Hawaii on a Bun

When it comes to eating out, M follows my lead - mostly. More often than not we order the same main course and the same thing to drink - two of everything. We even like our steak cooked the same way - medium well. Liking food as I do, M has come to trust what I order.

In our first year of marriage we visited Holland so that I could meet the extended family. Out for coffee and a piece of cake in Bronkhorst with his aunt and uncle, M ordered the town's namesake, Bronkhorstkoek, to go with his coffee. I decided on plain apple tart and cream. M got a boring sliver of square cake on his plate while my apple tart was robust with a generous dollop of cream. Rather than look at my order with longing and his with disappointment, over the years, M has switched to ordering what I order. Mostly.

Recently we were at our favourite haunt for burgers, Bob's in Sumas USA, with our friends who first introduced us to this amazing burger place (see Bob's my Burger February 2010). Waiting at the border to cross into the States, I say to M, "Order the Hawaiian burger. You won't be disappointed." Instead M orders the Aloha. "Are you sure you don't want the Hawaiian?" I ask as I place my order. M seems happy with his choice. No well, fine. I did check. Our burgers arrive. My Hawaiian swells with pineapple rings, grilled onions and stacks of back bacon. M's has the pineapple rings and grilled onions but no back bacon. It's not nearly as impressive.

M eyes my burger. "I told you to order the Hawaiian," I say as a slip a roast potato fry off his plate. I prefer the traditional slim cut French fries to the roast potato size fries M orders, but a little taste is still good. "Next time, go Hawaiian," I say as I remove the top part of the bun and tackle my monster burger in my usual way, with a knife and fork.