Bar food, diner food, and fast food are my guilty pleasures. There are days where I’ll go to the local pub and grab a pint of Magners Irish Cider along with some chicken tenders and french fries, crave some Chinese takeaway, or hit up the diner for breakfast food, even if it 6 o’clock in the evening, and this happens when I just don’t feel like cooking or doing any grocery shopping.
I have been having an affair. For years now I have been going behind the back of my first true love, for the dirty, grimy, and greasy mistress. The shame I felt over the last several years has finally culminated into this article, this declaration of my love/hate relationship. I love mediocre food.
After a long week of cooking every meal, maybe going out to a good restaurant, and eating food that is generally good, my relationship with food goes dark and I reach for a distraction. It’s hard to explain exactly why, but sometimes I feel the undeniable pull of a gas station hotdog or an assortment of greasy Waffle House treats. I know that they are bad for me, I know that they are unhealthy, I know that the enjoyment I’ll feel will always be followed by guilt, but
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