The Sinister Sandwich

            Up until the second grade, Burger King was my beloved restaurant of choice. But ever since it decided to “un-kosherize” its morning cinnamon rolls by adding a pork enzyme to the frosting, I’ve harbored a festering grudge against that pretentious monarch of the grill. (What kind of elitist mentality is behind calling itself Burger King, anyway?) Today, I am proud to proclaim that it’s been over two years since I have consumed any of Burger King’s tasteless grub. In fact, I live under a solemn vow never to eat Burger King again. No matter where I am or what the situation, as long I’m not in eminent danger of keeling over, a Burger King Whopper will never again enter my mouth.

From the absolute beginning, Burger King has proven itself to be unworthy of the public’s trust. In 1953, Keith J. Kramer and his wife’s uncle Matthew Burns opened up Insta-Burger after first scouting out the McDonald’s joint in San Bernardino, California. A year later, James McLamore and David Edgerton bought Insta-Burger and renamed the restaurant Burger King. Although Kramer and Burns may not have committed outright plagiarism, the number of McDonald’s vs. Burger King debates suggest a peculiar number of similarities between those two restaurants.

It was On October 14, 2010, the day after I’d gotten my driver’s permit, my family and I went to eat dinner at Burger King—an extremely rare occasion. It was little brother’s idea to go to Burger King. (Who else would choose a place I’d been avoiding since its pollution of cinnamon rolls when I was 7?) Nevertheless, I was determined to have an enjoyable evening. I even decided to be a little wild and get a Number 2 combo meal—Double Whopper (no onions, please!), medium fries, and a small Sprite.

When my meal finally arrived, I was childishly thrilled. I first carefully removed the bun of my Double Whopper to inspect it for any thin, white onion slices, just in case. However, if I didn’t notice the onions until they were being crushed up inside my mouth, then it was because the entire burger was drowning in mayonnaise. My wimpy leaf of lettuce was so saturated that I couldn’t even taste it. All I could make out was a stringy texture. What was the purpose of putting lettuce on the burger if I couldn’t even taste it?

By the time we finished, my head was throbbing. As the night went on, my stomach began to feel queasy and nauseous. Hives crawled up my legs, over my arms, and up my neck until they covered my entire body. I sat in miserable state of itch and nausea until two in the morning. Even days afterward, my stomach didn’t take food very well. But it was then, while sitting on the rim of my bathtub, doubled over from the churning in my stomach and exhausted from staying up all night, that I promised myself that I would never eat at Burger King again.

Looking back, it seems that I must’ve had an allergic reaction, but I’ve eaten at other fast food places after that fateful meal and never experienced anything remotely similar. People may say I’m overreacting, but in my opinion, you can never be more wary than when entrusting strangers to prepare your food. Twice in my life, Burger King as seriously let me down—once, it took a toll on my health. There are too many other fast food joints I can get a cheap, tasty burger from without risking myself. The next time I plan on grabbing fast food, I’m going to “have it my way” and skip the Whopper. His Royal Highness of Burgers can even watch me head straight for McDonald’s.