Monday, March 01, 2010

I did go in a ...

Vincent
Yeah baby, you'd dig it the most. But you know what the funniest thing about Europe is?
Jules
What?
Vincent
It's the little differences. I mean, they got the same s... over there that we got here, but it's just – it's just there it's a little different.
Jules
Example?
Vincent
All right. Well, you can walk into a movie theater in Amsterdam and buy a beer. And I don't mean just like in no paper cup, I'm talking about a glass of beer. And in Paris, you can buy a beer at McDonald's. And you know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?
Jules
They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with Cheese?
Vincent
Nah, man, they got the metric system, they wouldn't know what the f... a Quarter Pounder is.
Jules
What do they call it?
Vincent
They call it a "Royale with Cheese".
Jules
"Royale with Cheese".
Vincent
That's right.
Jules
What do they call a Big Mac?
Vincent
A Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it "Le Big Mac".
Jules
"Le Big Mac." What do they call a Whopper?
Vincent
I don't know, I didn't go in a...

There was probably some reason or list of reasons why Vincent Vega did not go into that fast food establishment in that opening scene from the movie Pulp Fiction. I really cannot remember why we ended up there tonight. It was probably because it was on the same side of the street and I was wanting to avoid a left turn on a very short light from the eight dozen or more better fast food joints across the street. Maybe it was because I remember seeing a steak burger advertised on the television and felt the remote chance it might be palatable.

"We are out of steak."

A burger joint, out of meat. Holy crap. They offer to substitute two hamburger patties which likely meant we microwaved too many frozen hamburger discs and not enough frozen steak blobs and it would not be feasible to make another batch of steak. So instead of steak I get whatever animal they ground up for hamburger.

They are short handed so it takes about five minutes to assemble our meal from the heated storage bins. Yum. Of course, almost half the staff was out back smoking by the dumpster.

We arrive home and examine our food. My shoes looked more edible than the burger. There were two small, wilted pieces of lettuce hidden within the sauce. The bun tasted horrifying. It was just awful. The wife had a fish sandwich which was equally horrid. There was a thin, transparent film of tartar sauce on top of the processed fish wedge. The bun and breading managed to dominate over both the fish ans tartar sauce. That is just unnatural. How can baked and fried dough overpower bold sauce and fish that has endured months of storage and who knows what?

Ninety minutes have passed and the meal feels like a porcupine in my stomach. I am debating whether I should attack that wad of lard with a shot of hard liquor or just drown it in milk or send a salad into the battlefield of stomach acid. It is just awful feeling.

For the two or three people that read this blog once a month or year, I beg you not to go to this place.