I once had an idea that I was going to review McDonalds in the style of Amanda Hesser. It would be all heartbreaking mists of mayonnaise and wistful infusions of grease. But her NYT colleague Frank Bruni just went and stole my idea!
But it may have turned out for the best, as I'm not sure my purple prose can in any way rival the horror-infused literary jus that comprises Mr Bruni's gastronomic ordeal.
"'You didn't get the peach pie?' she said.
'No,' I answered. 'Should we?'
'Honey,' she said, 'you're in Georgia. You have to get the peach pie.'
We got the peach pie. It was similar in shape and construction to a McDonald's apple pie, and I could have done without it."
I. Could. Have. Done. Without. It.
Concise. Masterful. Appalled.
In. One. Sentence.
"But the tots at Sonic, a chain prevalent in the South, were the sultans of spuds. Since all of these potato variants are about exterior crackle, not interior vegetable, the tot configuration, with more crests and buttes and ridges, won the day."
Yeah, I always like a bit of exterior crackle with my fries. So, is that four stars, Frank, or three?
"It was a gummy nest of thin noodles, which were covered by a watery chili, which was in turn covered by rubbery orange confetti that bore a passing resemblance to cheese. Several hours after this starchy insult, as we barreled south toward Knoxville, Kerry moaned, 'Ewwww.'
It came out of nowhere. I shot him a puzzled look.
'Flashback," he explained. "Gold Star.'"
I can smell it now, Frank. I bow to you.