Turkey burger plus fries

It’s always when I’ve got some totally embarrassing rock music turned up super-loud and I’m walking along stepping hard to the drums, full-to-bursting with self-righteous anger, if only you knew how totally right I am (about some finer point of office policy) that I get startled by a low-flying pigeon in the crosswalk (on my way to the burger place) or my shirt gets stuck on a broken part of a chainlink fence on the sidewalk (on the way back). Still, dude, how long has it been since you listened to Appetite for Destruction? Rocks.

 

Salmon burger, fries, and a glass of wine

I thought my face might break open when we finally got our table, right by the window. I nearly came apart with the pleasure of the view. All the reviews called it a tourist trap, but in my old age I’m increasingly drawn to those–xox traps. The 95th floor! L. and I could see miles of coastline, the unfurling city, patches of sailboats, rooftop pools. The ferris wheel that had loomed so large from the banks of the Chicago river was all Katamari from way up there.

 

Veggie burger, chips, and a cup of chocolate ice cream

We rounded the corner after dropping off B.’s cap and gown  and practically ran right smack into Ashford of Ashford & Simpson. Thank you so much for everything I said as I grabbed his hand and shook it really hard. I’m not sure what I meant by everything–he’d mostly just stood up and smiled while receiving his honorary degree. (Flashback: The time I met Cesar Chavez and took his hand and looked into his eyes and said, I love you. Jesus. What is wrong with me?) Dizzy with the pleasures of commencement, my hand newly touched by Nickolas Ashford’s hand, I wandered over to one of the hamburger and hot dog stations and loaded up, joining B., P., and our Dean at a table to eat fast so we could turn the table over to a hovering graduate-plus-extended-family group. B. nabbed us a couple dishes of chocolate ice cream so I ate that too, wandering out to watch the celebratory steel drum band, great day, great day.

 

Salad bar, mixed vegetables, bean burger patty, and an iced tea

L., K., and I walked downstairs to the conference lunch room and were greeted with two long tables of salad bar ingredients, chafing dishes of honey-baked salmon chunks, some sort of mixed vegetable sautee, white rice, bean burger patties, a basket of rolls, and two tables covered with glasses: half iced tea, lemon wedge on the side of the glass, half glasses of milk. Glasses of milk! We took our plates of food into the dining room and sat a table and gossipped library gossip and gay gossip. The back wall was all mirrors. I couldn’t stop watching myself eat.

 

Turkey burger with home fries and a salad

K. made a bold pronouncement the other day: I’ve never had good home fries. I denied it when she said it, thinking of the seasoned and deep-fried potato chunks at Shane’s, maybe not properly home fries, but so-called on the menu. When my burger arrived at my table with an unexpected helping of pale white pieces of lukewarm potato, burned in places but otherwise still hard, I had to admit she’s on to something. Still, it would have taken an awful lot of bad potato to disrupt the pleasures of what is surely awaiting me in the afterlife if I play my cards right, a hot meal and a book and a pencil and tape flags and the soft flirtations of the guy behind the counter with the two young soccer players sharing a bowl of soup. You’re still playing! he cajoled. You gotta eat!

 

Turkey burger and fries

S., B., and I walked over to Fulton talking weather and weekends and what to eat for lunch. As part of my current campaign to ask for what I want so that I can get it, I suggested the burger place, home of the world’s finest turkey burgers and better fries than most. I got the turkey burger (a little burned today) and an order of fries for the table and we shared and talked shop. Burgers and fries and shop talk! Endless daily miracles! Every inch of our burgers and fries gone, we bundled up and walked back to the office, my stroll marred a bit my cold, cold head and fears that I must have left my hat at the restaurant because where else could it be, I haven’t really been out of that hat since Christmas. Lucky me, it was right here in my bag, under my desk in my cloffice. I somehow left without it.

 

Turkey burger, fries, and a beer

It wasn’t quite noon yet but it was surely five o’clock somewhere so I went ahead and ordered a beer to go with my burger and fries and proceeded to toast myself and my year in the fading hours before my annual sojourn to my homeland. It was like the first time I played craps at Cactus Pete’s, my 2008 was. It took a little figuring, but I finally got my roll down: turn the dice three times in my right hand, feeling the sharp edges press into my skin, knock knuckles twice on the felt, turn the dice once more and throw with a big twist, watch them bounce back, coming up numbers every time. Just big memories over my burger and fries and my beer. Then I picked my way through the slick ice patches home to my list of last things to do.

 

Turkey burger and a beer

S. could not believe I was old enough to drink a Miller Lite. She kept looking at me and saying Really? Really? while she took lunch orders from us in the dining car. I kept threatening to pull out my I.D. to prove I was actually 33, but she was all, No, no. I believe you even though she really didn’t and we both knew it. So I got my Miller Lite, which I drank with a turkey burger while getting to know my companions, chosen for me by the luck of the train and the timing (everybody, and I mean everybody, sits at a table for four). N. and C. (hamburger; roast beef lunch special) are taking Amtrak to L.A. where they’ll pick up a car and drive to the middle of the desert for Burning Man. D. (hamburger) commutes between New Orleans, where she lived before Katrina, and Atlanta, where she lives now, styling hair for clients in both cities. The view was primarily of kudzu. Lots and lots of kudzu, for hours, until we hit Lake Ponchartrain, divine.

 

Cheeseburger with grilled onions

A. picked up a cheeseburger for each of us from the paddock barbecue grill, plus a Tecate for J., and we swallowed them standing up at a table while watching the two year old fillies come through the gate on their way to the post parade for the third race on American Oaks Day at Hollywood Park. I thought the four horse looked live–perky head, quick little feet–but J. said no, no, no, she looks thin through the neck and shoulders. Following one of the first rules J. taught me, I didn’t let myself get talked off my horse and placed a bet, two bucks across, as soon as I finished the last of my burger. She came in third in a photo, paying me $3.40. The stakes sure were low, but I still had the honor of holding the first winner on the day.