Fat Chance

There is a Corner Bakery going into the lobby of my office building.

This CANNOT be good for my wallet, or my waistline.

It sure will be convenient in the winter, however, when the temperature is at a balmy 9 degrees with galeforce winds whipping around Michigan Avenue.

I'll be fat enough by then to ward off the chill, though, I suspect.

And We Weren't Even Poor

We got talking at work today, during one of our free lunch learning meetings, about how funny lunch meat is. Either you love it or you hate it. Some like only certain meats, and others won't touch the stuff.

That led us to the conversation about what we took for school bagged lunches growing up.

I, for one, wasn't a fan of sandwiches, even when my Mom tried lovingly to recreate a "Subway sandwich" by putting ham and cheese and the fixins—including oil and vinegar—on a hoagie. I wasn't fooled. Then she tried the toasted approach. Not gonna do it. I wasn't even a huge supporter or PB&Js, the childhood staple, or cheese sandwiches, which given the chatter today, were a crowd pleaser.

So, inevitably, I ate a bagel with cream cheese (plain, not toasted) every day from 6th grade through 12th grade. Some girl at work ate a ketchup sandwich, some guy liked cream cheese and jelly on Wonder Bread, another guy devoured peanut butter and bananas, and there were a few honey-lovers in the mix.

Overall, the lunch sandwich discussion was funny.

And then I dropped the bomb that my Mom used to grill us SPAM sandwiches, on toasted bread. Yes, SPAM. The room got silent. I dropped my head in shame. Then decided to own my SPAM-loving history.

I remember liking them! The smell filled the house, and I can still recall helping my mom with the rolling-back metal lid with the little key, which I found totally cool.

The best part is this—as an adult I am totally and completely grossed out by the concept of processed or congealed meat—like bologna. I even heard that at the factory, bologna is in a tube of liquid meat, and then someone puts the pimentos in there by HAND. That is so gross I can't even comment. Another chat on this subject of mystery meat revealed that in Greek restaurants, the gyros are made from that congealed/processed form of meat that is often lamb, or pork, or a little of both. GROSS.

However, I'm known to eat a great Kosher hot dog at the ballpark during the summer, so what's the difference, right? No one knows quite what is in a hot dog, and it is a close cousin to bologna anyway. I'm fooling myself by adding the grilled onions. And, the 5 draft beers. That usually does the trick.

Frankly, the only SPAM in my life now comes into my inbox, offering me a larger penius, Viagra, or some other totally useful product such as those.

Especially for a woman.

The Power of the Upsell

With it being Friday and all, and the sun actually making a rare Winter appearance, the mood is light today.

Therefore, a few girls from work and I decided to treat ourselves to a cheeseburger at lunch. There is a renowned Chicago landmark food establishment just below our building, nestled in the underground areas on lower Michigan Avenue.

It is the Billy Goat Tavern.

Famed for lines such as "Cheezborger! Cheezborger!" "No fries, cheeps!" that were made legendary in various SNL skits using Chicago native actors in the 70s, this place is a dive. The best kind of dive.

As you approach, the smell of greasy food and the grill meets you halfway. You walk in, and are greeted loudly by a chorus of hellos from the staff, and then you approach the formica countertop and they say, "Double Cheezborger?" as if it is a question.

But, as everyone who has ever eaten there knows, it isn't a question at all.

It is an assumption. The powerful upsell. You had NO plans to eat a double cheeseburger when you left the comforts of the office. You wouldn't DARE!

But, you do. (I don't bother with the chips. Just a side pile of sliced dill pickles for me.)

They don't even have plates. Just wax paper, and they hand you the burger, over said counter, hot off the grill. The condiments are in plastic bottles and may have been there since its inception in 1934.

But you don't care.

And you enjoy every bite.

How did he know?