Brutal Burger: the Taste of Betrayal

Brutus (filtered a bit)

I now turn my attention to the tastes I've indulged over the past ten weeks, which means I must address the knife wound that has ailed my spine ever since we fled The Hague. My brand loyalty to the McDonald's Corporation is as consistent as the meat on a Big Mac. My loyalty is the subject of ridicule, spectacle, and excuse for why we would ever go to a McDonald's while in Paris of all places. I pride myself on my loyalty, but with a heavy heart I confess that I limp from the Netherlands as Caesar betrayed by the Roman Senate.

The Dutch Royale has spoiled with the aspirations of a tyrant: Burger King.

Cassius

I cannot say I'm surprised, though I'm still trying to calm myself. The likes of that establishment haunt the Holland roads, making the McDonald's a rare breed. I would assume there's just something more palatable to the Dutch people about the 'way' Burger King arranges its flavors in the Netherlands; perhaps it is an enigma better not investigated.

Saving graces

Regardless, the smattering of sesame-crowned bun, brown mustard, crisp lettuce, and quarter patty has the vague aroma and taste of, yes, a Whopper. The bun's texture seals the deal on the tactile dining front: a sponginess and thinness reminiscent of that competitive creation. The patty, I am confident, is the source of gustatory displeasure. The lettuce, fine. The mustard...was delicious. The overall experience: a shocking unveiling of a company that may sacrifice taste to the profit margin, which sat fat at somewhere around $11.89 US.

The fries, I'm happy to report, were fresh, hot, and salted as always. Perhaps they were the only things noncriminal about fast food in this 'city of justice.'