Waiting at the drive-thru window, I looked down....

Pork chop bun from J&J Bakery. One of my go-to meals.

 . . . .at my check-in options. Foursquare wanted to know where I was. Dare I admit that I'm getting fast food? How much do I care about what others thought? Did it matter? Hell if I know.

I asked myself why, being forthcoming about my college degree, contributing to an alt-magazine about food, whose significant other will throw down for excellent service (which normally equates to pricey meals), why do I choose this for dinner? Reasons formulated. Arguments countered them. I sighed. My old co-worker Marissa once remarked, "Why spend money on fast food when you can get something better?" She's right to pose the question, because regardless of your background, profession, age or otherwise, you don't HAVE to eat it.

There's a perception that because I've dined at Thomas Keller restaurants and appreciate molecular gastronomy that I'm pretentious. If you've ever dined with me, you've seen otherwise. Outside of photographing my food (because most of us passionate about all things culinary anything love to--so back off), I just like to eat. When I get frustrated, I put down the chopsticks and use a fork. Chicken wings and ribs? I'll pick it up and request a handiwipe later. Here's how I decided on a fried chicken sandwich, fries and a Coke.

The easiest is to blame my upbringing. But I won't. Our neighborhood was at the top of a hill. Two miles in either direction led to McDonald's. I didn't go there all the time, though it was our  default when fast food was on the brain. When I was much younger, payday for mom meant eating out, and we would alternate between pizza and fried chicken nite. Both were little celebrations: A night off from cooking for mom, and the allure of cheesy, greasy food for us. I ate mostly home cooked meals, though.

Salt. Like how people crave chocolate, I want salt. Surprisingly, I rarely add salt to a dish outside of a recipe. A pretzel is infinitely better than cotton candy. Fries trump cake any day of the week. And when I'm on my period, I don't fight my cravings. That would be mean, and you don't want to piss off a woman on her period. Period.

Convenience sounds like such a cop out. Maybe it is. But when you know how something is going to taste, even if it's bad for you, it's a comfortable feeling. It's easy like Sunday morning. It's the drive-thru. Yeah, I know calling ahead and picking up a meal from somewhere better is possible, but it's not always preferable. I was headed to the nail salon, and didn't want to deal with food after my manicure. 

If I went out for a sit-down meal every single day, it would drive me crazy. I get bent out of shape eating leftovers more than once. Variety is possible, so I have it. Saturday is our date nite, and we always dine out. Mid-week, we might convene over pho. But a fast food chain isn't out of the question for him. A blended drink, healthy or not, is acceptable and a change of pace for me. And if it's been a rough day at work, neither one of us will fuss over a stove. Bowl of cereal. Chips and salsa. Fast food. 

I'd eat this all the time if SideDoor made it for me (and I didn't pay for parking).

So I checked in.