger. The meat of these little beauties is prepared in a fashion entirely different than that of its more plebeian bovine brothers. These burgers are not fried or broiled, but instead laid out on a grill covered in finely diced onions. They are then concealed by their buns (something that founder Walter A Anderson is credited with inventing) and left to steam through the patented five strategically placed holes in the meat. When the meat is cooked through (without flipping), bun and burger are removed together, a pickle is placed on it, and it is efficiently boxed for delivery. 


Though known by many names in the past, 'Whitey-one-bites', 'rats with hats', and 'belly busters', these gastronomic delights are best known by the nickname 'Sliders'. In so naming them, we must also clear up any misconceptions as to the meaning of this most commonly used moniker; so here at 'Just Blowing Smoke', this word shall hereafter be defined as:

Seductive Little Incredibly Delicious Edible Refreshments
(I have also notified the lexicographers at the SOS Dictionary to this effect)

While White Castle was in fact begun in Wichita, Kansas back in 1921, it is an unfortunate fact that no restaurants of the chain remain in the Sunflower State. In fact, no White Castle restaurants can be found now much past the outskirts of St Louis (though I've heard rumor of a couple in Columbia, MO). As a consequence, those of us this far west of the Mississippi who 'crave' sliders must make do with occasional ingestion of the frozen variety sold at grocery store chains around the country (a poor substitute at best), or make a 2+ hour trip one-way to buy a sack or two. And believe me when I tell you that buying these as White Castle advertises, "by the sack" is in fact a requirement; since these burgers are 2-1/2" square and comparatively thin besides. 


What they lack in size however, they more than make up for in flavor; and combined with either their french fries, or especially with their onion rings (no one was ever hurt by doubling down on onions) they make a unique dining experience. White Castle has experienced a wave of unfavorable publicity over the years relating to their potential side effects, earning them a reputation for gastronomic disturbance. 


There is some truth to this reputation, since the consumption of grilled onions on such an epic scale has been known to produce gastric anomalies such as the plentiful production of methane or a laxative effect of prodigious proportions (especially in those previously uninitiated). Like many of the things that offer potential health benefits however, the side effects are more than worth the risk taken. 


Much of the rest of the poor regard in which they are held has to do with the questionable behavior of its late-night clientele. Since all White Castles are open 24/7 (except for Christmas), these dining establishments often find themselves catering to a clientele that has recently been asked to depart an adult beverage consumption station when its hours of operation have ended. Waking up the following morning, they blame their emerging symptoms and afflictions not on the 12 beers and 6 Jaeger-bombs that they consumed, but on the Sliders which they attempted to use to soak up the alcohol afterward. 


So by all means set your fears aside and feel free to indulge yourself in the wonder of White Castles if you are lucky enough to live close enough (or at least within 100 miles) to one. Think kindly of me, if you will, while savoring the delectable nature of the 'whitey-one-bite'; lest I likewise divine your lack of proper respect for the porcelain palace and cast a similar curse upon you. And if you are feeling truly charitable, you might think about dropping a few off in KC on your way through; a humanitarian gesture for which you will no doubt find a reward in heaven. 


Speaking of dropping off Sliders in KC, I must recount a bit of family history ... Early in my traveling days and while living in KC for the first time, I was under standing orders from my parents to bring back White Castles if returning to the City of Fountains by way of St Louis. One Friday afternoon as I was making my way home, I realized this to be the case; and as it was already after lunch, decided to kill two birds with one stone. Finding the nearest White Castle (probably the one on I-70 & Cave Springs Road) and going inside, I ordered: 48 White Castles, 6 cheeseburgers, a medium fries, and a large Diet Coke. Without hesitation (or even the hint of a smile) the young counter agent replied, "Is that for here or to go?" In the spirit of full disclosure, I freely admit that I have also partaken of the Southern Substitute for White Castles ... Krystals. And while I will always be a 'Slider Pilot' (as they say, "been there, done than, and even had the T-shirt"), I grew rather fond of the Krystal burger in my days below the Mason-Dixon line as a "Damn Yankee".