Kathleen McCall:
Occasional�� Muse�

2001-07-28 - 6:03 p.m.

Dinner Alone

My first dinner alone, tonight, and it was superb. Exquisite. Delectable.

I ate a taco from Jack-In-The-Box.

My kids have never eaten there. I can't take them, can't turn them over to the mercies of the Demented Clown from Hell, not after those people died in Seattle that time. Yes, I know it's not rational. I don't care. Can't go there with the kids. Can take them to the Burger King next door, which probably buys their leftover tainted beef, but can't ever let my children talk to the clown.

That was the best taco.

Okay, it wasn't a taco. Tacos have meat in them, or beans, and cheese and stuff. This wasn't meat and it sure as hell wasn't beans, and I know they used a slice of that Pasteurized Processed Cheese Food (which is what, exactly? What they feed to the REAL cheeses?) and I don't care. They could just call it a Jack Special Deep Fried Crunchy Thing with Meat Colored Paste and Some Other Stuff, and I'd still scarf it down.

I do hope no one was looking. The JIB is right in the middle of our small town. I hope nobody noticed my wagon in the drive-up window. "I was...umm...asking directions to Fresh Choice. Yeah, that's it." I had to wait a while, too, while they triple-fried that thing up extra crunchy, or perhaps they were trying to scrape the last of the Meat-Colored Paste out of the fifty-gallon drum.

I noticed while I was waiting that they sell Jack-In-The-Box antenna balls. Leering Clowns to Decorate Your Vehicle. Now, that's weird. Here I am, slouching low in the driver's seat with a floppy hat pulled over my eyes, and other people are buying antenna balls to advertise their patronage. "Hey! I love meat paste! And cheese food! I court death with every meal!" Who buys those things? I have to watch now and see if I notice any cars I know sporting clown heads.

I didn't buy one. Besides, my pink plastic rose hasn't worn out yet.

I love food. I'm an addict. I love to cook it and I love to eat it, but I'm not particularly discriminating. I can go into raptures over a crispy half-duck with a tart raspberry sauce, but I can also sit at my computer and eat a JIB taco with bits of lettuce falling in my lap. If it's good, hey, it's good.

It was a good taco. I mean that. I may say different in the middle of the night, but for now it was just fine. I was going to go to the grocery and buy fresh beets and beet greens and sour cream and make some homemade borscht for my dinner. But it was getting late, and I didn't feel like getting out of the car again until I was home, and as it turned out Jack-In-The-Box was right on the way and they didn't have any borscht today. The taco did me just fine.

I wish I'd remembered to order a Pepsi, too.

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