The Turkeymaster

Halfway through the carnage I managed to stop and take a photo of my long awaited Turkeymaster

Aside from a out of character hankering for anything made of sugar or starch, I’ve been a pretty good pregnant lady when it comes to nutrition.  Many of the preggos I know crave Taco Bell, or cheeseburgers, or other meaty junk food filled with salt and saturated fat (I did have a phase where I ate nothing but pop corn for a whole week, but eventually that sorted itself out).  However, there is has always been one thing rattling around in the back of my mind for the last seven and a half months: Turkeymaster.

I never eat junk food. Truly.  I have not set foot into a fast food restaurant since my college days.  We don’t typically keep sweets in our house, and when we go out to eat we choose healthy meals because we know that we feel better after eating something nutritious.  There is only one exception to our junk food blacklist and that is the Burgermaster drive in near our house – and we never eat there unless we have just come back from a hike, a bike ride, or some other massively-calorie burning activity.

For the uninitiated, Burgermaster is a local restaurant chain that has been around the Seattle area since 1952, and in all that time I’m not sure they’ve changed their decor.  It oozes retro charm like their Baconmaster Burgers ooze salty grease.  Classifying it as “fast food” is probably incorrect, since they cook all of their grass-fed beef patties fresh while you wait in your car, hopefully listening to Johnny Cash or Patsy Cline to preserve the ambiance.  My favorite menu item, the Turkeymaster, is a turkey and bacon sandwich on sourdough, smothered in mayo, grease, and love.  One bite and not only will the roof of your mouth chafe from the toasted bread, but your taste buds will start screaming “yes!” while your arteries are simultaneously screaming “oh Hell no!”.

For seven and a half months I have had a Turkeymaster in the back of my mind while I munched on salad and whole wheat toast. Just this weekend, after a week of being on bed rest and suddenly faced with the reality that I had to start making dinner again, feeling the ache of fibromyalgia and the pain of my third trimester tugging at my joints, I snatched my keys and dashed off to the Burgermaster drive in, while Patsy Cline plaintively mourned from the radio.  After dragging my prize home I tore into my Turkeymaster like a wild animal, pausing only a few times for breath.   That Turkeymaster didn’t have a snowflake’s chance in Hell against my pregnant appetite and I don’t regret my prenatal foray into junk food for one minute.


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