My Widowed Daughter and Myself
- 4 years ago
- 26
- 0
TimepieceChapter 27 free porn video
When the quad walked in the door ... there on the right was a stack of bib aprons. The four of them collected one each. Then they stepped up to the bar:
“Four Wendy’s, Ernie,” Wendy said. She looked at me.
I paid. That drew a chuckle from the crowd.
“Where you sitting?” Ernie replied.
Wendy took a look. “Corner table by the window.”
“Frank!” Ernie called.
Frank stuck his head out between the batwing doors.
Ernie hollered, “Four Wendy meals.”
He got a nod and went back to washing glasses and mugs.
For Wendy, the Antler was old home week. She was known ... or so the town thought.
For David, everyone knew this David was not the same David who summered here. It was only when he was introduced to people and he was able to tell them where they lived, that the townies began to be a little suspicious.
To Annabelle, it was new ... and trashy.
For The Powers that Be ... it was old hat. They’d been here so often that Ernie just nodded.
The Wendy burger was the last meal listed on the menu. It came with overdone fries served with watered and salted white vinegar. Even though they were eating in, the burger meal came to the bar in a paper sack.
“Wendy! Four Wendy meals,” Ernie called as Frank walked the sacks out of the kitchen. Frank set the bags under the heat-lamp and headed back to the flatiron griddle in the kitchen. The smell of seared meat always had patrons calling for a burger of their own.
“David?” Wendy said, “Fetch.” She was pretty loud and most of the patrons stopped doing whatever ... just to see what I was going to do. What? Of course I fetched.
“Four of your home-brewed root beers, please, Ernie,” I said as I passed by the barkeep. While I was retrieving the sacks, Ernie pulled four frosty mugs from the chest freezer and poured them full. These were stein sized heavy glass mugs ... thirty-two ounces ... and so cold the root beer slushed instantly.
Ernie arranged the mugs with the handles together so I could carry the four sacks in one hand and the four mugs in the other. I made my way through the table maze and set the beer on the table, I peered in each sack and snatched a fry or two from each.
“Hey!” “Hey!” exclaimed Seven and Wendy. Annabelle never did say much; she just looked hurt.
“Tax and shipping and handling charges,” I explained.
They pouted.
The drill: The burger is removed from the sack and the sack is torn to become the plate for the fries. Sprinkled liberally with the watered and salted white apple vinegar that was at every table, half the fries are eaten HOT!
Cold fries are an anathema.
After lips and rogue are suitably seared, The Wendy is unwrapped and checked for proper layering; condiments are applied in the kitchen ... if one wishes a non-standard dressing ... the burger is no longer a Wendy. Kraft Yellow Mustard, Campbell’s Ketchup and Kraft Mayo are standard ... more mustard than the other two.
The Wendy is thus and so or it’s just another burger.
The first bite is a slice of heaven. Steaming, melting, dripping ... amazing. The Wendy is a taste treat but it is only as good as its ingredients...
and its griddle; one inch cast steel plate, mirror polished ... or a cast iron top. Polished cast iron makes the best taste ... do not broil, fry, or char the meat. The bacon should be cooked on the same surface as the burger.
The cheeses must be thick sliced real American and cheddar ... not artificial or imitation ... no skimmed milk or 2 percent. The toppings, lettuce ... hand torn, kosher dill ... sliced with a glass knife, tomato ... the same knife, and sweet onion, should be fresh daily. The beef ... the Antler beef ... is single ground and delivered the same day by the cattleman ... the same family farm and butcher since 1920; Andruski and Sons.
There’s no sense in ordering well done ... go to McDees for that. The Wendy is supposed to drip. That’s why the bibs.
There are 5000 distinct potatoes with more than half found only in the South American Andes. The potatoes used for fries at the Antler were Burbank Russets until 1963 when Frank and Ernie discovered that the Maris, a yellow skinned potato made superior fries. Because of storage problems, Maris are used in the summer, Russets are the winter fry.
We tucked in.
Pretty soon ... too damn soon if you ask me ... my fries started disappearing; the girls had finished theirs.
I waved at Ernie.
“Yeah?”
“Extra large family sized orders of crisp fries, please.”
The patrons laughed, Ernie passed on the order.
Trish
- 10.12.2020
- 22
- 0
Bubbles Redux
- 2 years ago
- 29
- 0
The Black Swans Sacrifice A Vanguard Falls Tale
- 3 years ago
- 40
- 0
