My Story

It is around 8:30 in the evening and I am returning home from work. I pull into a fast food restaurant because my stomach has began rumbling. I shut the car off and brace for the brisk Minnesota winter winds as I walk quickly into the entrance of the Burger King near my house in South Minneapolis. I have not been to this Burger King in at least a year, and as I enter into the French fry aroma and warmth of the building I realize that it has been remodeled. There is now two flat screen TV's for diners viewing and historic pictures of areas of the neighborhood all across the walls. I walk to the counter and place my order. A number 5 meal. I always get the 5, a BK Double Stacker, fries and a coke. I Pay, then wait for my order. As I glance around the room to realize I am the only person there other than a homeless man in the corner finishing off a warm cup of coffee and watching the talking heads on FOX news. I hear the shout that my order is ready. I bring the tray and slide it on a table, which is within good viewing distance of the TV.

I begin with the fries. I picked up a fry and salt rolls off of it as I lift it up. The grains sound like small pellets hitting the bag on my tray. This batch was saltier then usual. The French fry has a crispy texture, unlike McDonalds limp, greased-soggy fries. Although these fries taste more like fried batter then fried fries, I do think it is the best fast food French fry. I finish the fries and quench my sodium created thirst with a huge gulp of Coke through my straw. I plan to save the burger for later on when I get home considering I had nothing to do for the rest of the evening.