![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The Angry Whopper story
Mar. 1st, 2009 12:12 pmAbout three weeks ago, I made plans to spend a Friday night hanging with some of my mates from work. They knew that I was feeling kind of low for a number of reasons, and insisted that I kick back and have a good time for a few hours.
That afternoon, we started setting our agenda. First order of business was to have a couple drinks in the bar that's in the basement of my office building. When that was done, Sarah had plans to meet up with some people, and Kelly was supposed to catch up with an old high school friend, so that left me and Drew as a dinner duo. He gave me free reign to pick whatever I want, knowing that I’m much more inclined to seek comfort from food than I am from drink. Despite being a vegetarian, I settled on Kuma’s Corner, a place known for its burgers. Call me weak-willed if you must, but sometimes a thick, juicy beef patty is the only thing that cures my depression, and I figure if that's the worst thing I'm poisoning my system with then I'm in pretty good shape. Beside, Kuma's names their sandwiches after famous metal bands, and something about the prospect of sinking my teeth into a monstrous creation like the Slayer or the Motorhead really appealed to me.
Drew was as excited about eating metal burgers as I was, and it was all we could talk about during our drinking session. It briefly occurred to me that Kuma's, being as popular as it was, might have a long wait for a table, but I dismissed this thought, because I knew it had been around for several years, and figured the hype about it being this hip new place had probably died down.
We set out for our destination around 6:30, me feeling happy from two very strong Cosmos, Drew fortified with two double Jameson's. We walked to the Blue Line, rode it to Belmont, and walked a helluva lot more until we realized I had led us east, opposite of the direction in which we actually needed to go. Drew, to his credit, took it in stride, and we simply turned around and headed back the way we came, filling the night with pleasant conversation the whole way.
We trudged through the snow under the highway overpass, and found ourselves across the street from Kuma's a few blocks later. It had a large picture window that allowed you to see inside, and much to my chagrin it was filled with bodies crammed elbow to elbow.
"Looks crowded," I remarked.
"Yeah, that's okay," Drew said.
We crossed the street and muscled our way through the door, hardly able to hear anything over the music and loud conversation. It took a second to find the hostess, and when we did, she informed us that we'd have to wait two hours and forty-five minutes for a table. Now I've waited as long as an hour-and-a-half at other places, but almost three hours, even for delicious metal burgers, seemed rather excessive.
Disappointed, we thanked the hostess and agreed we'd have to try again some other time.
Back on the street, cold and starving and unfamiliar with our surroundings, a decision had to be made. I scanned the block, noting that there was a Burger King merely steps away. Normally I'm much more of a McDonald's kind of girl, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and so I found myself pointing and declaring loudly, "We're going to Burger King!"
I knew it was the right choice the second we got inside, and were greeted by displays promoting the new Angry Whopper. I'd seen hilarious commercials for this sandwich, which was supposed to be dangerously spicy, thanks to the addition of jalapenos and a vengeful onion that wanted to take out its frustration over having been abused by its farmer. It wasn't a metal burger by a long shot, but it seemed like the next best thing, and so Drew and I both ordered one along with fries and a drink.
No longer buzzed, we settled into a booth with our trays, and I spent a moment savoring the salty, greasy scent of straight-from-the-fry-basket fries. Pure satisfaction following the ordeal that had been our journey.
Even more satisfying was my first taste of the Angry Whopper. It wasn't anywhere near as spicy as had been advertised, but it still offered the thick, meaty texture I'd been desperately craving. It felt so good devouring that burger, so good I no longer cared about the failed attempt to visit Kuma's.
"You feeling better?" Drew asked.
I nodded through my mouthful of meat.
I think it says something about us and our friendship that we're able to make meaningful memories out of moments like this. It would have been so easy to sit there all pissed off and mopey about going all that way for nothing more than a meal at Burger King, but Drew and I, we're not like that. We know how to make the best of things, I guess, and we know that a good night is not determined by one's ability to find a seat at an expensive hipster hangout.
