Food Digest

Let me first say this: The guy working the counter may have had a hearing problem.

You know, like a medically diagnosed one. I’m not trying to be funny.

But if that’s the case, dude, don’t take it out on me.

I ordered a single-patty cheeseburger with ketchup, mayo, lettuce, tomato, raw onions, pickles and jalapeno peppers. No fries, because I’m watching both my weight and my wallet. Sure, I had to repeat myself a few times, no biggie. I was speaking loudly and clearly. I mean, this place loves to blast classic rock, but I don’t think it was THAT loud…

Whatever. I get my receipt with my order number, step away, then realize it says, “g-pep.” That sounds more like “green peppers” than jalapeno peppers, to me.

I wait for him to finish taking someone else’s order. I say, “Does that ‘g-pep’ mean green peppers? Because I ordered jalapeno peppers.”

“That means green peppers,” he tells me.

I smile and nod.

“Do you want green peppers?” he asks me, taking a slightly accusatory tone.

“No, I ordered it with jalapeno peppers,” I tell him.

He sighs, turns his head 90-degrees to the right and yells to his co-worker, “Take those green peppers off. He wants jalapeno peppers.”

Yeah, like I’m the biggest shithead who ever walked into Five Guys. You’ve only been open a matter of weeks and you’re in fucking Wilmette. Your personal hell hasn’t even BEGUN to hatch, m’friend.

The other things these bozos do is tell you to “grab a seat, we’ll call you when it’s ready.” Then, 10 minutes later, they call your number.

“Eighty-nine!”

You get up and start to walk over to the counter and before you can get there they bellow even louder, and directly at your torso, “EIGHTY-NINE!”

“Yeah, that’s me. Thanks.”

Met a co-worker for lunch before our office holiday party. I gave her two options: Indian buffet or Five Guys.

She chose Five Guys. Then showed up nearly an hour late.

Seriously, though, with a burger this good, how could I be too upset? Check this out:

Double cheeseburger, lettuce, tomato, pickle, raw onions, ketchup and mustard.

There’s something about the bun that ties this whole thing together, sort of like The Dude’s rug and his living room. It doesn’t fall apart. It’s not too fluffy, but not too heavy. It’s the magic bun.

My problem with Five Guys is still the fries. For starters, I don’t like them that much. But most importantly, their “regular” fries cost $2.60 and are easily a two-person helping. So if you’re eating by yourself, you pay for twice as much as you want and end up throwing half of them away.

Here’s a view from the top of the bag:

Wouldn’t you know it?  My tardy co-worker was kind enough to eat some of those fries for me.

I shouldn’t bag on her so much. She felt guilty for being late and paid for my lunch.

I put up a half-hearted “No, you don’t have to…” before snatching the cash from her hand.