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.