They had me at the special sauce

Our original destination was actually the Roslyn Delicatessen, a local establishment that fully understands -- and capitalizes on -- American food cravings. This was a special trip, made at Evan's request, to pick up a few boxes of Kraft mac & cheese (for the low, low price of nearly 5 bucks a box). As we walked, I was thinking about the whole idea of comfort food and the prices we'll pay and the lengths we'll go to in order to savor the flavors that taste like home.

We located our target, resisted the urge to also purchase a $10 box of graham crackers, and left the shop, a box of the neon yellow starchy milk byproduct and noodles firmly grasped in Evan's hot little hands. Coming out the door, I found myself turning right to head up the hill instead of left to head home. I wasn't quite sure where I was going, but I clearly wasn't ready to return to our house just yet.

A minute later, as I pushed open the doors to McDonald's and stood staring at the pictures of burgers and fries on the overhead menu, I knew where I'd been headed all along. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a Big Mac -- or even the urge for one -- but I knew I was about to order one. I may have managed to resist fast food for most of my adult life, but it's still the ultimate in comfort food to me. Evan had his taste of home. Now I wanted mine.

I got the whole shebang; the Big Mac, the fries, even a Diet Coke with that familiar tinge of waxed paper cup flavor, sipped out of an oversized straw. And I ate every last bite, minus two fries which I "graciously" shared with Evan while snarfing the rest down before he could ask for more. The whole thing was over before I really even knew what had hit me. And now? I feel full, fat and a tad nauseous. I feel more than a little sheepish about my lack of self control.

And I feel very, very American.