Fast food

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Le Sandwich

In case it needs to be restated, I’m a food snob.

Not in the chichi, four-course, Michelin starred sense. I just like a good, well-prepared meal that satisfies. It doesn’t have to be a lot of food (usually it’s just a few bites).

It just has to be good. Really good.

No matter how simple. I just need to know that a live human was actively involved in the preparation. Hence, I seldom eat prepackaged foods. Lays potato chips don’t count.

Those bad boys are BOMB!

I know someone who lives for fast food. She has a beautiful home with a real cook’s kitchen that I would absolutely d-i-e for. I once boiled water for tea on her Viking stove and I haven’t been the same since.

Heaven. Bliss. Heavenly Bliss.

Like I said, my friend lives for fast food and her refrigerator (also Viking, with the freezer draw and everything) is stuffed with leftover takeaway.

She doesn’t deserve the kitchen she has and I almost told her so on more than one occasion. She gets the majority of her meals at a drive-thru window. I’m talking Mickey D’s and Carl’s Jr.

Seriously!

It’s not just unfair, it’s downright wrong.

On every level.

But recently I thought of a friend who long ago left this earth. Ronald had an easy style that I loved and everything he did was just so relaxed. He never seemed to make an effort yet things always went smoothly. He was an amazing cook and could throw together a dinner at a moment’s notice with mere scraps from the fridge.

No stress.

I recalled a little get together he hosted where as a joke, he served chicken from KFC, chili and burgers from Wendy’s, sides from Boston Market and a great big salad he made himself. Everything was presented on his great-grandmother’s service platters. It was one of the best times I ever had.

Last week while in the bread aisle at the supermarket, I spotted Thomas’ English Muffins and got nostalgic for the crunch of nooks n’ crannies as they were advertised when I was a child. Again I thought of Ronald.

I tossed a pack in my grocery basket and reminded myself that, like everything else  from childhood, these english muffins will not be the same as I remembered. I was going to have to make them something more.

A long day at work and the lack of desire to cook a full dinner presented the perfect opportunity. Suddenly dinner from a drive-thru window didn’t sound so bad but I couldn’t make the commitment. I went home with the intention of making a quick omelette and pretending I was eating it in Paris.

My fast food friend would have had a good laugh at my expense because what I ended up making was basically an egg mcmuffin. With a very nice glass of chardonnay.

Ronald would have been proud.

 

 

 

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