Love at first bite

Outside, a pink light glows through the windows of a small white restaurant. Nearby, a sign welcomes hungry customers in all caps: “TRY OUR SHRIMP & FISH NIBBLERS.” And inside, a woman unwraps the aluminum foil from a Hershey’s kiss into her boyfriend’s waiting palm.

Their two-top is now littered with Valentine’s Day dinner remnants — almost-drained drinks, boxed leftovers, and a very precariously stacked tower of empty, grease-stained hamburger boxes. The couple of six months is celebrating the holiday with a dinner at Bloomington’s White Castle — and they are totally fine with it.

It’s more famous for the stomach-churning saying, “they’re called sliders because they’ll slide right through you,” and Crave Cases than a hot date destination. And yet, for close to two dozen couples, families, and friends, this restaurant by the side of the highway seemed like just the place to spend their evening.

For several years White Castle franchises around the country have taken to hosting sit-down Valentine’s Day dinners. Guests need reservations, behind-the-counter cashiers become attentive waiters, and little white castles are transformed, for one night, into palaces fit more for Will and Kate than Harold and Kumar.

So, for general manager Lacy Jones, Valentine’s Day begins well before Feb. 14, in the aisles of the local Dollar Tree and Hobby Lobby. She knew she definitely wanted black tablecloths this year — fancy restaurants seem to always have black tablecloths — but with a $25 budget from the corporate office, pickings were slim. Standing in the aisle of the Dollar Tree, just across the parking lot from White Castle, she counted packages of miniature bubbles and boxes of stickers, adding prices in her head to avoid going over budget.

In years past she’s used her own funds to supplement the $25 and fully bring her ideas to life — like the time she decided to freeze mint leaves and raspberries in ice cubes. “I’m not sure if customers appreciated it as much as I did,” she says. She’s toned down her decor ideas since then — but not by much.

Picture the dining room of your typical fast food restaurant: sparse, plastic, and fluorescent. Now dunk that into a grocery store Valentine’s Day aisle: reds, pinks, and sparkle everywhere. Don’t forget to add a soundtrack of Taylor Swift’s bubblegum pop “Love Story” and Adele’s piano ballad “Chasing Pavements” pulsing out of the speakers.

Lean in and take a whiff of the sugary vanilla wafting from the red cream soda filling up plastic fish bowls on every table. Resting on silver trays, they help to cover up the ever-present smell of fried food drifting through the restaurant. And that pink light that’s turning your onion chips and white button-down the color of freshly cut orchids? That’s the cellophane covering the usually unforgiving ceiling lights.

**

“I’m feeling straight up fat and sassy right now,” Grant Fowler said, looking past his personal pile of 10 empty White Castle boxes at his friend, Casey Johnson. She lifted her paper cup to his, “Cheers to that.” Grant is a stonecutter in Ellettsville and Casey (“the successful one,” Grant said) is a pharmacy technician at Kroger. Best friends for five or six years, they shared, Grant invited her to dinner because he went last year, and he calls this place “home.” The store is open 24 hours on the weekend, and because he said his stomach “can’t handle” Taco Bell, White Castle is the best place to refuel before, during, and after a night out.

“I’ll get a 30-pack of sliders and a 30-pack of beer — I’ll walk into a party with a case in each hand, and I’ll be the life of the party,” he said.

**

And yet, it seemed like the party had just arrived. A trio of girls walked through the restaurant’s front door and up to the host stand on chunky heels. Violet Ploszaj, Haley Brooks, and Kelly Franklin: They’re all psychology majors, all from Highland, Ind., and all call White Castle “their spot” during the school year.

It’s just a short drive down IN-37 from McNutt Quad, where Kelly and Violet are roommates. Taking off their coats at a booth, they were dressed in all black — dresses, tights, heels — acknowledging the irony that they were more ready for the night ahead than a typical Valentine’s Day dinner. “We’re like, the three blind mice,” Violet said. “Or,” she laughed. “The Three Musketeers probably sounds better.”

**

“I knew any girl that would let me come here on Valentine’s Day was a keeper,” Rob Moynihan said. After taking a last bite of her chocolate-covered-cheesecake-on-a-stick, Meg Tresenriter stepped out of the cozy restaurant and into the below-freezing night air. Rob, her boyfriend, followed close behind. Before climbing into his Pontiac Grand Prix, he offered her a pair of thick wool socks — and asked her to tie them into a blindfold around her head.

They had just finished their second-ever Valentine’s Day meal at White Castle. The couple of a year and half went last year because it was a low-key option, and they had only been together for a few months. Now, it’s a tradition. Once they left the restaurant, she remembers he drove in circles around the city’s west side for close to 20 minutes. Money was tight this year. They had moved in with Rob’s parents in August while they both finished school at Ivy Tech Community College, and he had told her earlier in the day that he hadn’t gotten her any sort of gift.

The whole time she sat next to him with a gray infinity scarf pulled over her eyes (the socks didn’t fit around her head) before they finally arrived. Unknown to her, their destination was the Marriott on the other side of the highway from the White Castle. But until they were standing in the lobby and she smelled the chlorine from the hotel’s pool, she says she was clueless.

“I kept asking if we were going to our friends’ house in Ellettsville,” she says. But Rob had kept his secret the whole day. While he told Meg he was out running errands, he and his mom went to the hotel to decorate. Even during dinner, when asked what their plans for after the meal would be, they both just looked at each other before Meg answered: “Probably just go home and watch a movie."

Back in the hotel room, lilies, her favorite flower, were on the desk next to a laptop playing, “You Are My Sunshine.”

You make me happy when skies are gray,

She started to cry, so Rob pulled her in for a hug —

You never know, dear,

 — And a kiss. He told her,

How much,

“I love you.”

By now, any remnants of Valentine’s Day are crumpled somewhere in a landfill. Torn envelopes stained with rosy lipstick kisses are decomposing next to piles of soggy napkins, while heart-shaped chocolate boxes sink into the sludge near withered carnations.

Brief and sometimes expendable, Valentine’s Day — like taking a pit stop in a fast food joint’s drive-thru — holds a distinctive quality.

Fleeting as it might be, you can still hear the smile in Meg’s voice when she recalls her date at the Castle several weeks earlier: “It’ll be our thing as long as we’re a thing.”