Tag: Life Stories

There’s something about White Castle !

                                                       

 My cousin Doug, who now resides in Arizona, stopped by  last week.   We enjoyed his visit, but late on Saturday night he  mentioned that he  wanted to try some gut busters.

It  took the  hubby a moment or two to think  what he meant.    But no matter what we might  call them, we all know  why we call them what we do.     White  Castle  hamburgers  have been an  American  staple  since the  first one was served in 1921.

I don’t think Cousin Doug has ever been for a visit and not run out for at least a six pack.  The most he ever ate, that I know of, in one night was ten.  Family legend has it that when my Uncle Ron came to town he could eat 32 white castles and drink a case of beer watching a basketball game.  I do not know if that is true or not.

These small, soggy, little hamburgers really have an acquired taste.  Extra pickle, extra onion along with a slice of cheese is optional.  So why then, did we go out and bring home a sack or two late on a Saturday night?

They have to be the most addictive of all fast food.  Perhaps it has something to do with the five holes cut into each one.  My Uncle Ron would always say “Gonna get me a job at White Castle because somebody has to drill those little holes.”

This week we told Doug that if he wanted to have the greasy little hamburgers in Arizona, he could buy them frozen at a local supermarket.  He said he tried a box of frozen ones once, but could not enjoy the unique legendary taste of White Castles in Arizona.

White Castle hamburgers are grilled over a bed of onions, which produces a sandwich that is moist and excellent.  Perhaps the only thing that has changed about White Castles over the years is the cost.  Doug can remember when each hamburger cost only twenty five cents.  Yes, he is a tad older than me!

Before he left, I had a chance to ask him.  “Tell me, what you will want next time you drive through Greenwood?” 

“I’ll probably have to pick up another sack full of White Castles.” 

His answer explains why White Castles will always be an American favorite.

 

 

Morels Everywhere !

Morel%20Mushroom

‘Tis the season that native Hoosiers go mushroom hunting. 

I have been waiting on the morel mushrooms to come up.  I did see two or three black morels as the hubby and I took a stroll so I knew it wouldn’t be long before the gray and yellow ones popped up.

Why is it that some people know exactly where to look for mushrooms?  As a rule, people do not give out the locations as to where the best “find” of mushrooms are, but I’ve heard of more than one person headed east out of Greenwood and returned with mushrooms for their evening meal.

One problem is, one can never be sure where to look.  Mushrooms pop up when ever and where ever they see fit.  The same site that produces hundreds of morels one year might yield nothing the next.  So, the hunt continues.  It is fun just to go out and look for them.  They are only there for a very limited season.  If you could do it any day, all year-long, it wouldn’t be as fun.

My sister stopped by yesterday.  She had found enough mushrooms to fill a tote bag.  We agree, she finds them and I will clean and fry them up.  Finding mushrooms for my sister comes easy.  She once said that it was clear to her that since mushroom season lasts only a few short weeks that the Good Lord intended people to spend twice as much time hunting mushrooms as they do mowing the lawn.

I once tried to go mushroom hunting with her.   Although we were walking the same land, she found seventeen to my three.  Some people simply have a knack for finding mushrooms. Others stay at home and eat them.  A fried mushroom is an acquired taste.  You either like them or you don’t.

The mushrooms should last one or two more weeks, depending on the weather.  If you see my sister with a collapsed bag in hand perhaps you could talk her out of a few.  She always finds plenty. 

School Daze ! !

School has started.  There are some parents out there who are still doing a little dance.  Not my sister.  Her son started first grade Monday and neither mother nor aunt is handling it very well.

I am sure that in time he will recover from the embarrassment and shock  caused by his mother holding on to the back bumper of the school bus screaming, “Don’t take my baby!”

On his first day, I took off from the newspaper long enough to see him off to school.    When I arrived he was in line at the bus stop.   Along with his mother, I had hopes of taking him to school.  Neither of us got to take him, which didn’t bother him at all but nearly killed us.

Since neither of us actually got to take him, we hurried down to the school just to watch.  We wanted to see him.  We parked across from the school, watched him get off the bus, and go into the building.

Both his mother and I were able to walk into his first grade room.  I was not prepared for what I saw.  In kindergarten last year, he sat at a big table with the other students.  He looks so tiny now behind the big desk of his own.

I saw my sisters knees get weak and the room must have gotten fuzzy when she saw him sit down at his own desk.  He looked so much older and more mature than the little guy she laid out clothes for that morning.

He immediately started talking to old friends he hadn’t seen all summer.  My sister stood there a little dazed.  Her son did not even know she was in the room.  Odds are she wanted to go over and hug him.  I myself wanted to go comb his hair once again. 

But instead, she walked over to him and whispered something like “Mommy has to go.”  His response must have come as a blow, “Yeah, sure.  Bye.”

She pulled herself together and  walked in front of me out the door.   I gave her a hug in the hallway.  I thought she could use a little encouragement.

I stopped by their house on my way home from work.  I wanted to be there when he got off the bus in the afternoon.  We stayed on the porch when he got off the bus. I will admit that I had my camera. I didn’t care if it embarrassed him or not.  When he is married with children of his own, he might appreciate the picture.  I jumped off the porch and snapped a quick photo.

He spotted me, ran up the walk and gave me a hug.  Life is good in Indiana.