A Stopover in Fast Non-Food Nation

Last night after work, a bunch of us went to an authentic English pub (authentic in the sense that it was run by Brits who had decent beer on tap and football, as in soccer, on all the "tellys"...). As an aside, one thing I like about the culinary industry is its internationality. At our table, we had one American (me), three Koreans, one Indian, two Croatians and one Frenchman, who was married to one of the Koreans. It was fun how all of us listened intently to each other, decoding the various accents, or how the three Koreans started talking in their native language while the Croatians and I spoke in German (the Croatians, two brothers, lived in Germany as refugees in the early 90s and have some pretty hilarious slice of life stories, including the embarrassment of being a teenager all hot for a local girl and inviting her back to his home... in a tent city).

We broke up around three in the morning (not as scandalous as it sounds since all of us work swing shift). On the drive home, I decided tonight was Del Taco night. I live behind a Del Taco and for the past four months, people have been telling me I have to try it, it’s so much better than Taco Bell, I’m so lucky to live near one that’s open 24 hours. I’ve been telling myself I really should try it once.

So I pulled in to the 24-hour drive-thru and ordered what I felt was a selection representative of the Del Taco repertoire: a chicken and cheddar quesadilla, a crispy fish taco and a small order of chili cheddar fries. I took it home (half a block away), already unnerved by the weird chemical grease smell emanating from the bag.

It was beyond horrific. It wasn’t that it was gross and greasy, it was the sheer un-foodness of it all. It had no flavor, not even of salt, and everything was sort of thrown together with complete indifference. The textures were plastic (the tasteless cheese), soggy (the fries), juiceless and grainy (the meat and fish-like product).

I know, I know, you’re rolling your eyes, thinking to yourself "what do you want, it’s fast food prepared by some minimum wage-earning teenager," but the foreign quality of it was nothing short of alarming. I thought it was kind of ironic that I’d been comfortable hanging out with a multi-nationality group for four hours, yet I was disoriented and unsettled by a bag of good ol’ American food.

I ate the fish taco, which seemed the least alien due to the presence of a shred of lettuce and what I think were bean sprouts. But I tossed the rest after venturing a sample bite, then got up in the middle of the night to walk it to the dumpster outside because I couldn’t stand the malingering faux-paprika chemical stink. My gut roiled with heartburn for hours.

I bring all of this up, obvious though it may be to you, because it was a revelation on many different levels for me. I don’t eat fast food. I stopped at a Quizno’s in Kansas on the drive out here when I ran out of road food, but prior to that, my most recent such venture was to get a happy meal at McDonald’s last July because I wanted the little stuffed pirate skeleton doll that came with it as a "Pirates of the Caribbean" promotion. Wiley got the hamburger (except for the pickle, which I ate), I drank the diet Coke I ordered with it and then threw out the fries.

Before that pirate-related McD’s stop, I honestly can’t remember the last time I ate fast food.

I have wondered from time to time what I’m missing, especially when I remember with fondness the Taco Bell 7-Layer Burrito, which I had on maybe a weekly basis in the early 90s. I remember it as a wonderful concoction of soft flour burrito, creamy refried beans, crispy lettuce and firm diced tomatoes, thick sour cream and a tasty blend of cheeses, but now I wonder if that’s how it really tasted.

I realized tonight no, I’m not missing anything in terms of taste or satisfying experience.

Moreover, I thought about the alarming number of Americans who eat at these places regularly, or, worse yet, feed their kids there several times a week. Not to get on my spinster high horse or anything, but I think it is nothing short of criminal negligence to feed your kids fast food, even as a "treat." It’s horrific on so many levels, from supporting the grotesque and unnatural practices of industrial agriculture to training your kid to think of cheese as a piece of tasteless, vaguely chewy plastic, with nary a vegetable in sight (no, three shards of iceberg lettuce doesn’t count). Of course, I don't have whiny kids, so I can say this with unmitigated self-righteousness.

As for the argument "well, it’s all people can afford," that’s utter crap. I paid $7.06 for three items which, had I eaten them, would have been about one meal for maybe 1.5 people. For $7.06 you could feed a family of four or even eight with an easy to prepare, fast "real" meal, be it rice and beans, tuna and spinach over pasta or whatever.

I could understand the argument "but it’s so tasty!" if someone were defending fast food that had some sensory merit, but the food I had was tasteless by any standard. I have had better meals served in-flight on Aeroflot.

I really want to know why these places are so popular, why people who work in "fine dining" kitchens, preparing "fine dining" food, have been telling me to go to Del Taco because it’s so great.

I’m not coming at this as a food snob. Hey, I love Kraft Mac N Cheese – the stuff with the "cheese" sauce that comes as a powder in an envelope, not that high-class squeezy Velveeta stuff. Give me a choice between a Valhrona chocolate souffle and a Reese’s peanut butter cup and, no contest, I will leave the souffle to collapse forlornly, untouched, every time. I think foie gras tastes disgusting and that truffles, black or white, are supremely overrated. I don’t care what score Wine Enthusiast gave some freakin’ fancy-ass Chardonnay – if it’s oaky, I’m not drinking it.

So, my bona fides as a non-food snob established, I really want to know why millions of Americans waste millions of dollars on food that is not fit for consumption, whether your yardstick is taste, nutritional value, or environmental/social impact. Is it because they don’t know better, or do they just not care? Are they so shut off from reality/pressed for time/uncreative/complacent that a gristly, plasticky thing called a quesadilla passes as sustenance?

The older and more ornery I get, the more I feel like an alien dropped onto a distant planet with no plan to phone home.

That, and I also think, remembering how long I had to wait because of the line of cars at the Del Taco drive-through: cull the herd, man. Cull the freakin’ herd.