The Taste of a New Generation
It was like a cinematic fever dream. The once jaded protagonist (most likely someone like Timothée Chalamet) peers out the window of a moving vehicle over a crooked pair of Ray-Bans. Transcendent images flicker by in fragments. Suddenly, the main character’s regard of previously dismissed pedestrian beauty informs the audience that once again, life is beautiful.
In this case, I was not in a car, or a train, but tucked in a banquette right behind Second Generation’s chef de cuisine.
He barked.
“Burger! Reg!”
“Two more. Burger! Reg!”
“How many campfire you got? Should be seven all day!”
“Did you hear me? I spoke three times. Ok. Then, please acknowledge!”
Seated so close to the pass, bombarded by kitchen patter, the sizzling grill, and saute-pan-fire flashes, my brain split. My dinner unfolded, not linearly, but in discrete remarkable moments.