Well No Wonder He's Big, Look What You Feed Him

Last night we delivered my lovely wife to the airport that she may go cavort with other specialists in her field. Unfortunately, airport security cut short our plans of a nice dinner together while we waited for her boarding call (I forgot that only ticketed passengers are allowed into the actual airport). I asked the princess what she wanted to do for dinner in an effort to convince her that we should not wait the next hour and half to see mommy take off, and with a terrifying gleam in her eye, she looked at me and declared, "Big Boy! Big Boy! I want Big Boy!".

Of course, I'm a complete pushover for the tots, so I committed as soon as the words were spoken and we were off, but in my gut there grew a feeling of dread. See, a few years ago this would have been perfect for me. Places like Big Boy spoke to me in a way that both satisfied me, and made me ashamed of myself (which paves the way for a dirty joke that I will omit to keep my PG-13 rating, but call on you to fill in for my should you be so inclined). See, I used to eat at the lowest common denominator every chance I got. I was every cliche of American food habits you've ever heard of, the kind of guy who could take out half of a pepperoni stuffed crust pizza in one sitting, and still want dessert. So the burgers, deep fried appetizers and sticky sweet pies for dessert were my definition of fine dining.

Since becoming a vegetarian, however, these restaurants are now a dearth for me. The Princess had made her request based on a plate of pancakes covered in strawberry sauce and whipped cream, which I allowed in the name of distracting her from missing mommy but was out of the question for myself. Like every other time I end up at Big Boy, somehow I convince myself on the way that they will have joined the bandwagon of other chain dining establishments such as Bennigan's, Applebee's and Fuddruckers (which I've never eaten at but I like to type because it sounds more like a strip club than a burger joint) and added a veggie burger to the menu. Hell, Burger King has a veggie burger, and a good one at that. The Big Boy, however, pays it old school, and instead I face an image of the Big Boy Burger, a burger whose visage alone makes my cholesterol levels spike.



As usual, I order a vegetarian omelet and a plate of onion rings, me being a sucker for a good onion ring (hey, I said I'm a veggie, not a health nut). Also as usual, I ate my food and went home feeling, shall we say, unwell. I don't fault Big Boy - at one time, they were my kind of place, and looking around at my fellow diners I can tell for quite a few people that still holds true. It's a strange thing, because to me the place seems so foreign, but all that's happened is that Big Boy holds its course. While others modify their menus to appeal to the widest demographic, they maintain their strict policy of deep frying it, putting it on a bun, and serving it with a milkshake. Frankly, I don't know whether to admire them or be disgusted. Whichever I choose, I'm pretty sure I'll try to do it from afar from now on.