December 22, 2006
Originally published September 11, 2003
It ain't just those little hamburgers that are good there. If you grew up down South, you never lived unless you staggered in there at 3:00 in the morning, drunker'n a pissant and held onto the stainless-steel counter with both hands to keep from falling on your ass and slurred your way into getting breakfast on a paper plate.
You could go sit down then, and have a waitress bring you your food before you passed out, face-down on the table. They served eggs, bacon, sausage and grits and the food was delicious, especially when you were drunker'n a pissant at 3:00 in the morning.
WARNING!!! NEVER pass out face-first into a plate of grits.
I saw that happen once, and I believe that the person who did it would have drowned if someone hadn't grabbed him by the hair of the head, turned his neck at a 45-degree angle and laid his cheek right back down in the grits. "He's okay now," the fellow said. "He can breathe." We all continued eating breakfast, assured that no one was going to die in a plate of grits that night.
That sort of behavior was accepted as perfectly normal in a Krystal at 3:00 in the morning.
Go to the beach and stay out in the sun all day. Drink a lot of beer. Pass a Krystal on the way home. You'll do a U-turn to get to the place, then order 50 cheeseburgers and two small fries because you are HUNGRY. You and a buddy can eat 45 of those burgers between you and immediately pass out on the couch afterward for a well-deserved nap. Your belly is happy. You put the rest of the burgers in the refrigerator for lunch on Monday (Krystals rehabilitate just like new with 30 seconds in a microwave). After that, you fart a lot for the next two days.
Krystals are great. I haven't eaten one of their breakfasts in 20 years, but those used to be great, too. Goddam. Now I've made MYSELF hungry.
All content © Rob Smith