Funny how the scent of the third-of-a-cup of cold leftover hazelnut coffee sitting on my nightstand since yesterday can make me think about food-bloggin'. But it's true. I'm not thirsty for coffee right now, but I know how you folks love to read about food...You all are keenly aware of how I can go on and on about good pizza. And believe me, if it weren't for boobies, gambling, or sports, that's about all I would think about. But a couple of weeks ago, I had another culinary treat that I've revisited a few times since.
First of all, we have an above-average employee dining room at work. It's got a decent salad bar, a hot-dog treadmill, cafeteria-style pizzas, a steam-table buffet, a made-to-order sandwich station, soup of the day, and a grill where you can order anything from pancakes to quesadillas 24 hours a day. All free of charge. It's not bad--granted, they serve waaaay too much salmon and catfish for my tastes, and the ubiquitous 'Chef's Choice' mystery casserole is always a wild card, and some days it's just downright awful. But for the most part, it's not too bad. Lasagna is always a hit, as is their Chinese food. Rob's favorite is Taco Day, where he will stay after work an extra half-hour loading up, just so he doesn't have to cook once he gets home. Me? I don't care what they're serving in there--it could be Ambrosia delivered straight from Mt. Olympus and served on a nude Playboy bunny--I ain't stickin' around to eat it once I'm done with my shift.
Anyhow, awhile back, I got to work about a half hour early, looking to get a bite to eat before unleashing the fury on the Pai Gow tables. Nothing looked good at all. Pork and sauerkraut? No thanks--I only eat cabbage if I'm dealing dice and need to clear the table. Collared greens and short ribs? None for me, thanks. Split pea soup? Are you kidding--it looked like it should've been served in a diaper. And any self-respecting pizza snob like me wouldn't dare consider touching the culinary blasphemy rotating around behind the glass, sitting in those grease-soaked metal pans. Even the salad bar looked like it had been neglected for several hours. That left the grill as my only option, so I ordered up a bacon cheeseburger--plain and undressed--no lettuce, no tomato, no onion.
By the time I got my root beer, it was ready, so I sat down with a few of my friends and listened to the usual pre-shift bitch-fest that always happens there in the cafeteria. I swear, as a group, there is no more miserable bunch of people than casino dealers on break. But I tuned it out and grabbed a bottle of French's yellow mustard and a bottle of Hunt's ketchup. No mayo, no steak sauce, nothing else.
And let me tell you, that was one of the best burgers I'd eaten in months. It really was pretty enjoyable. Meat, cheese, bread, mustard, ketchup. Almost the perfect food. Normally, here at the house, I keep all kinds of goofy mustard on hand--spicy brown, Dijon, sweet-hot, you name it. I have everything but good old American yellow mustard in the fridge. So going back to the basics was quite a treat. In fact, it was so good, that the next day when we were sitting around watching football, I was telling Rob just how damn good the burger was I'd had at work the night before, and how I thought the plain old mustard was the secret. He concurred, and said that plain mustard is always underrated. Wise fellow, that Rob.
Of course, he's a believer--he's got a huge bottle of French's sitting in the door of the fridge. So the last time I went grocery shopping, I got an eight-pack of 1/4 lb. hamburger patties from the butcher shop and some buns. And I've been not-so-secretly snarfing up Rob's plain yellow mustard every other day for lunch while my bottle of expensive sweet-hot deli mustard looks at me forlornly from the shelf like the last ugly puppy at the pet shop that nobody wants.
I've still got two patties left, and that'll make a fine meal sometime this weekend while I'm watching the playoffs. But once that's gone, I've got a pound of deli-sliced roast turkey that I'll be making sandwiches out of all next week--no mustard there. Just Miracle Whip and Swiss cheese. That's right--I'm one of those people--I prefer the Miracle Whip instead of mayo. But at least I use wheat bread. White bread is for uncouth louts, trailer dwellers, and people who wear pinkie rings.
Mikey
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