By Trina Machacek

There are times that I wonder what it would be like to live in a city where every corner has a fast-food, or even a medium-fast-food joint. Then I feel the tug of a too tight pair of pants. That’s when I realize I can never live somewhere that food is available by driving up to a window 24/7.

Trina Machacek

But! Yes, an overly stuffed French Fried “but.” There are times when I have gone to town and come home with delightful smells of burgers, pizza, chicken, Chinese food and tacos wafting a heart clogging aroma in my vehicle. If I get a bit of guilt, I will also bring home an apple pecan salad. It is, however, nearly always the last thing I pull from the line-up of brown paper bags and boxes that encase some sort of burger—with bacon, in the fridge after one of those trips. I think healthy. Does that count for something?!

I have known a few potato farmers in Idaho who often sell their taters to a few fast-food places. I have learned more than I really wanted to know about the process of getting the lowly brown and red spuds from the farm to the cardboard box as delicious French fries. Oh the things those potatoes go through to make them so irresistible to the masses. Besides the beautiful potato raised to perfection, thank you JR Simplot, potato processor, and JP Kruckeberg, #1 worldwide agronomist, the spudders get bathed in special oils and seasonings and I think there may be magic wands involved in the process. A lot of R&D (research and development) goes into each food item on the menus we choose from, either by car or Heaven forbid we actually get out of our cars and go into the restaurant.

And finally I have gotten to where I wanted to go today. Fast Food Restaurants. My friend Google says the description of a restaurant should clearly and concisely convey a restaurant’s unique selling points, including its food, atmosphere, and overall dining experience, to attract potential customers. It should be memorable, descriptive, and tailored to the target audience. Does that include the Mc Play Space?

Not that this is a big point in life. There are bigger spuds to fry in life. Like is there still an “air mail” stamp? A discussion for another time. The fact that there are seats and restrooms in the place you choose to eat your baked potato—with a big ole splat of chili on it: does that make a fast-food place a restaurant? In the 1950’s when drive-ins were all the rage, when your milk shakes were delivered to you by a girly on roller skates, was their “inside seating” a restaurant?

Oh speaking of chili. I still laugh when in my mind’s eye I see this one guy cooking behind a counter. He was scooping rich red chili in a yellow paper cup/bowl. He yelled at the gal at the counter, “Cheese on in this chili?” “Yes,” was the answer. He nonchalantly reaches over and grabs a slice of yellow cheese like product from an eight-inch-high pile of squares, and unceremoniously he stuffed it down in the chili with his finger. He put on a lid and handed it over to the cashier. Somethings you just can never un-see.

Do the restrooms in a “real” restaurant have to be hidden away down some walkway? With a little round lock on the outside of the door. One that you have to read to see if it is OCCUPIED or VACANT? If the one or two holers are in a part of the dining room, where you can see people coming out wiping their hands on their pants, does that make a fast-food place restaurant quality?

I am just a country gal. I don’t need candles in little yellowish glass cups or linen napkins and table cloths to make where I eat a restaurant. Besides, have you ever thought about those linen napkins? You are not the first person to spit out a wad of steak you just cannot chew into that napkin. Oh My!

Yes, for my part I will go with the diner on main street America. Paper napkins, all you need. Heavy plates that have seen more meatloaf than you can imagine. Or “inside airconditioned seating.” Yes, even a place for kiddos to play. As long as they are on the other side of an, scream proof, wall!

Make eating in a restaurant, in your car, or take-home bags and bags of choices, make it all something that makes you enjoy every bite, slurp and finger lick.

Trina lives in Diamond Valley, north of Eureka, Nevada. She loves to hear from readers. Email her at itybytrina@yahoo.com