Krystal, and Some Serious Nashville Hospitality
I spent some time a couple of months ago in Nashville, and ordered a Lyft back to my hotel one Saturday, after a drag brunch that more than lived up to that name.
I couldn’t wait to make a quick change in my room and head over to Nashville’s exceptional National Museum of African American Music, which opened in 2021 to not nearly enough national press.
Midway during the short trek, I noticed a White Castle restaurant just to the right of the freeway. The over 100 year old, much beloved eatery has absolutely no footprint in California, where people who don’t know better swear by In-And-Out and don’t seem to understand the allure of this country’s original fast food hamburger.
Neither, it seemed, did our Lyft driver, Janet.
“Oh, no,” Janet exclaimed. “You need to get some Krystals,” after I told her I was headed to White Castle.
I’d heard of Krystals, most notably from one of my sisters who lives in Florida, but I’d never had one. That was a fact that, prior to that Lyft ride, didn’t seem that out of the ordinary. Growing up in Detroit, we didn’t have the slightest need for one. I’m sure there were many Michiganders who’d never had a Krystal.
If that’s true, Janet had certainly never met one of them.
“Oh, no,” she bellowed, grasping her chest in mock exasperation. Picture a fat, female, white Fred Sanford managing “the big one.”
“We need to fix that,” Janet insisted, giving us the rough address of Nashville’s closest Krystal.
To be honest, looking back at that afternoon, I don’t know why I didn’t say “No, lady, please take me where I asked to be taken.” Maybe it was the driver having the same name as one of my kids, or maybe it was the kid that’s still in me who’s always up for an adventure. Whatever it was, a few turns later we whipped into the parking lot of a hood rat Krystal near Lower Broadway in Nashville.
Upon entering the place, and biding our time as the staff there calmed a woman who appeared to be managing both homelessness and a mental health challenge, I sheepishly ordered a couple of Krystals, via Janet I might add. My persuasive Lyft driver insisted on paying for them herself, since I was new to town. As the customers just ahead of us had “emptied out the grill,” we were told there would be a 15 minute wait for the burgers, so we chilled at a small four top in the dining room.
The first thing I noticed as we waited was the lack of that impossible-to-resist aroma of burgers steaming on the grill, an experience to which any White Castle fan will attest. You could smell food cooking, but this meat was cookin’.
Well, that was the second thing I noticed: the first was the lack of onion chips on Krystal’s menu.
As any White Castle fan will tell you, a slider just ain’t a slider without a few onion chips to toss ‘em back with.
As we waited and talked in the waiting room, the family who’d ordered just ahead of us got their order, which filled several large trays. As they made it back to their table, the mom handed me one of her Krystals, insisting that I try it and apologizing that we had to wait so long for ours.
In the decades I’ve been a fast food aficionado, that has never happened to me, and was reflective of the overall friendliness of folks in Nashville. Even in a hood rat Krystal, people were nice. Right nice, in fact, as they might say there.
Overall, the quality of the experience I had that day surpassed the burgers. That’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy the Krystals, and I ever overstated how much I liked them to the gracious customer and to Janet, so as not to appear rude or to disappoint them.
But now that I’m a few weeks and 2,000 or so miles away, those Krystal’s just don’t live up to the glory of White Castles.
(I’m a little nervous about posting the next few paragraphs, because people and their Krystals are serious!)
For one, the bun’s a little two sweet. It almost reminded me of a Hawaiian roll, the ones a lot of families enjoy during the holidays.
Secondly, that perfect White Castle rehydrated-onion-to-beef ratio was a bit off on the Krystal.
And thirdly, and most importantly, I had to ask for ketchup. In only including mustard, pickle, and onion, Krystal burgers omit that critical ingredient that set a White Castle OFF. The food was more than serviceable, but I don’t know that I need to eat there again…
…but I will, the very next time I’m in Nashville or on that side of the Mississippi River. Because that day, I was reminded of the main reason many pay too much money for something like a measly piece of low-quality beef on a mini bun: it’s the experience.
I’ll smile every time someone mentions Krystal to me, just like I’m smiling as I write this on the plane ride home, with my mouth watering.
And I’ll tell the story of the wonderfully generous customer who fed me and the hysterical Lyft driver who just had to have me try a Krystal before we got out of her car.
If you make it to Nashville anytime soon, and you need a Lyft, I hope you get Janet, even if you don’t want a Krystal. Ask for one anyway, and let Janet show you some real down-home, southern hospitality.
(But make sure you ask for ketchup, now that I think about it, with your Krystals!)
