This little Slovak's first solid food

I know there are many nicknames for White Castle burgers, but in my neck of the Jersey woods, those pillowy squares of manna were called “murder burgers.”

Our White Castle was located in North Bergen, NJ – Nungessers, to be exact (but you really have to say “Nungessahs”). It was about an 18 minute drive from my house and conveniently located near quite a few of my Slovak relatives. This strategic positioning made our visits to White Castle a tad more frequent.

It was cheap. My dad could gorge his kids with a sack full o’ mini meatwiches and fries for a song. AND it was fun to eat in the car parked behind the restaurant. Legend tells that we Bucek kids were weaned from mother’s milk straight to murder burgers. That might not be totally true.

Once I matured into semi adulthood, my friends and I would frequent this particular White Castle on a weekly basis. Sometimes it was after a party. Sometimes it was because we were bored and my friend John was more than likely stoned.

We had such a blast waiting in line to order and then move on down the line to the pick up window, all the while watching the light blue eyeshadowed mammoth of a girl cook burgers in that signature White Castle method. If you’ve White Castled, you know the method of which I speak.

I traveled to that White Castle many a time after closing down the bars. It was open 24 hours. There is nothing quite like a White Castle joint at 3 a.m. on a Friday night. Saturday nights were even freakier. Drunkards, stoners, Snookies & guidos.

The last time I had a White Castle (that was not microwaved from the too expensive frozen pack) was around 3 years ago. My aunt Margaret had died and we headed up north for her funeral. The cemetery was literally 3 blocks from the Nungessers (nungessahs) White Castle. What’s a gal to do? We chowed down on murder burgers and then hastily hauled ass to the repast where we didn’t eat too much of the beautifully catered food.

This weekend I will sink my teeth into my first murder burger in years. The gray meat. The steamed bun that fuses itself to the patty with the help of an almost fungal like substance. The molten cheese and the browned little bits of onion. Are you hungry yet?

Hell, I know I am.

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