Tag Archives: lunch

CEO’s & Their McMansions

9 Oct

Do you live in a tiny one-room apartment while you sit at your desk imagining your boss in a huge house with several bathrooms and perhaps a sauna? Well, while your boss may live in a McMansion similar to this:

CEO’s of major food companies live in waterside castles like this: 


This spread belongs to Pizza Hut chairman Richard Freeland.  It’s a 30,000-square-foot mansion in Indiana that reportedly cost $35 million.

Next time you eat at Pizza Hut, imagine that. 

I like sharing ridiculously eyeball popping stuff like this. It’s my duty.

Wanna see more? It’s all in Business Insider


World’s Most Expensive Burger?

6 Jun

For lunch today are you having/did you have a burger? Perhaps from McDonalds or Burger King or the dive around the corner from your cubicle? Probably cost you two or three bucks, right? Well, did you know the world’s most expensive burger contains caviar–just a dollop–on top of it?

Well, the month of May (I know. I know it’s JUNE) is National Hamburger Month and people with too much time on their hands had to invent something asinine in its honor.

From a HuffingtonPost blurb:

The burger, invented in honor of National Hamburger Month,  features a patty of Japanese Waygu beef infused with 10-herb white truffle butter and seasoned with Salish Alderwood smoked Pacific sea salt. It’s topped with cheddar cheese, hand-made and cave-aged for 18 months by famed cheesemaker James Montgomery of Somerset, England. There are also shaved black truffles, a fried quail egg, a blini, creme fraiche, Kaluga caviar and a white truffle-buttered Campagna roll.

Notice how many adjectives and attempts at price justification are used in the very description. “Salish Alderwood smoked Pacific sea salt”? Oh, gosh. “Hand-made and cave-aged.” Whippty-doo! “Famed cheesemaker…” Whoo-hoo; not an ORDINARY cheesemaker? Does he give autographs?

The final touch is a solid gold “Fleur de Lis” toothpick, encrusted with diamonds, designed by world-renowned jeweler Euphoria New York.

I can’t take anymore. Do you think one could cash in the toothpick at one of those CASH FOR GOLD! places?

New York’s Serendipity 3 restaurant invented this atrocity burger according to the Guinness Book of World Records, clocking in at a shocking $295.

The burger joins the ranks of other expensive fare at Serendipity which to date has included an opulent $1,000 sundae and a $69 hot dog.

Ok, ok…I have to include this part, too:

Serendipity isn’t trying to cash out; they’re donating all profits to the Bowery Mission, which serves homeless and hungry New Yorkers.

Ain’t no way in the WORLD I would cough up $295 for a burger. In the end it’s still just cow meat.  I’d rather give the $295 directly to “homeless and hungry New Yorkers.”

Once again I’m annoyed. Very annoyed.

Want a Finger In That Sandwich?

17 May

A restaurant employee cut off her finger with a meat slicer while preparing a roast beef sandwich at Arby’s. She left her station to deal with the emergency, and other employees, who were unaware of the injury, continued to complete the order.

That’s when a 14 year old boy bit in and his teeth hit a finger.

Well, read all about it here.

Gosh, first battered chicken heads and now this.

Yet another reason to hate fast food. Not that one can’t slice off a finger at The Salad Hut, but still.

Side Story: Meat Therapy

27 Mar

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it on this blog before but–ahem–I have serious issues with—with–meat. There. I said it in cyberspace. I mean, just look at this:

I don’t care how well you cook it, how many pickle slices, mustard, mayo (another disgusting thing) or ketchup and onions or garnish you put on it, THIS IS WHAT IT REALLY IS. Right there.

It’s really strange, too, my meat hang-up. I mean, it’s not a love-hate relationship with meat. Rather, it’s a don’t like-hate relationship with all things fleshy. I remember being a kid and being told to finish my dinner or lunch or whatever and whenever it involved certain kinds of meat, I was in big trouble. I could sit at the kitchen table for hours after everyone else had long left the kitchen and were burping up after dinner essence in front of the TV. They had eaten their dessert already, too. I would miss the tail end of  Sonny & Cher on account of those icky veins clinging to a chicken drumstick.

Not to mention it’s a foot-leg. A foot-leg. I mean, for crying out loud, you can see where the foot was cut off. Where the animal WALKED AROUND.

And don’t even mention salami.

All those awful, horrid, unsightly beads of fat and gristle–too much to bear.

I loathed sausage as a kid. Still do. (Hey, you know what they say: Two things you never want to see being made are laws and sausages.)

Oy infinity.

My grandfather would go fishing and return home with a bucket of fish to my horror. Of the other two kids in the house, for some reason I remember ME having to scale them in the kitchen sink. Of course I could only do it if I put on my grandmother’s near elbow-length yellow rubber gloves first. Just looking down into that smelly bucket and seeing those dead fish and their eyes all unblinking staring at me made my eyes water. And get this: ole Daddy expected me to cut the heads off. Child abuse for sure. Oh, how I wept at that kitchen sink. 

It was all too much.

Fish eyes and chopped off fish heads (which I never could bring myself to do anyway; I refused to chop the head off of anything) and scales flying everywhere and the stench that filled the kitchen and hearing the TV in the living room that I couldn’t watch because I was on fish duty.


So I always had issues with meat. With flesh. With eating the body of something. The eyes. The tail. The guts. The veins. Hoofs. Feet. Snouts. Ears. The organs.

OHMYGOSH. The organs!

