Char: It gives you cancer. Red meat: It too gives you cancer. Food that gets all over the place: It drives moms everywhere insane. Botulism: It kills people, and likes to hang out in burgers made of fifty different cows compacted into one patty.
I'm telling myself all of these things in a weak attempt to convince myself that I do not, in fact, want to eat a Western Bacon Cheeseburger right now. I've developed a strong distaste for red meat since my last steak-ordering experience in July 2008. Since then, someone brought be a stew with beef in it, and I felt obligated to choke it down, ground beef particles and all. You can't imagine the guilt I feel over the way bile rises in my throat every time I think of my neighbor's kindness.
Last weekend, I attempted to eat a mini-burger, and couldn't make it all the way through. My off-red-meat-ness appears to be sticking.
And yet, despite strong memories of visceral reactions to ground up dead cow, I could still really go for the WBChB. Dinners with Dad, rewards from my third-grade teacher, late night trips with Amanda, lunches with Wookie (the nickname was never meant as badly as it sounds), and occasional snacks with my brother—all of these things revolved around Arcata's local CJ's, which turned the quiet job of putting together pre-frozen fried foods on a sesame seed bun into an art form.
And in spite of the horrible taste of the charbroiled (char-covered) version they serve in Provo, I could sure go for one right now. If only the thought of one of their beef patties didn't send my stomach—WAIT! Do you think they'll serve it without meat? Just, like, onion rings, BBQ sauce, cheese, etc. on a bun?
Who's up for a midnight snack!?