Impossible Burger at Burger King

impossibleThe other day, hubby and I were eating at a favorite restaurant near our home. While perusing the menu, I noted that they now serve the “Impossible Burger” for $15. To be fair, that includes “free” salad and a side, but it struck me as a high price for a fake burger. I’m actually a fan of a good black bean burger, but these new fangled burgers (such as the Impossible Burger and Beyond Meat) purport themselves to be equal in taste and texture to beef. But I wasn’t too keen on spending $15 when I could get a nice salmon fillet with two sides for $12, so we didn’t try it that day.

However, after church today, we went to a fast food restaurant. That’s quite unusual for us, but hey, I got to try an Impossible Burger for a possible price. The B&K palace we visited was one of a series of fast food joints along a busy highway, so they had customers, but not too many. We ordered the meal (a golly whopping 900+ calories) which includes a small drink and fries. BTW, neither the drink nor the fries didn’t seem all that small to me, but the gal at the counter seemed surprised that we didn’t take the 30 cent upgrade to medium.

Hubby looked a bit skeptical, but I dug in immediately. Low and behold  the Impossible “Whopper” tastes quite a lot like any old fast food burger—nothing outstanding, but just fine for the price paid. Anyway, the burger seemed a bit thinner than I remember for a whopper, but the condiments and bun made it a substantial sandwich, which we ate without cheese, as there seemed to be sufficient calories without that addition. The fries were good and crisp, and I ate half of them before shoving them across the table for hubby to finish.

My Fitness Pal tells me that I’ve just about eaten all I should for this day, but I can now say I’ve tried one of the latest innovations in food, and it is okay…as long as one has enough calories left to enjoy the thing. Oh, and I do recommend trying it at Burger King, because we both ate for the price of one at our local sit down and get waited on favorite.

White Roses

When I was a young girl, my mother always went into our yard and plucked roses for us to wear on Mother’s Day. Until I reached my tenth birthday, she wore a red rose, as I did. But that year, she went to another bush and selected a delicate white rose with just a hint of pink. As a curious youngster, I asked her why she did not wear one of “Nanny’s roses” since our red rose bush had grown from a cutting of the ones which graced my paternal grandmother’s yard.

She gently reminded me that Grandma Blackstock had died, so she was now supposed to wear a white rose. My red one told the world, or our small church, that my mother lived.

Fast forward more than forty years, and I stood in church today, the same church, but in a much larger building with a congregation ten times larger; and after hearing our three ministers all tout the virtues of motherhood, I looked around to see if anyone was wearing a rose. Across three rows of pews, I saw two ladies wearing florist created white corsages. None of the ladies around me wore roses, of any color, and my yard does not even have a white rose bush. My jacket today was a mosaic of white roses, but I rather doubt that anyone noticed.

Maybe I should plant a white rose bush, because I can’t live through a mother’s day without remembering my wonderful mother, who wore a white rose out of respect for her mom.