Big Chicken

24 Hour McDonalds 
The majority of the kitchen staff he worked with (and over) would have balked to see him here. There were so many trains of thought in the culinary industry. Some people thought that if you enjoyed any processed or pre-packaged or from a can or from a fast food joint--at all, ever!!--your palate was trash and you were trash and everyone around you should no longer trust your judgement with food. These were chefs who scoffed at the word 'spam' or screamed at the notion of pre-frozen french fries. Hand them something that didn't come straight from the farmers market and they'd treat you like you'd just tried to poison them or that they had no idea how to even begin with this peasant food--or both!

Then there was another train of thought. This one, Oscar felt like he was basically the conductor for this. All food could be good food. If you just treat it right and with respect and a little big of knowledge, spam was a great salty component to a great many concepts. Frozen french fries had the right amount of moisture removed during the packaging process to make them crisp up beautiful in hot oil. And McDonald's served a very strangely good buttermilk crispy chicken sandwich. Get a side of special sauce to drizzle on there with the mayo...

And Oscar felt pretty damn golden, just like the very hot and (maybe slightly too) salty fries he was also working his way steadily through. It was a happy place, free of caring, about not having to critique food too heavily. There was no outcry to send it back! when the lettuce was slightly too wilted for even his tastes. He just ate it, like a person, because this wasn't even the remotest bit of fine dining, and he was glad to just have lettuce on the plate at all. Well, not plate. Tray. With paper on it.

The place was pretty crowded, so when he spotted someone looking for a spot to sit--and here he was, at a booth that could have fit four all on his lonesome--he spoke up. "You can sit here with me for a moment, I'm about to leave."


If there was one big difference between America and London, it was the size of their fast food. A small here was a medium there and medium there was a large here. It was so strange what simple things could change in you just crossing one single border. It wasn't a bad thing however, especially in Natasha predicament, the more food the better.

Currently, she was sporting a twenty piece chicken nugget, two large fries, and one, yes only one, apple pie. The lady had looked at her strange when she had ordered it all, but luckily didn't say anything against it. Grabbing her food, it was quite clear that there was absolutely NO free seats available, which left her in quite a pickle. Huffing a bit under her breath, Natasha was about to resign herself to eating in her car when the most kindest god sent soul appeared.

A large smile etched on her face, she easily sat across from the man, placing her food down. "Thank you so much. I definitely did not want to eat in my car." She sighed, "Smell seems to stick around for weeks and only makes me more hungry." She didn't know if was her bear senses or if she just had some weird connection with the chicken nuggets this place sold.

"No problem!" he promised, mostly just glad that such a youthful lady hadn't simply thought he was being weird by offering. "Fried foods do have a certain... pervasiveness," he agreed, trying to imagine a week in which he craved trash food constantly. Not as terrible a fate as some he could dream of, but potentially inconvenient.

"May as well have gone through the drive-thru at that point anyway. It's basically a sardine can in here, but it has its charms."

He was, as ever perfectly capable of being chatty. Hopefully she wouldn't put up the defensive shields and make it clear she wasn't interested in company.

He was friendly, and Natasha completely and totally dug friendly, there were way too many stuck up people in the world.

You go man.

The drive thru would have been a better option indeed, but Natasha had been completely oblivious to just how packed it had been in here, totally enraptured in what she would be stuffing down her gullet in just mere minutes. Plus, the drive thru still posed the same problem of junk food smelling car for the week, and with the full moon literally like right there she really didn't want to deal with it.

"Yes, those quite sort of restaurants are quite boring. I much prefer the sounds of screaming kids and the disgruntled sighs of adults." She chuckled, holding out a hand towards the man. "I'm Natasha by the way." It felt weird to talk to someone without knowing their name, and if they ever expected to be anything but strangers, this would be the first step.

Jackpot for the social butterfly sort--not only did she want to chat, she also wanted to give her name. Meant he had a clear go-ahead to linger rather than to finish up his sandwich and leave her to it.

Reaching across the way to shake her hand as well, he found her grip small but strong and he smiled broadly. "Oscar. It's good to meet you, Natasha." Pulling his hand back, he'd go first for his soda again, clear the palate a bit before he would eventually take a fresh bite.

"Ideal time of day for this place is just before the lunch rush. No kids, all quiet old people having pleasant conversations over their chicken nuggets."

It didn't take her long to tear into the burger, ripping open the wrapper as she quickly made to inhale a bite, repressing the content groan her body dreamed of making. She didn't want to appear as a total pig however, and forced her body to slow down a bit, glancing back up towards Oscar as he spoke again.

"Yes, but I found the older ones are the type to just silently judge you." She correct with a slight waggle of her finger. She couldn't contain the amount of ladies who had told her to dress more 'appropriately' on both her hands. Who were they even to say she needed to cover up more! Sorry Barb, not everyone likes skirts all the way to their ankles. ugh.

"So from the sound of it, you come here often?"

Oooh, boy, but she was not wrong about the judgemental older folks. It was just that boomer generation in his experience. Not that his own generation was often much better, but he liked to think he was above the age gap nonsense! This fine young lady seemed just perfectly nice and he'd be hard pressed to think otherwise.

Her question made him laugh as he played with a bit of discarded lettuce on his wrapper. "Well, I try not to go out too often for food. Let alone fast food. But when it comes to fast food, no one does it better than here."

That was his very honest opinion.

Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)