I did something I never do. In a lapse of judgment on the order of the Renee Zellwegger/Kenny Chesney nuptials, I ordered French onion soup for lunch. What was I thinking? I was at home standing over the sink?
With a grand flourish, the server set down a brown tureen the size of a gut bucket in front of me. Unlike easy soups, say Chicken n Stars or Bean with Bacon, French onion isn't considered authentic unless it's buried under a load of soggy bread and generously topped with a wad of cheese the size and consistency of elephant snot.
In that respect my serving did not disappoint.
Unfortunately, it took considerable effort just to break through the packyderm fromage, using every utensil I had available. I required both a knife and a fork to crack open the top snot layer only to hit the second tier of stringy slime underneath. Just imagine the taste thrill of finally reaching the soggy bread below. What a triumph!!!
My efforts had taken up so much time and energy that I was unable to contribute to the lively conversation around me, which stopped suddenly, just as I sent a final globule of cheesy effluence tumbling down the front of my shirt.
But now I could finally slurp, unencumbered, on the onions in the soup. Except I was getting tired by this time, so I just picked up the tureen and drank the rest.
On a happier note, McRibs are making their annual appearance on the McDonald's menu. For a mere $2.19, you can feast on a bun full of freshly pressed pork slathered in the world's drippiest barbecue sauce and topped with pickles and onions. Is there anything tastier from a drive thru?
I think not.