Burritos

I have just engaged in one of my guiltiest of pleasures -- two sausage burritos from a certain fast food chain that sports bright yellow arches on its very recognizable sign.

I feel guilty, but man, that was delicious, and filled the gaping, empty, cavernous hole that had been forming in my stomach since the moment I twice opened the fridge this morning and thrice foraged in the cupboards, finally concluding that, no, we didn't have any appetizing breakfast food to enjoy today.

It makes me think of my road trip some years ago, with a wonderful friend named Jason Weinstein (see this road trip on this blog at here.). I'm not thinking of the road trip because we ever ate at the above-named restaurant, but specifically because we never did. One of our cardinal road trip rules, in fact, along with "no shoulder dancing at night or in traffic" and "one must always listen to Young MC's "Busta Move" upon crossing any state line" was "no fast food except Taco Bell". We only ate at Taco Bell once, as it was, and I think our rule was a fine example of legislated self-restraint. I also think that, had the rule not have existed, I may have eaten many, many breakfast burritos during our long voyage back and forth across this great country.