“Are we heading to the king, the queen, or the kingdom today?” That was the way my friends and I, back in middle school, would decide whether we were going to Burger King, Dairy Queen, or McDonald’s. These outings felt like a special treat, a reward after soccer practice or a long morning spent poring over research papers at the library. After all, staring at microfiche for too long is bound to work up an appetite.
Here’s a little tip for enjoying a chocolate-dipped cone without ice cream dripping down your hands: carefully bite a small hole in the top of the chocolate shell and suck that ice cream out like a milkshake. Bonus points if you manage to finish it without toppling the shell—it’s like a food version of Jenga!
Fast food has always been a delightful rarity in my life, a break from our regular meals. In our household, we feasted on enough spaghetti, casseroles, and vegetable soups to last a lifetime. My mom’s trusty Pyrex dishes were a staple. But occasionally, I’d hit the jackpot with a flame-broiled burger and fries. I might have gone a bit overboard during the McDonald’s Monopoly promotion. Did you know you could win a free small fry or drink with every hash brown? It was an easy win compared to the elusive Park Place sticker on the burgers.
While visits to these fast-food joints were infrequent—much like spotting a four-leaf clover or breaking a wishbone in your favor—my grandparents’ visits brought a regular flow of indulgence. When they stayed with us for a week or two in the summer, it usually meant my parents were out of town, granting me blissful freedom.
I would eagerly wait on the front steps, watching for their old gold Chevy pickup to roll down the driveway. They’d step out, my grandpa in his faded jeans and plaid shirt, and my grandma sporting her pastel pants, which could either be stylish capris or a hem mishap. I was at the truck before it even came to a stop.
With my parents away, my grandma and I made nightly excursions to Burger King—no shame involved whatsoever. We always ordered the same things: a Whopper for her and chicken tenders with sweet and sour sauce for me. We shared the fries, settling into our plastic booth to unwrap our culinary treasures. I suspect these fast-food outings were a treat for her as well.
This was a woman who had a cellar back in Oklahoma filled with jars of okra, tomatoes, and beans from her own garden. She prepared catfish with her secret blend of flour and seasonings and baked biscuits without hesitation. Most meals came from her hands, not a factory assembly line. Yet, here we were, savoring our Cokes and food that could probably survive an apocalypse. During these dinners, I’d share stories about school, friends who were nice during recess, and those who weren’t so kind. I opened up about my attempts to fish in the creek near our home and the nightmares I had about someone breaking in and taking me away. She listened, nodded, munched, and held my hand on our way back to the truck, even though I was technically too old for that.
Perhaps her experiences during the Great Depression made her appreciate a good deal. Or maybe she simply didn’t want to navigate the unfamiliar grocery store nearby. Regardless, these fast-food adventures represented a break from our everyday lives. We didn’t fret over saturated fats or sodium content; we just enjoyed our meals and the time spent together.
I recognize the significance of healthy eating, and it’s a priority in our household. However, my twins experienced their first hot dog at a Sonic drive-in, doors wide open to the summer breeze. You should have seen their faces when the carhop glided up on skates! Meanwhile, my oldest son, who has special needs, took his first bite of a French fry at McDonald’s. While I advocate for farmers’ market meals and home-cooked dishes, there’s a unique value in the occasional deep-fried treat as well.
In conclusion, our fast-food escapades hold a special place in my heart. They represent not just food, but cherished moments and connections, reminding us to savor life’s little pleasures, even amidst healthier choices.