I just love me some McAlister’s Deli. There is one in the bottom floor of this building, and a big ol’ beefy man is the manager. The kind of man that looks like he knows how to fix a hamburger at the house, or a piece of steak. I just love big ol’ men. I like ‘em big like on Strong Man Competitions, or big like they’re handsome but ate just a little too much. I just like a man to look like he’s a man. And this man looks like he’s a man.
So I stop in there most mornings and get a tea. Only about two mornings did I get sweet, finally realizing just how much white sugar is in that stuff. So I’m “unsweet, no lemon.” If I can, I go to stand in the big beefy guy’s line. It’s a small perk to my day, but a perk just the same.
Sometimes I meet Sissy at a McAlister’s across town, not far from where I live and closer still to where she sometimes works. You know, it’s all the things a chain restaurant should be. It’s consistent. It’s clean. And it has a clear food product & niche. There’s a level of service that makes it restaurant-ish, with a level of q.s.a.that makes it fairly quick and efficient. The food at the one downstairs tastes just like the food at the one across town. I like that in a chain restaurant. Staff are friendly at both places. I like that in any joint.
With Sissy, I’ve been having a half muffuletta. Today I had soup & salad, choosing the chicken tortilla (is there any other kind?) and a garden salad. I didn’t stand in the big beefy guy’s line, the other was considerably shorter. But I did manage a discreet walk around the seating area to get a look at a table of four guys out of place in this very white collar office building. Each in sleeveless t-shirts, two skinny with arm muscles, one a sort of “daddy” look with arm muscles, and one who caught my eye - who looked like he belonged on a Strong Man Competition, with upper arm tattoo’s that have that glisten of new ink. Yum yum. Someone in this slew of office buildings must be moving. I took a seat in the “waiting for a to go order” area, the seat closest to the boys. My back to them, I couldn’t see them, could only barely hear them over the din of restaurant noises. But after a moment, I could smell them. That good smell. Honest. Hardworking. The kind of smell of new sweat in clean clothes, working just half a day at that point, and probably mostly inside moving furniture. You either know what I’m talking about, or you’ll never understand it. But there’s something aphrodisiacal about the smell of a hard working man on his midday break. When the sweat is evaporating in the cool of an air conditioned building.
But you know, I did actually eat lunch. The soup can’t really be healthy, but I like to think it is. Enough cream in the broth to make a cow begrudge that which was taken. Chunks of white chicken, and vegetables. The garden salad was just the way my simple tastebuds like it – plain lettuce. No fancy stuff. Some tomatoes and cucumbers. A very hearty and filling meal. A loaf of that bowl bread good sopping and dipping in the soup. That’s good stuff.
It was a good lunch.
slew 1 also slue (slōō) Pronunciation Key n. Informal A large amount or number; a lot: a slew of unpaid bills. [Irish Gaelic sluagh, multitude, from Old Irish slúag.]
So I stop in there most mornings and get a tea. Only about two mornings did I get sweet, finally realizing just how much white sugar is in that stuff. So I’m “unsweet, no lemon.” If I can, I go to stand in the big beefy guy’s line. It’s a small perk to my day, but a perk just the same.
Sometimes I meet Sissy at a McAlister’s across town, not far from where I live and closer still to where she sometimes works. You know, it’s all the things a chain restaurant should be. It’s consistent. It’s clean. And it has a clear food product & niche. There’s a level of service that makes it restaurant-ish, with a level of q.s.a.that makes it fairly quick and efficient. The food at the one downstairs tastes just like the food at the one across town. I like that in a chain restaurant. Staff are friendly at both places. I like that in any joint.
With Sissy, I’ve been having a half muffuletta. Today I had soup & salad, choosing the chicken tortilla (is there any other kind?) and a garden salad. I didn’t stand in the big beefy guy’s line, the other was considerably shorter. But I did manage a discreet walk around the seating area to get a look at a table of four guys out of place in this very white collar office building. Each in sleeveless t-shirts, two skinny with arm muscles, one a sort of “daddy” look with arm muscles, and one who caught my eye - who looked like he belonged on a Strong Man Competition, with upper arm tattoo’s that have that glisten of new ink. Yum yum. Someone in this slew of office buildings must be moving. I took a seat in the “waiting for a to go order” area, the seat closest to the boys. My back to them, I couldn’t see them, could only barely hear them over the din of restaurant noises. But after a moment, I could smell them. That good smell. Honest. Hardworking. The kind of smell of new sweat in clean clothes, working just half a day at that point, and probably mostly inside moving furniture. You either know what I’m talking about, or you’ll never understand it. But there’s something aphrodisiacal about the smell of a hard working man on his midday break. When the sweat is evaporating in the cool of an air conditioned building.
But you know, I did actually eat lunch. The soup can’t really be healthy, but I like to think it is. Enough cream in the broth to make a cow begrudge that which was taken. Chunks of white chicken, and vegetables. The garden salad was just the way my simple tastebuds like it – plain lettuce. No fancy stuff. Some tomatoes and cucumbers. A very hearty and filling meal. A loaf of that bowl bread good sopping and dipping in the soup. That’s good stuff.
It was a good lunch.
slew 1 also slue (slōō) Pronunciation Key n. Informal A large amount or number; a lot: a slew of unpaid bills. [Irish Gaelic sluagh, multitude, from Old Irish slúag.]
No comments:
Post a Comment