Ode to the Workman's Lunch

I realize that many of my posts center around my past life so to speak, well...unless you want me to relate the story of my excursion to the plant store the other day, here's another one. For four years, my entire sentance served in the city of Cincinnati, OH was as a painter (of houses). A good, meaningful job to be sure, yet my daily gastronomical advertures were something out of a horror flick. One could point out my lack of a proactive strategy in this matter, and I will apologize in advance for mentioning the names of eating establishments that most readers outside the 'Nati area will not be familiar with, but for the sake of posterity, or perhaps my posterior (butt gags always pull a laugh), I must tell this tale of incorrigible consumption. First of all what served as lunch on many workdays at D.R. painting only resembles food in the loosest sense of the word. Fat, and or grease, while not readily digistible by the human body consists of the main ingredient of the things I ate. And there was no shortage of variety when it came to fast food in the suburban jungle of the East Side either, NO!!! On the contrary, there were at least as many options, on a daily... no weekly... no monthly... yearly(?) basis as there are fingers on my left hand.
Of course, when one "eat's out" for lunch every day there are certain budgetary restrictions that come into play, along with the restrictions of time (one hour precisely) that include travel to and from the worksite, eating, and paying, etc. But let us not digress and get down to the "meat" of the issue as it were, now that some of the existential parameters are more clearly defined.
To say that we had cerain "stand-bys" is a bit of a misnomer as it implies that these are places to go when there are NO other "acceptable" choices. It would perhaps be better to point out that we came to rely on certain chains so much that other options were rarely, if ever, even considered. We had our addictions to salty, fatty, overprocessed, low nutrition foodstuffs, and we indulged them.
I'll start with "Subway" sandwhiches because in the beginning, Subway was a mean contender for our greenbacks. When one considers that you may actually eat reconizable vegetables with your sandwhich it's easy to see why. That, and the fact that in all parts of America, from the inner city to the remotest of rural frontier towns, it's difficult to swing a dead clown without hitting a Subway shop. Also consider that a foot long sub, with a bag of chips/crisps, and a bottomless drink is only going to set you back a Lincoln and two Washingtons. it's hard to say exactly just how many Subway sandwhiches I've consumed in my life, but surely enough to put the offspring of a handful of franchise owners through college. At least State school, anyhow. But as a well-traveled path eventually becomes a rut due to overuse, so did we grow tired of, or indifferent to the wares of Subway.
Honorable mention goes to Boston Market. There may have been less than a half dozen locations of this fine establishment in the greater Cincinnati metropolitan area, but when we were lucky enough to be in proximity of one, chances were we would eat there. Rotisserie chicken and sides like REAL mashed potatos and gravy, whole kernel corn in herbed garlic butter, creamed spinach, and maccaroni and cheese made it a welcome change of pace, filling, tasty, and moderately nutritious. Still, it was more of a treat than a regular choice.
Then there is Steak 'n Shake. Something of a dying breed, once ubiquitous (from what I'm told), and now a bit of a rarity. The big attraction at these joints was not the cookie-cutter, diner-esque layout and decor, surprisingly. It was the shake, milkshake that is. All flavors (that matter) arranged half and half or standing alone, with requisite ready-whip and a cherry made the slimy, mass produced "steak" burgers and toothpick thin fries tolerable.
As alluring as that sounds, the difinitive tri-state "family resturant" was and is Friche's Big Boy. "Nuff said" may be appropriate here but I can't resist. Big Boy, that's right. You probably haven't rubbed elbows with the backbone of the American midwest unless you've eaten at a Big Boy. Now, many American's may be appalled by my lack of respect for Giants such as Waffle House, Denny's, and Perkin's. I'm not trying to be sacreligious here, in my defense I will calmly point out that there were only 2 Perkin's restaurants in the Cincy area, NO Denny's (difficult to fathom), and well, what self-respecting person regularly eats at the Waffle House? Big Boy is a Cincinnati legend, some of the locations even qualifying as historic landmarks. And of course, who can resist the lovable mascot, sometimes reproduced in all his glory as a 15 foot statue outside a front entrance, the plump little boy with a cherub-like grin who, frozen in the act of running, holds a Big Boy buger high aloft his head, forever enthusiastic but doomed to never deliver the buger to what could only be an eager customer. While I have said nothing of the food, staff, service, or decor, I believe the Big Boy himself says it all! I'll only add that eating at one was usually a last resort.
Moving on. No week would be complete without at least one forray to the Buffalo Wild Wings. Long wait, shamefully small wings, and often $15 a visit is all unballanced by fat and grease content. Sometimes I think that BBQ flavored lard would have been more efficient.
A set up from there, if we can, without laughing, speak in increments was Wings and Rings. Same fat, slightly more palatable.
I would also be shamed if I didn't mention Penn Station, another local favorite which offered warm subs manufatured at a pace that would make Herny Ford proud. Jacket fries cooked in vegetable oil and real lemonade rounds out the dining experieince. Another weekly stopover.
Saving the best for last, I have to mention the place where I ate at with the most frequency, and anlarming frequency... Cincinnati's second largest religion after Catholicism.... Skyline Chili. "Chili" by Cincinnati's defination can only be experienced to be appreciated. Think of a plate of Spagetti noodles, covered in a "secret recipe" meat grule, and topped by a mound... a wad... two fistfulls...an amount that defies human reason... of shredded cheese. Of course beans, and diced onions are options as well. Three-way, four-way, five-way, inverted, dry, juicy, mixed in a bucket, however you took your poison it was really a plate full of diarrhea waiting to happen. Oh, if your still hungry throw in a cheese coney or two, and don't forget the hot sauce!
Yes, this is the food I ate ate luchtime for nearly four years straight. But I have to end this little essay, I have a colonoscopy appointment.