Whataburger slae to Chicago group

Whataburger isn’t just a Texas thing — the distinctive A-frame restaurants dot the highways in Arizona, Alabama, Florida and a handful of other states, with sales of more than $2 billion annually.

But the burger chain has become inseparable from Texas, a place that sometimes seems more brand than state, home to Texas-shaped swimming pools and Texas-only special-edition pickup trucks. To turn control of an enterprise founded in 1950 in Corpus Christi over to some investors in Illinois — that’s been more than some people here can stomach.

“We just need time to adjust,” wrote The San Antonio Express-News.

J.J. Watt, the star lineman for the Houston Texans football team, urged his more than 5 million followers on Twitter to “all chip in and buy Whataburger back” and add kolaches — a doughy Czech delicacy that long ago found a second home in the Lone Star State — to the menu. Social media erupted with Texas-themed memes and images, and outraged Alamo references (“182 men didn’t die at The Alamo just so we could give @Whataburger over to Chicago. I’m just sayin’,” tweeted one man from the Rio Grande Valley city of McAllen).

Whataburger and BDT have urged calm.

Whataburger’s president and chief executive, Preston Atkinson, said in a statement that the chain wanted to “expand the brand” elsewhere in the country and found a partner that doesn’t “plan to change our recipe for success.” The company posted an open letter on Twitter: “Texas, we don’t want you to be upset. We will always be Texan and represent you in a way that makes you proud.”

But the damage is far from controlled.

“It’s got every true Texan quaking in their boots,” said Dick DeGuerin, who is one of the state’s most sought-after criminal defense lawyers (and who happens to like his Whataburger with jalapeños.) “I have had cases in Chicago. It’s a beautiful city right there on the lake. I’ve had some very pleasant experiences with some of the lawyers from up there. But for God’s sake, get your hands off our hamburgers.”

Texas is Hawaii with oil and guns — a part of America that is apart from America.

No other state wants to be more like no other state than Texas. All the things that make Texas Texas — the state’s flag, shape, food, books, music, politics and even chain stores — burnish the brand. This is the place where “Don’t Mess with Texas” is more than just an anti-litter slogan: It’s a federally registered trademark, owned, naturally, by the state of Texas. The Rangers are more than the state’s elite police force; they’re also a major league baseball franchise.

Texans have a hard time supplying a definitive explanation for why the state has become so self-obsessed that even sharing a hamburger chain with outsiders raises hackles.

Some believe it traces back to the Republic of Texas — having once been a nation, it’s been hard to settle for mere statehood. Others view it more politically, with some Texans worried about losing the state’s long-held conservative identity as new people move in. “Don’t California Our Texas” has become a popular T-shirt and rally chant for Texas Republicans. At least some of the answer is commercial: The Texas brand sells, and the state works hard to perpetuate and market its self-promotional myths. That ain’t toast, in other words — that’s Texas Toast.

“I think it’s just our independent nature,” said Daniel Vaughn, barbecue editor of Texas Monthly (his go-to Whataburger order is the jalapeño-cheddar biscuit sandwich). “Brisket, no matter how well you smoke it outside of Texas, will never be as good as Texas brisket because it wasn’t made in Texas. That’s just the view of, I think, most Texans. If it’s in Texas and of Texas, it’s more important.”

Thus a Texas hamburger is bigger than all other kinds of burgers, in all kinds of ways.

The Whataburger chain, now headquartered in San Antonio, was officially recognized by the Texas Legislature as a state treasure in 2001, an honor duly noted on a sticker on most Whataburger front doors.

Texans have been married in Whataburgers. One Texas couple held a Whataburger-themed photo shoot for their newborn in 2016 — the baby was put on a striped Whataburger tray and swaddled, burger-style, in yellow Whataburger wrapping.

The burger chain played a bit part in the biggest political battle in Texas in decades: Democratic underdog Beto O’Rourke’s failed attempt last year to unseat Republican Sen. Ted Cruz. During the campaign, O’Rourke skateboarded in Whataburger parking lots and, after his debate with Cruz, he posted video of himself air-drumming to the Who in a Whataburger drive-thru lane in Dallas. When word spread on social media that O’Rourke’s black-and-white campaign logo bore a strange resemblance to Whataburger’s popular spicy ketchup packaging, a Cruz spokeswoman called O’Rourke a “Triple Meat Whataburger liberal who is out of touch with Texas values.” The Fire Ted Cruz PAC hit back, declaring, “Whataburger IS a Texas value.”

Ed Nelson, who will become the new president of Whataburger on July 1, said in a statement that sales are up in Texas since the news of the sale broke. “I want all our Texas customers to know we are still very much a Texas brand — the Lone Star State has always been home for us, and it would be crazy to change what our customers love most,” Nelson said.

The chief executive of BDT Capital Partners, Byron Trott, said in a statement that his firm was interested in Whataburger precisely because of the Texas-size loyalty of its fans. “We want to ensure Whataburger is around for decades to come to serve its customers and communities,” he said.

At lunchtime Thursday in one of the state’s wealthiest enclaves — Houston’s River Oaks — Whataburger No. 266 on Westheimer Road was humming.

The parking lot was packed, and the drive-thru was, too. A construction worker at a booth inside didn’t bother taking off his helmet. One table was stickier than the sticky side of a strip of Scotch tape.

No major changes seemed to be in the works. A Double Meat Whataburger Meal still cost $7.69. The medium drink was still a large, and the large still made a Big Gulp look puny. The chicken strips still came with a side of Texas Toast. “Spicy mustard!” a customer shouted while her friend selected condiments at the counter. For a brief moment, there was Whataburger anxiety: Spicy mustard? Is that a Chicago thing?

False alarm: The customer misspoke. She meant spicy ketchup. Some things never change.

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.