Little s and the Curse of the Jucy Lucy

Today I realized that working at a restaurant might be my single tallest obstacle in my gastronomical adventure race of a cleanse. Too often the opportunity for a french fry hanging off a plate presents itself — I mean, would you notice if one fry was missing from your place? Of course not. That’s what servers know and love. And get yelled at for on a frequent basis.

Anyhow, one of the most unique challenges of cleansing and waitressing is my boss. I’d liken him to a pot pie: he’s got a hefty crust on the outside, but if you can finally crack it, the inside is mostly hearty goodness, with the occasional unidentified ingredient that keeps us all on our toes. There are three paramount things to about the boss man:

1. No one shall argue or discuss anything (as discussing will be misconstrued as arguing in all cases).

2. No food shall be left in the window longer than .1000th of a second after the cooks deem it ready to be taken to a customer. Ferocious bell-dinging and/or yelling will ensue.

3. No person shall tell the boss, “No,” “Not really,” or any other clause that might be taken as a negative.

So. I had a smoothie for breakfast (banana, blueberries, ice, Green Machine Naked Juice) and an over medium egg once I’d been at the Cafe for about an hour and a half. Going strong so far! I snacked on raw almonds and a mouthwatering, crisp, tart organic apple. Then, on a mysterious wind arrived the Jucy Lucy. A Jucy Lucy — as I learned all about today from da boss, who loves expounding on random facts — is a fantastically scrumptious burger that originated in Minneapolis. Two restaurants serve the delicious entree — one called Matt’s and the other called 5 & 8. At Matt’s the burger is spelled “Juicy Lucy,” with an “i” in “Juicy.” At 5 & 8, the “i” is dropped. Apparently, 5 & 8 had the recipe nailed opposed to Matt’s. Therefore the slogan “If it’s spelled right, it ain’t made right,” arose to suit the occasion. I know all of this because I had to regurgitate it word for word for my boss two seconds after hearing it. Most likely, I got something wrong as I often do 🙂

The point of this diatribe is that one of these monstrous burgers — made of ground prime rib with a nugget of American cheese and smoked cheddar in the middle that melts when cooked  then topped with bacon, more cheese and onion — made its way to the servers’ counter where the boss said:

“Now try it.”

Remember rule #3.

I know I could’ve stood my ground and risked one of those looks, but I didn’t. Under the boss’ watchful eye, I carved off a little square and popped it in my mouth. I felt guilty afterward — it’s like the years of random verbal lashings have cause me to auto-submit. Okay, sounds great boss! How many times have we all said that?

Not that it wasn’t good, that damn Jucy Lucy… ugh. I resisted birthday cake and BBQ on Tuesday night, and an endless supply of fries spouting from the fryer as if from a spring. But that Jucy Lucy found my edible Achilles’ heel. Nonetheless, I have a plan for next time: the second that sample special hits the window, I’m hacking off a round-ish corner with a serated knife, tossing it in the trash and, when the boss rounds the corner a second later, exclaiming, “Best _____ I ever had, boss!”

All right, time for my gallon of swirly fiber that is supposed to disintegrate but does not. And then bed. Tomorrow, another (mostly) uncooked adventure.

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