We had liver every so often, too. That stringy, tough, horribly strange looking meat that at eight years old I’m not sure I knew was an actual LIVER, as in an animal’s ORGAN that processes WASTE. (I think I need to find a post-meat therapist stat.) And my grandmother, bless her wondrousness, she used to order liverwurst from a catalogue and when it arrived us kids would taste it because, well, she’d made such a big deal about it. I think it came all the way from Germany (or Cincinnati) somewhere and see, we could go to school and tell our friends that we’d eaten liverwurst, dears.

Gristles and bone marrow and fat and odd strings inside of animal flesh. I ate it because I was a rent-free kid and, well, because others around me ate it. My fellow people would sit down to the dinner table and place their face into their food and chew and swallow. They seemed to enjoy this meat stuff so I did it too. But I did it hesitantly. I was often accused of wasting food. Of wasting “good food.” SO EAT UP NOW. I was threatened with no dessert far too often. (Light bulb moment: I think that’s why to this day I cannot NOT have dessert after dinner.)

At aged five through perhaps 15 I just couldn’t bring myself to easily put gristles and fat and strings and veins in my mouth. Flesh disturbed me. Spaghetti didn’t. Flesh disrupted me. Peanut butter & jelly didn’t. Flesh uprooted me. Cap’n Crunch cereal didn’t. Flesh horrified me. French fries didn’t.

I  remember when Wendy’s fast food restaurant rolled out their chicken sandwiches in 1987-88 and I ordered one on a lunch break from my temp job and I was driving and opening the wrapper simultaneously. I bit down into that chicken sandwich and–swear to gosh–a huge vein BOINGED from the flesh and bounced against my chin. I almost crashed my car. For a milli-second I thought the chicken sandwich was…ALIVE. Needless to say I threw the dang thing on the floor of my car and wiped my tongue with napkins I was so repulsed. I considered returning it to Wendy’s but between being on a short lunch break and not knowing how “Excuse me, Mr. Wendy’s Manager? This chicken sandwich is supernatural; I’d like my money back” would go over, I kept pressing on.

See? I’m meat rambling. This is really bad. I’ll stop here and go have a cheese sandwich. Zero gristles.

Fast Food Workers Most Likely To Say Their Job Makes The World A Worse Place

21 Mar

Once upon a time I worked in the fast food industry; haven’t we all? And no matter how bad it gets in Cubicle-Ville, regardless of the sheer groveling I’m experiencing to return to a desk job with benefits, I never want to return to the fast food industry for too many reasons to mention.  On that note, something interesting regarding the fast food industry I read a month ago from The Huffington Post:

They may feed millions of hungry consumers on a daily basis, but fast food workers say their job is hurting the world.

More than 40 percent of fast food workers say their jobs make the world a worse place, according to data analyzed by Payscale for The New York Times. Some of the other jobs where workers were likely to say their jobs are making the world a worse place? Bartenders, attorneys, fashion designers and investment bankers — though the share of workers in those industries expressing the same sentiment is only in the single digits.

Fast food employees may be concerned about the negative health impacts of their work, thanks to a wide variety of critics of the fast food industry that include nutrition experts and animal rights activists. The National Bureau of Economic Research found that being in close proximity to a fast food restaurant “significantly” increases the risk of obesity.

But some of the critics may be getting to the industry. McDonald’s officials said earlier this month that they’re going to require the eatery’s pork suppliers in the U.S. to phase out crates that tightly confine pregnant pigs, a move that the Humane Society claimed would have a “seismic impact” on the fast food sector, according to the Associated Press.

Still, the fast food industry may be doing its part to keep workers’ wages low. Bosses in the fast food industry are largely opposed to raising the minimum wage, according to Slate. That’s because they have to pay a large number of workers that wage, unlike full-service eateries that can pay their waitstaff less because they receive tips.

The industry is poised to shed jobs in the next 10 years. The Bureau of Labor Statistics expects there to be 19,000 fewer fast food cooks by 2020.

The Mystery Turkey Sandwich Biter

13 Sep

You went to the store after putting $3.58 cents per gallon gas in your car.

You grabbed one of those handbaskets.

You filled it with turkey meat, sliced cheese, two cans of tuna fish, mayo, a Vidalia onion, whole grain bread and two liters of ginger ale.

The next morning you made your lunch with love. You even put a sweet pickle in a ziploc baggie to complement your turkey plan.

You drove the sandwich to work, a tall building with tinted windows, a place you’ve grown to loathe but are aggravatingly tethered to.

You put your brown bag lunch (including several oatmeal cookies and random chips you were able to shake out of the bottom of the potato chip bag) in the shared fridge.

You dwell in your cubicle making keyboard noises until around 12:38 p.m. Your stomach growls.

Your turkey sandwich is calling.

You go to the fridge,  move random lunches aside (Weird Tom who always has something he insists is tuna, someone’s stroganoff, yet another’s rancid “casserole” thingy) and finally locate your carefully wrapped sandwich tucked safely inside of the brown paper bag.

You return to your desk and open the bag. You’re distracted by a pop-up message on your computer screen. You reach inside the brown bag to fondle your sandwich. There it is. You pull it out and begin to unwrap it while reading the pop-up message (something about the Dilson report again). Something is wrong.

In the corner of your eyes you notice something. You look down at your sandwich.

There’s a bite taken out of it.


You’re beyond livid.

Suddenly everyone around you is suspect, including Rita who claims she’s a vegetarian and hasn’t eaten meat “since 1988.”


[stay tuned]

Image from visualphotos.com