We do not keep Kosher. Fuddruckers, Connecticut Ave.

Monkey and I have been venturing to Fuddruckers for a bit now, usually when he is able to meet me for lunch and I am in the mood for iron-rich food. However, he always get the original half-pounder, while I spend way too much more to get the mushrooms and cheese, and then add barbecue sauce from the dressing bar.

Today though, I felt like trying something different. I decided to go with Monkey’s plain burger and dress it myself. Because I was still wanting a little more though, we decided to get the chili cheese fries. Also, I got a drink and Monkey ordered a water, since the cups are big enough to split anyway.

(M$ Word says that “a water” is grammatically incorrect. I say M$ Word should shut its 1s and 0s.)

Eating at Fuddruckers is mishagas during the downtown DC lunchtime. Part of the problem is that they always seem to put the person with the least enunciated speech at the announcer microphone, but I think that that is a different, more irritable social commentary.

Anyhow, you think we would have learned by now, but almost every time we do the “1 soda, 1 water” thing, we both end up getting soda cups. Maybe we should start ordering 2 waters and see how that goes.

I have always made fun of Monkey for his propensity to get the fake cheese from the dressing bar, but today I decided to give it a try. While we were waiting for food, Monkey went to get some napkins and utensils for the fries and some ketchup cups – frustrating for him because nobody knows how to queue and there was only 1 of two ketchup dispensers working. I opt to switch out with him and wait for the food while he stews with his coca-cola. This was probably a good idea, because apathetic food servers are more apt to ask what order I’m waiting on if I, a girl, am waiting with puppy-dog face, than if monkey is waiting with his Enraged-because-I-am-least-important-person-in-the-World face.

Anyhow, I got the food faster than he would have and go to dress mine and pick up the fries, and when I get back, he gets to go dress his burger. In the meantime, I have heaped some ketchup onto the top of my burger and start to wonder “what’s that smell?” Suspicions are confirmed when I taste it to find that it is barbecue sauce. I tell this to Monk when he gets back and I can see that the look on his face is near-murderous, so I offer to go get the ketchup instead. As I approach the morphing, un-queued dressing-bar line, I realize that someone has just tried the ketchup on the left to find that it is empty, and as she pumps the “ketchup” on the right, I can see from the color that this is in fact barbecue sauce, and there is no ketchup to be had.

This made Monkey sad, but in retrospect, I ended up enjoying the fake cheese with the barbecue sauce better than I would have enjoyed it with ketchup. As for the fries, they were molten hot. The chili was a little spicier than I was in the mood for, and it was vegetable-heavy; very unlike the Hormel treyf I had been expecting. Monkey enjoyed them though.

Probably the most notable thing about Fuddruckers is the sense of immediacy it gives you. You must immediately eat and escape! Run! Flee!

And when you are done eating and you rush out of that door, oh, what a sense of liberation it gives. Freedom! Unfettered-ness! The ability to breathe! Embrace it.

Thank you, Fuddruckers.