Why is it that the best meals often occur way past midnight, hours before the morning omelet? Is it the calming effect of the post-dusk air that serenades the food like strawberry vinaigrette running over acres of mixed greens? Or is it because a chicken gordita just tastes THAT damn good?
Why is it that every thought of calories, carbohydrates, or caffeine seem to exit stage right when the Drama about late night food begins? Eaters-remorse is fast asleep while you're chewing on that fat-packed Quarter Pounder with Cheese. Potbellies hide under the blankets and Love Handles are busy making out in the driveway... Why is it that a 4am Biggie Size of fries seems like a much more delicious alternative than taking Lucy or Rhonda home from the club?
Something about that late night, drove-too-far-to-get-it and then waited-in-line-behind-nine-cars-kinda-Snack appeases all bouts of confusion or eruptions of hormone...
Something in those twilight tastings energizes us more than any Sunday morning sermon ever could. Reverend Ronald McDonald sho' do know how to preach...
And the hymns he's selling go damn good with some ketchup and a six-piece.
And we're singin' along...cuz we're saying 'screw it' with each verse...with each bite... forgetting about the morning paper or the 7am meeting... just eating something greasy and fried, and lovin' every minute of it... freedom baby... that's what ol' Rev is preachin'...
And ima believer.
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1 comment:
This is your best entry.
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