These goddesses of grease, these angels in onion-stained polyester, are the Florence Nightengales of the burger world. They dispense onion chips and advice in a way which no other restaurant's representatives can. Back in my alcohol-sodden college days, White Castles made the perfect end to any evening. No matter what the occasion or the company, a plate full of gut bombs is always a suitable nightcap for an evening of college- town entertainment. Some people feel that White Castles are unsophisticated.
Some people think that they're uncultured.
There's more street-smarts in a sack of Castles than in most entire restaurants. For one thing, Castles are steam-grilled, not fried, which means that much of the burger's natural oils, which might otherwise go to waste, is trapped within the bun's accommodating pores in the same way that a mother's arms envelope her baby. And the onions, which are tender morsels of grease-laden greatness, lose none of their organic flavor. The only thing that's changed about White Castles over the years is the cost. Back in my day, a tasty White Castle cost less than a quarter.