One of the perks of working on a Sunday morning is that the buses are so awkwardly timed that you can only be extremely early for work, or too late. There’s no middle ground.
But what it does mean is that you can, should you be so inclined (which I, on occasion, am), nip into the friendly embrace of the golden arches and grab a breakfast which – like the buses – has no middle ground.
A sausage and egg McMuffin, hash brown and an orange juice. Just enough to set you up for a day of entertainment locking people into rooms. But what do I mean about the middle ground thing?
Basically, I have done studies over recent months. I don’t want this to sound like I go every Sunday when I’m at work, because I don’t. But when I do, I do the studies. And this is what I have found. There’s no middle ground on the hash brown. It’s either just below an optimum temperature for smooshed potato, or scorchingly hot.
There’s no happy medium.
If I was Goldilocks trying to find one that was just right, I’d be having a real issue with it.
Not that I’m complaining, because the hash browns are the best bit of the whole morning and I really wish you could get a hash brown McMuffin without having to construct one yourself, but often times it’d be nice to make it to work with the same number of skin layers on the roof of my mouth as I started the morning with.
I can only assume that the hash browns, somehow, incorporate the same technology used to make the apple pies. Which is to say lava. There is definitely lava involved. There must be. It’s a wonder that the hash browns, with their latent heat, don’t just burn through the little paper bags they come in.
In fact, the other day when it snowed and I had got to work ridiculously early and was freezing, I went to McDonald’s for a coffee and considered buying two hash browns to use purely as hand warmers, one in each pocket.