Kings of Cuisine

Jeff recruits for lunch--"Anyone.. anyone.." It's a "Bueller" call. "Lunch? Anyone.. anyone.." If it's Thursday, the office stands in phalanx and congas the quarter mile to Marshall Street.

M Street is a local thoroughfare, busy even during its summers. It is a soup of barbers and beer trucks, lawyers and dogs. There are paupers. There are preachers. There are friendlies and fiends.

"Make way! Make way! Here.. the masters of menu, we victors of viands, the Kings of Cuisine!" It is thus our conga line is absorbed into the buzz.

Varsity is short-order Brigadoon. "Wraps and salads! Anyone.. anyone.. Wraps and Salads to the left!" Here our formation breaks step and we fall into separate lines. Rubin hates Reubens so he orders the "meatloaf." Chris, a sandwich and a side of mac. Passetti, can't remember. Ravind, meatloaf and a side of chili. Andrew, BLT and side of chili. Mark, turkey melt special.

Pay. Pay. Pay. Pay. Trip.. then pay. Pay.

"Complete. Customized. Cost Effictive."- not actually our slogan. As the Israeli 2nd Division Armored corps says, "Ha-Adam She-ba-Tank Yenatze'ah"-----"The Man In The Tank [is the one who] Shall Win." That is our creed. I don't know why. But that is our creed. Each person stands at attention like a tank in the wind until the last of us has solo-congaed to the table. Then we sit uniformly and at last, feast.

It is these Thursdays, born of Wednesdays, the fruit of Tuesdays that we look to for respite. It is this camaraderie, this brotherhood (not exclusively men), this royal court of cuisine, perhaps, that will forever assign happiness to hump day - the last day before the last day of the work week.

-Drew