A man zips down the road in his red 68’ camaro. Sunglasses glinting in the sun. Frosted tips waving in the breeze.
He looks into the camera, “Hi, I’m Guy Fieri, and we’re rolling out, looking for America’s greatest diners, drive-ins, and dives”, he says.
Guy pulls up into the parking lot of a restaurant. Liberal amounts of white and black checkerboard accents, topped off by a large neon sign attached to the roof, displaying the word “diner”.
The man walks in through the doors. Customers look up from their meals, with whispers of “Oh my god, is that Guy Fieri?”.
But Mr. Fieri wasn’t here to meet fans, no, you could see it, in his bowling shirt and goatee, that he was here to experience one thing. A one-way ticket to Flavortown.
He scans the restaurant and locks eyes. A round, middle-aged chef. Hairy arms, broad chest, thick stubble, mustache, and a forehead, shiny with sweat. His apron dotted with grease stains.
They shake hands, the chef talks a little about himself. They go into the back, the place where all the magic happens, the place where Guy is at his most comfortable.
The cook, named Rick, set to work, preparing his famous “All-American Cheeseburger”, going through the process step-by-step. But Guy wasn’t too interested in that. No, he was waiting for the final act.
Finally, it arrived, the sandwich was finished. A thick beef patty on a buttered and lightly grilled bun, oozing with cheese, and covered in lettuce, tomato, pickles, and onions.
He goes in for the first bite. His armies move into attack. A pincer maneuver. It’s down the hatch in milliseconds.
Bliss. Heaven. Words cannot describe the sensations Guy Fieri is feeling, as tears stream down his cheeks.
The sandwich disappears.Compliments are given, hands are shaken.
A man is driving down a road.
He faces the camera, “So that’s it for this trip. I’ll see ya next time, on Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives.”