Nobody is going to the gas station for groceries. That's what we tell ourselves. That's the lie we repeat. And then at 11pm on a Tuesday we're standing under fluorescent lighting, holding a bag of cheese crackers and a corn dog, and we feel nothing but peace.
Gas station food has a terrible reputation and an incredible product. This is the definitive ranking and it will not be argued with.
“S-TIER: The Roller Dog. You know exactly what it is and you know exactly what it's made of and none of that matters because at its best, after exactly the right amount of time on t...”
S-TIER: The Roller Dog. You know exactly what it is and you know exactly what it's made of and none of that matters because at its best, after exactly the right amount of time on the heat rollers, it achieves a casing snap that no restaurant sausage has ever matched. The hot dog has been industrially perfected. The gas station delivers the industrial perfection. Accept this.
A-TIER: Beef jerky. Yes, it costs $11 for a bag that contains approximately four pieces. Yes, the price-per-ounce is criminally insane. It doesn't matter. Beef jerky is concentrated protein in a format that requires no refrigeration, no utensils, and produces almost no mess. It is the ultimate road food and you will pay whatever they're charging.
A-TIER: The fountain drink situation. Any gas station with a full fountain setup and those giant cups is running a premium beverage operation. You can get a 44-ounce drink for $1.99 in most states. The ice-to-drink ratio is customizable. The combination possibilities are endless. This is luxury pricing, reversed.
B-TIER: Nacho cheese in the dispenser. Is it real cheese? No. Has anyone ever been able to identify exactly what it is? Not definitively. Does it taste like exactly what you want it to taste like when you're eating stale chips from a bag at a gas station? Yes. This is the correct context for this product and it performs perfectly in context.
B-TIER: The packaged pastry section. Honey buns, powdered donuts, those white-frosted mini donuts in the plastic bag. These are not good food. They are incredible food. The sugar content is a medical concern. You will eat them in the car before you leave the parking lot.
C-TIER: Hot sandwiches under the heat lamp. Sometimes they're fine. Sometimes they've been there since the morning rush and it's now 4pm. The variance is too high to rate them higher but when they're fresh they're a genuine value.
D-TIER: The rotating pizza. It's always there. It's always questionable. Somebody buys it. God bless them.
The gas station is not a restaurant. It is not trying to be a restaurant. It has achieved something the restaurant cannot: food that is specifically calibrated for the experience of needing something right now, on the road, at any hour. Respect the institution.