July 27, 2010
It’s Semi-Official: In-N-Out Is Expanding into Texas
And those are good burgers.
For the longest time, In-N-Out locations have been limited to spots within less than a day’s drive from their meat-processing plant in Baldwin Park, California. “Always fresh — Never frozen” is the deal.
But it looks as though a new processing plant will be built in Texas and that an In-N-Out will be open for business near Dallas. In Garland. (Garland! Don’t get me started.) Other locations to follow.
It’s now fashionable, I think, to rate In-N-Out burgers “over-rated”. Hell’s bell’s, people! It’s a fast-food burger. It’s American short-order grill cooking. Of course the meat is fatty beef and the cheese is that processed substance known as American cheese. Of course the sauce (or “spread”) is a relative of Thousand Island dressing. And of course the bun is a squishy-soft hunk of white bread. What do you expect?
It’s a damn good fast-food burger, okay?
Now for those of us who do not live in California, Nevada, Utah, Arizona, or (hold your breath) Texas, last week Kottke posted links to an account of reverse-engineering an In-N-Out Double-Double, Animal-Style and to this related recipe for a home version.
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There are three within walking distance from me RIGHT NOW.
Jeeeeeealous?
A little. But mostly wanting to come visit.
Well come on down! I’m going to go get in n out right now.
Garland, where the first Texas In-N-Out is scheduled to open, is a creepy suburb of Dallas. And I say that as one who finds almost all suburbs creepy.
Years ago a Chicago friend of mine, a musician and studio owner, tasked me with conveying a malfunctioning piece of audio equipment down to Garland, Texas to the audio geek who had built it. (I was driving to Texas anyway.)
You know the kind of thing. Really expensive black box with no name or label on it and a bare minimum of controls.
So I find the audio geek’s house. It’s an ordinary creepy brick ranch-style in a more than ordinarily creepy Texas suburb. Garland. I knock on the door, the geek opens the door, and the very first thing out of his mouth is, “You’re not wearing perfume, are you?”
Uh. No, I tell him. I’m not.
“Because I have a glass lung.”
It was only after I had taken a deep breath and made the decision that it was safe to follow him down into his basement workshop that I realized he must have said, “I have a collapsed lung.”
When I left, I saw children on bikes riding home from school. I bet that the audio geek was the Boo Radley of that neighborhood.
Amanda Mae, I want to get drunk in the lane with you and stagger arm-in-arm to the nearest In-N-Out.
the old in-n-out! I’d drive to Garland for that.
Sheila!
I never drove to Garland for the old in-out. Not that I recall.
I did have a flat tire late one night in some godforsaken suburb out there. Near some community college where I’d driven for some film showing. I sought help from several beefy guys who offered lame-ass, incomprehensible excuses and begged off. The problem was that they used to tighten bolts really really tight on Volkswagens, which is what I was driving, and unless you were really really strong, it could be a bitch to loosen them the first time.
I was so pissed off I got really really strong in about a minute and loosened the damn bolts myself so I could change the damn tire.
Richardson. I think it was Richardson, Texas.
Can you understand a little why I left?
[...] were asked once again to visit Garland, Texas on an errand, I might begin to weep. I know that I would demur. posted by Sheila Ryan in adventure, aesthetics, [...]
I know something about Richardson and Garland (they border each other). The land that imagination never entered–except for fears that low-lifes were about to sweep in and despoil the lawn while raising taxes.
every other summer we’ll sneak into our girls’ bedroom around midnight, pick them up, take them outside and strap them into the van. come the next morning they wake just about the time we’re shooting gravel down a drive leading to the river of love cabins outside thackerville. the place doesn’t have a café per se, but we stopped there once looking for breakfast and they were kind enough to feed us. as we left they said ‘c’mon back’, i said ‘next year?’, they said ‘sure!’ and there you are. that’s just by the way. real point is we don’t stop in dallas for love or money. instead we slide down the 35/635E vortex at ever increasing speeds (to keep pace with the insane traffic) until, surrounded by gleaming over-built mirrored towers and hotels, we are slung out the ass end of the city on a nearly empty 35 again. maybe 30 minutes after that we pull off at the not at all creepy carl’s corner, where they let the girls play on willie’s stage while our lunch cooks.
you can add all the in-and-outs you care to, still not stoppin’ in dallas.
I like what my friends and I call the “old-timey Texas.” Okay, that’s a half-truth. I grew up in Texas a transplanted Yankee and a heathen, a stranger in a strange land, and I split once I was of age. But there was a there there, and that was something.
It’s not that places like Garland and Richardson are especially worse than Chicago suburbs such as Schaumburg and Hoffman Estates. It’s just that like the promoters never tire of saying about Texas, “Everything’s bigger.” And emptier.
Doesn’t Jandek live near Garland?
I think maybe it was Jandek I visited in that ranch house in Garland. The Boo Radley of the neighborhood.
Jandek has a glass lung.
I had an In-N-Out in San Diego last year. “Please, sir…”
Good burger, wasn’t it?
The burger was good.
Holy crap, I was sure my “fucking ticketmaster” comment was on this thread a minute ago (a “no follow” that prevented me from giving it out without “the purchase of a ticket.”. A joke. Now, it’s over on the ticketmaster post where, in my opinion, the comment’s just an agreement.
Fucking ticketmaster!
The stupidity engine. My stupidity engine. While I was fixing something else. All right now?
Oh, Sheila! Are you my angel? There have been many times I’ve secretly thanked you for your sweet intervention. Now that I know it’s you, helping, and not me being crazy, I feel much better. I suspect the joke was lost long before you touched it. *Smooch.* (Wish you were on the patio with Andrew and I just now. One of these days, girl!)
XOR
He meant to say, “Andrew and me…”
Your dark angel, babycat. Your dark angel.
But just this side of a meddler. So look sharp. You know what Harry Powell (Robert Mitchum) said about meddlers in The Night of the Hunter:
Now stop that snivellin’. Looky here. You know what that is? Want to see somethin’ cute? Now looky! How about that! This is what I use on meddlers . . . . No, little lamb. Don’t touch it. Don’t touch my knife. That makes me mad. Very, very mad.
Sheila
I hear you. Thank you. How could you know I was seriously joking, this moment, when so many times past, I wasn’t (about the fucking “no follow”)?
Aw, hon, most times I limit myself to resizing and realigning images and to correcting what appear to be obvious typos or misspellings. Sometimes I just get confused over where the boundary lies!
[...] to Brand-Garland.com. In keeping with our desire to be transparent to Garland residents, we have established this site to keep people up-to-date regarding the brand renewal [...]
[...] Sheila Ryan: Years ago a Chicago friend of mine, a musician and studio owner, tasked me with conveying a malfunctioning piece of audio equipment down to Garland, Texas to the audio geek who had built it. (I was driving to Texas anyway.) [...]