As a longtime Vegetarian — and, as of last year, enthusiastic Vegan — it has been ages and ages since I last scarfed a burger of any kind. And though I no longer support any of the meat production industries — for political, ethical, environmental, AND health reasons — I can still very clearly recall the Mystical Magical Childhood Deliciousness of the simple McDonald’s cheeseburger. Can you?
The fragrant, pillowy buns, the tart, hurried schmear of yellow mustard, the tiny, tasty pop of the reconstituted onions on your tongue.
But the very best part was when you were almost done, and you held between your small, raccoon pincers the greatest flavor of your young life, the last chomp, the one that was gonna make your itty eyes roll back in your bitty head — the one that you would never, ever forget. The thing I have always called: THE PICKLE BITE.
And even now, as a staunchly meat-free adult, I still use the same metaphor to describe something in my life that moves me, is meaningful to me, is precious to me, takes the top of my fucking head off. The Pickle Bite is something that I love with all my heart.
Miss Jackie Beat…you are my Pickle Bite.