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| No, it wasn’t a Big Mac Attack. That’s just advertising hype. I’m talking about a real attack that inflicted bodily harm. My cheeseburger hurt me! It was a surprise attack. I should have known something was up. It took an extra-long time for my food to arrive at the table. That’s rare at Rotier’s. I’ve been going to Rotier’s for more than 20 years. It has never taken very long to get my food. I guess the burgers were rebellious last night. From the outside Rotier’s looks like a hole-in-the-wall beer joint. On the inside the decor hasn’t changed since it opened for business in the 1940’s. It’s a little place. But it’s friendly. I always like going there. Charley Rotier, greets me with a genuine warm smile that says he likes me and is glad I’ve come back to eat with him. Charley’s mother isn’t there much anymore, and his brother died from cancer recently, but there are still a lot of families around. The customers bring their families too. Even though beer is served, Rotier’s has maintained a level of sophistication that rises above its appearance. It was a sports bar before sports bars were cool. But I’ve never seen a drunk or disorderly person in the place. Sitting just two tables away last night were two young couples with three pre-school children and a baby in an infant seat. It’s that kind of place. This place has been in business for more than 50 years and you have NOT eaten until you devour one of their famous Cheeseburgers on French Bread. For some people it’s Mrs. Rotier’s famous Hershey’s Chocolate Cake. My wife always gets a vegetable plate. Last night she had turnip greens, white beans, and the hashbrown casserole laced with plenty of cheese. And cornbread. But for me its the Cheeseburger on French Bread with a load of French Fries. The burger I’m talking about isn’t one of those sissy little thin things that are frozen in a box with hundreds of others. This burger is the real thing. Each one is made by hand from fresh ground beef. Then cooked on a griddle where it sizzles in its own juices until done, deliciously greasy. It’s nearly an inch thick after it’s cooked and placed on the bread. The French Bread is a nice touch. Its soft inside, but hard and crusty on the outside, built that way to carry the load. Those regular soft hamburger buns can’t do the job, disintegrating under the weight and the juices of this gastronomical delight. French bread holds up to the very end, leaving your hands dry and clean. I was pretty hungry last night. Since the food was slow arriving, and I was so eager to get my hands and my lips locked around that cheeseburger, I didn’t look at it closely. I removed the toothpick that held the burger together. My hands took it from there. I grabbed it and stuffed it into my mouth. I was so eager to satisfy my physical craving that I overlooked the burger’s readiness for an attack of it’s own. I felt a sharp pain in my lower lip. My first thought was that I had another one of those pesky little whiteheads one gets occasionally from who-knows-what. Shrugging off the pain, I gave the cheeseburger another thrust into my gaping mouth. It struck again! This time I held up the burger to inspect it. There it was, blood on the bun. Now I could feel blood trickling down my chin. I couldn’t believe it. My cheeseburger stabbed me! Our waitress noticed my distress. "Is there something wrong with your food, sir?" "My cheeseburger stabbed me," I said. "It WHAT?" "My cheeseburger stabbed me." "I’ve never had that happen before. Let me get you something." And she rushed into the kitchen. In the meantime, I was dabbing my lip with a paper napkin. Linda was laughing at me, more amazed than amused. Nobody else in the room seemed to notice, and if they did, they didn’t care. I was still staring at my burger when the waitress arrived in less than a minute with a wet towel wrapped around some ice cubes. "Did you forget to remove the toothpick?" she asked me sympathetically. "No. I removed the toothpick. I think it was a triangular crust of the bread that positioned itself just right to puncture my lip," I explained as a placed my bloody paper napkin on the table and picked up the wet towel. All the time holding a one-handed death grip on my cheeseburger, making sure it couldn’t hurt anybody else. I’m a determined man when I’m hungry and when I have a cheeseburger in my hand. So, holding a wet towel with one hand and my burger in the other, I finished-off my Cheeseburger on French Bread in near-record time. I blotted my bleeding lip with one hand and ate my cheeseburger with the other. It was blot, bite. Blot, bite. Blot, bite. The conquest of that cheeseburger was, I believe, more pleasing than usual. It’s just something about the struggle that provided a little extra pleasure. Putting down that impudent cheeseburger made me feel like a real man. Like I’d hunted and conquered. Like a Neanderthal! ARRGH!! HLG |
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| Harvey
L. Gardner is an author, syndicated columnist, and speaker. Tantalizing Trivialities is a mixture
of fun, frivolity, nostalgia, inspiration, humor, love, marriage, tall tales, work, and other
absurdities. He lives in White House, Tennessee. Your comments, suggestions, and inquiries are
welcome. Email: Harvey@HarveyGardner.com © 2004, Harvey L. Gardner |