Simple pleasures, folks. And good company. In the end, that's what it's all about.
That afternoon, we started setting our agenda. First order of business was to have a couple drinks in the bar that's in the basement of my office building. When that was done, Sarah had plans to meet up with some people, and Kelly was supposed to catch up with an old high school friend, so that left me and Drew as a dinner duo. He gave me free reign to pick whatever I want, knowing that I’m much more inclined to seek comfort from food than I am from drink. Despite being a vegetarian, I settled on Kuma’s Corner, a place known for its burgers. Call me weak-willed if you must, but sometimes a thick, juicy beef patty is the only thing that cures my depression, and I figure if that's the worst thing I'm poisoning my system with then I'm in pretty good shape. Beside, Kuma's names their sandwiches after famous metal bands, and something about the prospect of sinking my teeth into a monstrous creation like the Slayer or the Motorhead really appealed to me.
Drew was as excited about eating metal burgers as I was, and it was all we could talk about during our drinking session. It briefly occurred to me that Kuma's, being as popular as it was, might have a long wait for a table, but I dismissed this thought, because I knew it had been around for several years, and figured the hype about it being this hip new place had probably died down.
We set out for our destination around 6:30, me feeling happy from two very strong Cosmos, Drew fortified with two double Jameson's. We walked to the Blue Line, rode it to Belmont, and walked a helluva lot more until we realized I had led us east, opposite of the direction in which we actually needed to go. Drew, to his credit, took it in stride, and we simply turned around and headed back the way we came, filling the night with pleasant conversation the whole way.
We trudged through the snow under the highway overpass, and found ourselves across the street from Kuma's a few blocks later. It had a large picture window that allowed you to see inside, and much to my chagrin it was filled with bodies crammed elbow to elbow.
"Looks crowded," I remarked.
"Yeah, that's okay," Drew said.
We crossed the street and muscled our way through the door, hardly able to hear anything over the music and loud conversation. It took a second to find the hostess, and when we did, she informed us that we'd have to wait two hours and forty-five minutes for a table. Now I've waited as long as an hour-and-a-half at other places, but almost three hours, even for delicious metal burgers, seemed rather excessive.
Disappointed, we thanked the hostess and agreed we'd have to try again some other time.
Back on the street, cold and starving and unfamiliar with our surroundings, a decision had to be made. I scanned the block, noting that there was a Burger King merely steps away. Normally I'm much more of a McDonald's kind of girl, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and so I found myself pointing and declaring loudly, "We're going to Burger King!"
I knew it was the right choice the second we got inside, and were greeted by displays promoting the new Angry Whopper. I'd seen hilarious commercials for this sandwich, which was supposed to be dangerously spicy, thanks to the addition of jalapenos and a vengeful onion that wanted to take out its frustration over having been abused by its farmer. It wasn't a metal burger by a long shot, but it seemed like the next best thing, and so Drew and I both ordered one along with fries and a drink.
No longer buzzed, we settled into a booth with our trays, and I spent a moment savoring the salty, greasy scent of straight-from-the-fry-basket fries. Pure satisfaction following the ordeal that had been our journey.
Even more satisfying was my first taste of the Angry Whopper. It wasn't anywhere near as spicy as had been advertised, but it still offered the thick, meaty texture I'd been desperately craving. It felt so good devouring that burger, so good I no longer cared about the failed attempt to visit Kuma's.
"You feeling better?" Drew asked.
I nodded through my mouthful of meat.
I think it says something about us and our friendship that we're able to make meaningful memories out of moments like this. It would have been so easy to sit there all pissed off and mopey about going all that way for nothing more than a meal at Burger King, but Drew and I, we're not like that. We know how to make the best of things, I guess, and we know that a good night is not determined by one's ability to find a seat at an expensive hipster hangout.
Simple pleasures, folks. And good company. In the end, that's what it's all about.
