Like a thirsty transient who crawls toward a pond, on Wednesday I'll slowly make my way to Texas in Silver the Trusty Minivan with a goal in mind
such as not to get robbed, raped, maimed, shot, stabbed or otherwise left for dead along the interstate.
Yes, I'm going to see my family, but there's another objective of this trip:
In my carnivorous opinion, these are the best burgers on the planet. The patties are large and drenched in grease, the buns are just the right ratio of soft and crispy, and even the ketchup seems superior to the lowly versions served at other burger joints.
When I lived in the Corpus Christi area, there were many times that I went to Whataburger twice in one day for a fix. And I had the butt and thighs to prove it.
As a kid, the name of the place confused me. I thought it was Water Burger.
One afternoon, my cousin Julia and I were seated at the kitchen table at Neenie and Pa-pa's house. We merrily poured our glasses of water onto some home-cooked hamburgers to create "water burgers."
I imagine Neen took the switch to us when she walked in and saw the mess we had made.