A few stray french fries (preferably McDonald's) tumble out of their cardboard package onto the tray. Lena sits down on the brightly colored plastic seats and adds three additional packets of ketchup lately procured from the attendant to supplement the two measly packets brought by her slothful servant (husband). Five should be enough for regular size, she surmises. If not, experience suggests slothful servant will not finish off his two packets.
Each ketchup packet is lovingly squeezed into a generous mound. A stray fry is dipped and consumed to confirm by taste what is perceived by texture and color. This true connoisseur hardly needs to validate by taste that the ketchup is true blue American and not some knock-off substitute.
Sandwich and drink are consumed slowly over the next 5-10 minutes while the all important sorting takes place. Three categories is the norm. The short fries, often the crunchy variety, are set into one pile. This pile also includes the bent, broken or other misshapen fries. Occasionally, one of these is consumed to complement the hamburger or chicken sandwich. Next are the straight, golden brown french fries who lack only the length to be perfect. These length-impaired fries are stacked neatly row upon row piled no more than three high. And finally, the select few are lovingly separated into their own neatly-formed stack. The chosen ones set aside as a vintage wine to be opened later in the evening.
Each stack is patiently and methodically worked in its proper order. One tender french fry at a time dipped with a firm flip of the wrist. Only on rare occasions does the temptation of the perfect pile overcome restraint. Patience is finally rewarded in an extended feast of each perfect fry richly dressed in sweet red ketchup.
I will look for an opportunity in the future to take a picture to add to this blog post but for now just this narrative must suffice to highlight another of Lena's endearing quirks.
Each ketchup packet is lovingly squeezed into a generous mound. A stray fry is dipped and consumed to confirm by taste what is perceived by texture and color. This true connoisseur hardly needs to validate by taste that the ketchup is true blue American and not some knock-off substitute.
Sandwich and drink are consumed slowly over the next 5-10 minutes while the all important sorting takes place. Three categories is the norm. The short fries, often the crunchy variety, are set into one pile. This pile also includes the bent, broken or other misshapen fries. Occasionally, one of these is consumed to complement the hamburger or chicken sandwich. Next are the straight, golden brown french fries who lack only the length to be perfect. These length-impaired fries are stacked neatly row upon row piled no more than three high. And finally, the select few are lovingly separated into their own neatly-formed stack. The chosen ones set aside as a vintage wine to be opened later in the evening.
Each stack is patiently and methodically worked in its proper order. One tender french fry at a time dipped with a firm flip of the wrist. Only on rare occasions does the temptation of the perfect pile overcome restraint. Patience is finally rewarded in an extended feast of each perfect fry richly dressed in sweet red ketchup.
I will look for an opportunity in the future to take a picture to add to this blog post but for now just this narrative must suffice to highlight another of Lena's endearing quirks.
 |
| Neat piles of Fatburger Fries |
No comments:
Post a Comment