We move all the way to New York City…and we still end up craving that fast food that marks the highways back where we’re from. Sure I enjoy finer dining, the perfectly crafted ambiance, the impeccable service, the creative culinary offerings, the presentation just as superb as the food itself.
But sometimes I want the quick and the dirty, the greasy crispy fried potatoes doused in Heinz Ketchup and tastes nothing like real cheese cheese sauce hastily crammed in my mouth in a public plaza teeming with overfilled garbage cans, homeless people, and teenagers making out. I want to wash it down with a big gulp of crazy mixed soda concoctions (think cherry lime dr. pepper, folks!) and then go back for refills. Sometimes I need to de-class it, go back to my road-tripping roots, and do it interstate 8 style.