Posted Online: Sept. 05, 2013, 5:44 pm
White Castle has the cure for what ails you
Comment on this story
By John Marx, email@example.com
Through all my visits to doctors and many clicks on WebMD, not one medical professional has ever prescribed the White Castle Cure.
White Castle hamburgers are little squares of heaven.
I'm amazed they found out about penicillin.
But I digress.
It was quarter-past way too late on a recent Friday-turned-Saturday.
I had spent 10 hours baby-sitting some over-served adult friends in a Chicago suburb. It's what you do when you are the only non-drinker in the group — you drive; you heard them like cattle when it's time to go; and you minimize conflict. Truth is, sometimes you incite conflict just to watch adults act like kids.
For the better part of two days, I had been achy. Not the normal beat-up-body achy I have from 6 to 9 a.m. daily, but inside achy. The pounding in the back of my head was a full 24 hours into play, and nothing in the food department looked or sounded good — a rarity in my world. My throat felt like sandpaper, and there was a rumble that sounded like a '67 Camaro inside my ears.
It should be noted that I am a big fan of White Castle hamburgers, those little squares of beefy heaven served on steamed buns. Grilled with onions and served with pickles, they are favorites of over-served late-night patrons across the land. For reasons I cannot explain in a family newspaper, White Castle hamburgers are referred to as "sliders." I prefer to call them "little squares from heaven."
Sadly, there is no White Castle in the Quad-Cities. Never has been, no matter what your kindly old next-door neighbor told you about a place in Moline in the 1950s.
The local radio tandem of Greg Dwyer and Bill Michaels have tried for years to get a franchise to locate in the Quads. No sale. We can get all the other bad-for-us fast-food joints to set up shop here, but not a White Castle. Dwyer and Michaels have gone so far as to have thousands of sliders flown in for those of us in need of a White Castle Cure.
But back to the medical marvel that is White Castle, which I believe cures the common cold and body aches.
When the evening-morning blowout finally ground to a rumblin'-bumblin'-stumblin' halt, I and my sickly body stopped at the White Castle on Joliet's Larkin Avenue. There I ordered eight singles with no cheese and the obligatory diet soda (a guy has to watch his dainty figure). I pulled into a shopping-outlet parking lot down the street and began the miracle of healing, inhaling the tasty squares a corporate muckety-muck has kept from Quad-Citians for more than 50 years.
I returned to the group, put my head to a pillow, and allowed White Castle to work its magic. When I woke, my headache was gone; my throat was clear; and the aches were knee and hip, not chest, nose and bones.
The White Castle Cure had struck again.
Columnist John Marx can be reached at 309-757-8388 or firstname.lastname@example.org.