Cheeseburger in paradise

The weirdest thing happened the other day. (OK, the second weirdest after getting in the car tonight, turning on the radio and hearing a guy singing the theme to the Golden Girls. The Golden Girls!)

Ahem. Digression over. The weird thing: I found myself in a fast food restaurant. With Judybat. And The Boy.

To understand the momentousness of this experience, you have to know JB. She's a vegetarian for one thing. She hates corporate America for another. And, ever since reading a story in the New York Times Magazine a few years ago about how cows go from not-really happily grazing to not-very healthy Big Macs, she's made me promise never to eat fast food. Never. Upon penalty of death, or detention, or banishment from the bed because McDonalds tends to give me a particularly nasty form of flatulence. (TMI! TMI! But seriously, people: The GOLDEN GIRLS.)

All that changed, however, when JB discovered Burgerville. This is a Pacific Northwest company that specializes in grass-fed beef and local ingredients and the best smoothies in the world. So on Sunday afternoon, as we were finishing a lovely hike on a butte (they have those here) just outside town, she made a radical proposition: Let's go to Burgerville. She had fish. I had chicken. The Boy had a strawberry smoothie and a fistful of french fries and the cheddar shavings from atop our salad. Plus, a yellow balloon.

Yes, at Burgerville, the kids get free balloons. We're going back if only for that reason.