Living Large on the Fourth

As I've mentioned before, we are Very Careful Eaters in my house. I would love to take credit for this, but it is my husband who has patiently led the way toward real food in our refrigerator and not processed foods with endless shelf lives and ingredients we cannot pronounce.

When my Married Daughter was home recently, she gave me a hard time about a half brick of imitation Velveeta in my refrigerator. "What is THIS doing here?" she asked. Oh, that. Well, we decided to eat "junk" during the Super Bowl. In February. That was what was left from our queso. I'd love to say I thoroughly enjoyed that little rare "treat", but all I could think about was Young Son telling me that Velveeta was one amino acid away from being a plastic. Kind of takes the fun away.

Moving along, D and I decided for July 4th we would have our once-every-six-months "junk" fix, and we decided on (wait for it) hot dogs. You know: baseball, hot dogs, apple pie and Chevrolet. (Unless you are under 30 and have no idea what I'm rattling on about.)

We made grand plans for those hot dogs. There is a Chicago hot dog place near here that makes the Real Deal. I headed off in the 101 degree heat for our Independence Celebration Meal. Living Large. To find the store closed for the Holiday. Drat.

Quick call home: D says how about salads from Chipotle? It is now 105 degrees and my shoe's soles are adhering to the parking lot asphalt. It will have to be the default meal. Except I arrive there to discover: the store closed for the Holiday. Drat. Drat.

Decide to take matters into my own hands in the seeming 110 degree heat at high noon: surely the local wing place has hot dogs. Don't big men like to eat hot dogs and wings? Apparently not: the menu only shows wings, wings, wings and wings. Drat. Drat.  And Drat.

Quick call home: Fuddruckers? Do you think they are open? D says to just give it a try and get something because it is almost one o'clock.  I think my tires are about to become melted into the parking lot if I don't get moving soon.

I pull up, get out, walk in and....hot dogs on the children's menu. They will HAVE to do. 

Do you know the definition of "serendipity"? It is "making unexpected and fortunate discoveries in the heat". (I added the last three words. Sorry, Mr. Webster.) The food came out and for $3.50 each we got a huge hot dog on a homemade bun, an order of seasoned fries, a root beer, a homemade cookie and a bowl of hot dog fixings to go. God Bless America!  

We happily ate every bite and fell into a carb induced nap where we may or may not have been drooling from the sides of our mouths.

Next junk food chapter? See you at the Super Bowl halftime in February when we use the other half of that brick of Velveeta. The expiration date says we have plenty of time.