Hello! It is I, your favorite Pulitzer Prize winning writer (and by Pulitzer, I mean of the Lilly variety). I'm back with another article about food (wow, shocker). Yes, all five of you who read my columns, you can live vicariously through my New York City foodie adventures while try to comfort yourselves with some soggy McDonald's fries. Have fun with that.
I, on the other hand, just went to Shake Shack.
For anyone who is somehow getting WiFi from under a rock and doesn't know what Shake Shack is, here's a quick lesson: in the same way that Cali has In-N-Out, NYC has Shake Shack. They serve shakes and burgers and fries (and, weirdly enough, dog treats) and generally are considered to be some pretty gourmet fast food dining.
Being Midwestern born-and-bred, I grew up on Culver's (which is like McDonald's but with custard and fewer health violations) and had never even been within a 50-mile radius of a Shake Shack until I came to the city for school. Having done my research on the city before I hopped on the plane headed East, I've been slavering for a Shake Shack visit of my own ever since I stepped foot in Manhattan.
Ladies and gentlemen, the experience did not disappoint.
I embarked upon this pilgrimage with three friends of mine, all of whom wholly supported my mission to end our trip to the American Museum of Natural History with a pit stop to get burgers and fries (though I suspect they did so less out of support for me and more because they wanted some ice cream. Vultures.) We made our way through the Dinosaur exhibit, sat under the giant whale, and tried to think of ways to steal the priceless gemstones in the museum to work up an appetite, then headed over to the Shake Shack down the street.
Being suitably hungry by this point, we were practically drooling by the time we stepped into the shop. It smelled like deep fried food and anticipation, and I immediately chose my cuisine lineup: a Chick'n Shack (chicken sandwich), fries, and a Red Velvet Cake milkshake. After placing my order and receiving a little buzzer that would go off when my food was ready, I shoved my way through the crowd (yes, children, a bona fide mass of people, reminiscent of the subway during rush hour) to a table that one of my friends had somehow begged, borrowed, or stole so we could eat in relative peace.
Thus began the five minute period where all we did was stare at the buzzers and talk about how much we wanted to eat. It was probably embarrassing, honestly, but I was too excited to care.
Finally, the buzzer went off.
Dear reader, how do I describe the experience of my first-ever Shake Shack meal? The chicken was crispy, the shake was sweet, the french fries were perfectly balanced between that soft-and-crunchy dichotomy that everyone loves so much. I'm fairly sure I died and went to Heaven. I savored each bite, and I know that the amalgam of New Yorkers and tourists around me did, too.
Looking back at the event, I feel deep affection for that mid-day meal. I may have eaten my bodyweight in fries, but that shake was so worth it.
Take that, In-N-Out.
