An Ode to Custard

I was listening to A Prairie Home Companion on the radio this afternoon, and I started to feel nostalgic for Minnesota. We lived there for three years, and even though I didn't love living more than 60 miles from the nearest city of any consequence and I really hated the fact that the only time we ever saw the sun between the months of November and March was when the temperature was below zero, there was one thing I loved about Minnesota that I just haven't found an equal to in Texas.

Culver's.

Yep. I have a soft spot in my heart (or maybe a hard spot in my arteries) for the fresh, salty beef, the soft cheese, the buttery buns of the burgers. The clean restaurants with the shiny white and blue tiles. The cozy corner booths covered in blue vinyl. But most of all I miss the turtle sundaes. Creamy vanilla custard. Hot fudge. Caramel. Crunchy pecans. I'm practically in tears as I type. Often, going to Culver's was the only thing that got me through Eddie's call nights. Yeah, I know, he was the one staying up all night long, but the day and the night and the next day (hey, in the Bible isn't that classified as three days?) just seemed so long, and in order to fuel up for the oft-interrupted night I knew was coming up, we'd go to Culver's. A mommy who is missing her husband is a happier mommy when she doesn't have to cook.

When we found out we might be moving to Texas, Eddie talked it up to me, saying, "there's a Culver's in Houston-- you could still eat there." Yeah, there is a Culver's an hour north of here, and I was feeling homesick enough in August that I stopped there with the kids while we were evacuating the city for Hurricane Rita. We spent a disappointing 30 minutes eating buns that didn't have the trademark crispiness, and turtle sundaes that skimped on the pecans. And we paid for it by sitting in gridlock-- our 30 minute headstart from the fleeing masses gone.
Since moving to Texas, I've continued my call-night cooking strike. We've hit up all of the regular fast food places, but none of them compares to Culver's.

McDonalds: pros- food is cheap, redbox is a draw; cons- food is disgusting, service worse, playland positively terrifying.

Burger King: cons- Bryce won't eat a bun with sesame seeds. That, in and of itself, is a reason to stay away.

Wendy's: pros- Frosties, mmmmm.; cons- far away in a creepy part of town.

Whataburger: I know it's authentically Texan and all, but I'm just not feeling the love. Ketchup tastes weird.

Chick-fil-a: pros- good, clean playland, yummy lemonade, best chicken sandwich in town; cons- annoying gospel muzak, my kids refuse to eat the chicken-- they say it tastes "like peanut butter" (?!?)

So we usually end up at Sonic. The burgers at Sonic are actually pretty decent, and the toys in the kids' meals aren't so blatantly pushing movies. I love the Diet Cherry Limeade.

Last night we made the call-night pilgrimage to Sonic. Often we hit the drive-thru and bring the food home, but the kids wanted to go to the playground, and I knew that if we acutally took the food to the playground, none of it would get eaten. So I hopped in back with them, unbuckled their car seats, and we ate in the car. And over the course of the next fifteen minutes, Bryce sat in the ketchup, Annie covered the windshield of the car with greasy fingerprints, and Isaac both spilled my drink all over the carpet and turned every dial in the car so that when I turned it on again, the radio blasted all of us out of our seats and wiper fluid started shooting out of the front and back windshields. It's going to take at least an hour with the carpet steamer, the windex, and a roll of paper towels to undo the damage done in the course of one quick dinner.

Tonight, as Garrison Keillor went on about how it's cold enough in Minnesota to freeze your tongue to the handle of a pump, I didn't shudder with relief and feel contented that my heavy parka is packed in a box in the farthest corner of my attic. Instead, I felt hungry for custard.

-- originally published 1/7/06