The main source of the Whip In's wonderful weirdness is Dipak Topiwala. After living in the Bay Area for 11 years (he was an anthropology major at SF State), Dipak returned to Austin with his wife, Arden, and young daughter to help his father, Amrit, who opened the convenience store back in 1986. For Topiwala, the Whip In has become more of an ideological, or even spiritual, extension of his deepest values than a conventional business enterprise. "I have an old-school way of thinking," he explained, attributing this perspective to the influence of his father. "You can't [dump] on your employees and producers. They deserve to get what they're due."

Topiwala actively cultivates personal ties with his suppliers, to whom he's happy to pay a premium for the value they add to their ingredients. Dairy comes from Water Oak Farms, a goat farm outside Houston, or from White Mountain Foods (all organic). Beef comes from the Bastrop Cattle Company, a grass-fed operation located down the road. Lamb—an exceedingly popular ingredient in the Whip In's repertoire—is sourced from Loncito Cartwright, who runs a 600-head sheep farm in Dinero, Texas. Topiwala's vegetables are delivered by Farm to Table, an Austin company that distributes produce from 15 local farms, or through Segovia Produce, which sources as much local produce as it can. Mushrooms come from Kitchen Pride, a mushroom farm in Gonzales. So loyal is Topiwala to his array of suppliers that when Sysco showed up promising to cut the Whip In's costs, it was quickly shown the door. "You're not going to beat quality," explains Topiwala, as he prepares to drill holes for a new row of microbrew taps.

What Topiwala is really getting at is something more fundamental than a generic endorsement of high-quality ingredients. Family is central to the Whip In ethos. "Parenthood changes you," Tapiwala observes, "and with the exception of the beer (for now anyway), everything in here should be healthy for my daughter." Plus, given that all the recipes—including the naan bread—come from his mother's kitchen, it's no wonder that the Whip In vigilantly seeks out the finest ingredients. "We know what we like," Topiwala explains, "so we'll make what we like."

For Topiwala, the Whip In exists as a brick-and-mortar testament to culinary sustainability, one that stands in defiance of what he calls the "CEO reality." It's a reality that says "grow, get rich, buy an island in the Caribbean, and grow some more." Topiwala wants none of it. The idea of a Whip In franchise appalls him ('I can't be in two places at once") and, he wonders, isn't it the CEO reality that's "destroying the middle class in this country"? To be sure, Topiwala's perspective is refreshing, if only because if every restaurant owner genuinely shared it, rather than simply giving it lip service, it would radically improve the way Americans eat.