Few brands have the loyal following of In-N-Out Burger. If you live outside of California, it’s hard to really understand just how beIoved the brand is among its fans. If you live in California, it’s just a part of the experience. Until you leave, that is.
Most of that love comes from the fact that, as far as fast food goes, In-N-Out is about as good as it gets. Of course, a lot of its appeal also comes from the fact that the company’s 385 locations are located almost entirely in California and its neighboring states.
If, however, you live any further east of the Rockies, you’ve been out of luck. If that’s you, your only opportunity has been to find one when you travel west. Well, until now.
Last week, the company announced that it would be opening a corporate hub in Franklin, Tennessee, which will allow it to expand further east. In-N-Out also says it will be opening its first stores in the Nashville area by 2026.
If you’re a fan of animal-style fries, you understand that this is a big deal. It’s also a huge risk for the company and its brand. Here’s why:
This is a company that is fiercely opposed to change. It hasn’t added a menu item since 2018 (hot chocolate). It still sells just burgers, fries, soft drinks, and milkshakes. As a result, the restaurant is known for both fresh, great-tasting food and incredible customer service. I can think of only one other restaurant where you can get in a drive-thru line 30 cars deep and still have hot food in just a few minutes, and that one isn’t open on Sundays.
There is clearly a lot of demand for new locations. That seems like an argument for expanding to new states, but it’s also why the move is risky.
You see, over the past 75 years, In-N-Out has jeaIously guarded its brand. A big part of that has meant recognizing that fast growth isn’t everything if it means compromising quality. After all, quality is its brand.
In-N-Out only uses fresh, never-frozen ingredients–including its beef. That makes its burgers and fries taste better, but it also means the restaurant is limited in the areas it can serve.
The company also doesn’t franchise its locations. That has allowed it to maintain far more control over the level of service its restaurants provide, but has also meant it kept things close to home.
“You put us in every state and it takes away some of its luster,” said In-N-Out president Lynsi Snyder in a 2018 interview. She was right. Part of the reason the company’s burgers have such a loyal following is because they’re hard to get–especially if you live east of the Rocky Mountains.
It takes a lot of courage–if you think about it–to resist the temptation to grow at all costs. The thing is, most companies don’t consider that those costs are real, even if they aren’t immediately obvious. If the quaIity of your product gets worse the more customers you serve, you’re doing it wrong.
If, suddenly, there are In-N-Out Burger locations everywhere, it’s not as special. If you’re used to swinging by the Sepulvida location when you land at Los Angeles International Airport, and eating a Double-Double while watching planes land, it’s not quite as special an experience if you can get one on your way home from work.
On the other hand, there is value in meeting your customers where they are. In-N-Out is a restaurant, after all, not an amusement park. Sure, people look forward to eating there when they travel, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t room to grow–even if that means cautiously.
“Our Customers are our most important asset at In-N-Out, and we very much look forward to serving them in years to come, and becoming part of the wonderfuI communities in The Volunteer State,” said Synder in a statement. That’s an important acknowledgment–the part about customers being the company’s most important asset.
The interesting lesson here is that there is a balance between exclusivity and meeting your customers where they are. For a variety of reasons, In-N-Out has erred on the side of sticking close to home, even if that means it can’t serve all of its customers. That’s been a winning strategy so far, and I don’t think that will change just because it’s sIowly starting to open more locations farther east.
I MARRIED A WIDOWER WITH A SMALL SON – ONE DAY, THE BOY TOLD ME THAT HIS REAL MOM STILL LIVES IN OUR HOUSE
The antique clock in the hallway chimed six times, its resonant tones echoing through the quiet house. I knelt on the living room carpet, building a precarious tower of blocks with Lucas, my five-year-old stepson. He giggled, his small hands clumsily placing a wobbly blue block atop the structure.
“Careful, Lucas,” I cautioned, “it’s going to fall!”
He squealed with delight as the tower swayed, then crashed to the ground. But his laughter died abruptly, replaced by a wide-eyed stare directed towards the hallway.
“Mom says you shouldn’t touch her things,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
A shiver ran down my spine. “What do you mean, sweetie?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly.
He pointed towards the hallway, his eyes fixed on something I couldn’t see. “Mom says she doesn’t like it when you move her picture.”
My heart pounded in my chest. “Lucas,” I said, forcing a smile, “your mom… she’s not here anymore, remember?”
He shook his head, his expression serious. “No, she is. She’s right there.”
I followed his gaze, my eyes scanning the empty hallway. There was nothing there, just the familiar antique furniture and the framed photographs on the wall. Yet, Lucas’s words echoed in my mind, fueling a growing unease that had been plaguing me for weeks.
It had started with a simple whisper, a chilling confession as I tucked him into bed one night. “My real mom still lives here,” he had said, his voice barely a breath.
I had dismissed it as a child’s overactive imagination, a way of coping with the loss of his mother. But then, strange things started happening. Lucas’s toys, meticulously tidied away, would reappear in the middle of the living room floor. Kitchen cabinets, carefully organized, would be found rearranged overnight. And the photograph of Ben’s late wife, Mary, which I had moved to a less prominent spot, kept returning to its original place on the mantelpiece, perfectly dusted.
I had tried to rationalize it, to attribute it to forgetfulness or coincidence. But the incidents grew more frequent, more unsettling. And Ben, my husband, seemed oblivious, or perhaps, deliberately blind to it all.
“Ben,” I had said one evening, my voice trembling, “have you noticed anything… strange happening around the house?”
He had looked at me, his brow furrowed. “Strange? Like what?”
I hesitated, unsure how to articulate the growing sense of unease that had taken root in my heart. “I don’t know… things moving, things changing…”
He had chuckled, dismissing my concerns with a wave of his hand. “You’re just tired, darling. It’s been a stressful few weeks.”
But I wasn’t tired. I was terrified.
Now, as I looked at Lucas, his eyes wide with conviction, I knew I couldn’t ignore it any longer. Something was happening in this house, something I couldn’t explain.
“Lucas,” I said, my voice gentle, “can you tell me more about your mom? What does she look like?”
He tilted his head, his brow furrowed in thought. “She’s very pretty,” he said. “She has long hair, like you. And she wears a white dress.”
My blood ran cold. The description matched the woman in the photograph, the woman whose presence seemed to linger in every corner of this house.
“And what does she say to you?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Lucas looked at me, his eyes filled with a chilling seriousness. “She says she’s not happy,” he whispered. “She says you’re trying to take her place.”
A wave of fear washed over me, so intense it almost brought me to my knees. I looked around the room, the familiar furniture suddenly seeming menacing, the shadows deepening in the corners. I felt a presence, a cold, unseen gaze fixed upon me.
I had married a widower, a man I loved deeply, a man who had welcomed me into his life and his home. But I had also married into a house haunted by the past, a house where the presence of his late wife lingered, a house where I was not welcome.
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