White Castle?

It is a funny name for an iconic childhood memory. I find it interesting that people seems to have extreme reactions when you mention "going to White Castle"....even so much as to shudder and exclaim "Gross...how could you?"
I remember going to the little cube shaped building, gleaming white in a very gray and dingy neighborhood, holding tightly to my grandpa's hand. In the cold Minnesota winter, steam would encompass the whole parking lot, giving the "home of the slider" an ethereal appearance. We would walk in together, me still tightly clutching his hand as I would shyly look around at the eclectic mix of customers in various stages of ordering and eating their 10 cent burgers. Waiting in line, I could just see over the counter to where the little square patties were being tossed on the grill, multiple holes stamped through them making them appear like little meat dominoes.
We would order our bag, with onion chips of course, and sit in the corner booth to enjoy our little bit of White Castle heaven. The steamy windows seemed a natural part of the ambiance, adding privacy to the cult like experience, as though for just a few minutes the outside world didn't exist and it was just my grandpa and me and a half dozen strangers all quietly enjoying our odd little 10 cent burgers in a little white block castle of idyllic memories.