She fretted over the menu. Her thoughts like a wild rat race, should I get the salad, I could request the dressing on the side, or maybe I’ll get the grilled chicken sandwich with no mayo on a wheat bun, or maybe I could ditch the bun altogether.
“And for you maim?” the waitress tapped her pen against her notepad.
Spontaneously Alice blurted, “I’ll have the burger,” thought for a moment longer, “with fries.”
Moments later a plate loaded with all of America’s favorite sins stared Alice in the face. It had been years since she had enjoyed a burger, and as for fries, that was pure blasphemy in her book.
She bit into that burger, ketchup glazed the corner of her mouth, she closed her eyes, suddenly all the noise of the restaurant disappeared. Alice could indentify every flavor of that burger. A hint of garlic, sugary ketchup, and Dijon mustard with a subtle zest of horseradish, she sensed a quick vinegar tang from the pickle, a watery crunch of the lettuce finished with a soft white buttery bun. Fully engaged in her meal, she didn’t look up just moved onto the golden crunchy fries. The potato within the crunch mild and perfectly soft while the fried shell of this wondrous food was just hard enough. Alice enveloped each fry with an unruly amount of ketchup; she forgot how much she loved this stuff.
Finally she came up for some air.
“Now that’s a burger.” Exclaimed Alice, as she ignorantly interrupted the conversation.
The waitress made her rounds, “Everything tasting okay over here?”
“Oh yes, everything is fabulous.” She said with a mouthful.
Conversation came to a halt, all the faces around the table looked at Alice with astonishment.
Alice put out both hands in front of her, snapped her wrists with a bit of attitude and said, “So what? I liked the burger okay.”
This post was prompted by Write on Edge. We were challanged to write a piece about flavor.