Pizza Or Burrito? The Timeline Of A Drunken Decision
The drunchies, the combination of the word of "drunk" and "munchies," is an extremely powerful force.
It's almost unstoppable at times, and it enters your life after beer number four or martini number three.
It's like a crazy ex-girlfriend; it just shows up unannounced, looking to destroy everything in its path.
Your ability to control yourself and not eat carbohydrates past 8 pm is rendered powerless.
You’re feeling great and working on a good buzz. As the bartender is handing you beer number five, you get a slight whiff of the truffle fries that have been dropped off for the couple at the end of the bar.
You just ate a 12 oz steak 30 minutes ago, but somehow you’re hungry again. The truffle fry scent is now running through your body.
You now feel as if you’ve been on a six-week fast, and the only way you are going to survive another hour on this planet is if someone immediately dumps that basket of fries into your mouth.
You need to eat, and you need to eat now.
"Hey bartender, can I get an order of those fries they ordered over there?" "Sorry, the kitchen just closed."
Your mind is racing. You’re starting to sweat. It feels like your stomach is eating you from the inside.
You need food now, but it’s late. You debate threatening the bartender with a bad Yelp review if she doesn’t get you basket of fries.
You contemplate walking into the kitchen yourself and eating the first thing you come across, whether it’s cooked or not.
You decide to just finish your beer and continue your night, except the only thing running through your mind is food.
Your friends are talking about work and the drama in their lives, and all you can think about is those goddamn fries.
Your buddy finally says, "Let’s go, fries."
Fries? Did he just say, fries? Mother of all that this is holy, yes! Fries! Oh no, never mind.
He said, "Let’s go, guys."
You finally leave the bar, with a gaping hole in your stomach that needs to be filled. You look at your phone. It reads 2 am.
You have a mini panic attack as you think, "How am I going to get food at this hour?"
You come back to your senses, and you realize there are two food groups that will lead you out of your hunger coma: pizza and a burrito.
You’re now standing at the corner of Market and Market, thinking, "How is this even possible? Market connects to Market? This is confusing as f*ck. Focus! You’re on a mission for food, and it’s a mission you have accepted.
Don’t lose sight of the task at hand. Your survival and the survival of the entire human race depends on it."
To your left, you see a high school kid spinning a sign that says, "2 pizza slices and a soda, $7.99."
To your right, there’s a window plastered with green and yellow lettering screaming, "Carne asada burrito and soda, $7.99."
Damn, they're both the same price and both great deals. Your drunchie taste buds have reached optimal, and both will taste like a chicken cordon bleu cooked by Gordon Ramsey himself.
What do you choose? A tortilla stuffed to the edges with tiny, savory pieces of meat candy? Or a triangular piece of perfectly crisped dough covered in melted heaven? Either way, you can’t go wrong.
But then, the little guy on your shoulder named, "The Next Morning," starts whispering in your ear.
"You have the drunchies, remember? You think you’re hungrier than you actually are, meaning you’re going to purchase an insane amount of food. And then maybe, you'll only eat half of it tonight. What’s also going to taste better in the morning, when you wake up?"
And that’s when your decision has been made. You realize that while the burrito is going to taste great in the moment, the lettuce and guacamole sitting in that tortilla blanket while you sleep is only going to get mushy and inedible the next morning.
On the other hand, that little slice of heaven known as pizza is only going to enrich in flavor like a fine wine, and taste even better in the morning.
You stumble your way into the pizza joint, raise your debit card in the air as if you’ve found the golden Willy Wonka ticket, and shout, "18 slices of pizza, please."
You eat two and box the rest up. Your drunchie cravings that started four hours ago have finally been satisfied. You call an Uber, crawl into bed and dream of pepperoni pieces jumping over fences.
In the drunchie battle of pizza versus burrito, king pizza has taken its rightful place on the throne.
When it comes to drunchies, there’s nothing better than a warm slice of 'za.
You made the right call.