For me, fast food has always held a duel attraction; it is food served up quickly and conveniently, but more importantly, it is food that feeds not just my hunger but a primal need to indulge in decadence. Jared trying to tell me that Subway sandwiches are good for me does not attract. McDonald's submitting to the trans fat police in the making of their fries disgusts me. Yes, I want my fast food fast, but I also want it to be a guilty pleasure which provides great pleasure and about which I feel no true guilt.
At the top of my list of favorite fast foods I have to place street vended sausage. In Prague it's called klobasa, and it's served on a small paper tray with a slice of bread and a dollop of mustard on the side. It's a perfect way to take a break from your work-a-day and indulge in the primeval pleasure of holding a piece of meat in your fingers, dipping it in a condiment and then chasing it with a bite of bread. Nobody knows how many calories are involved, the fat content, carbs, all of that stuff is unknown, and nobody cares.
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