The President James K. Polk Memorial rest area on Interstate 64 in Southern Indiana was blanketed in a slate-gray sky. Eighteen-wheelers waited in line at the fueling station for diesel and windshield wiper fluid from an army of apathetic attendants under bright green lights. After exiting the Kwik Mart with a styrofoam coffee cup in her hand, a mother raced her two children across the vast expanse of cracked tarmac while tightening the collar of her neon pink and light purple ski jacket with her free hand. The food court's dome roof was topped by a damp, brown, and without leaves months grove of oaks. A red and yellow dumpster owned by Solid Waste Disposition Incorporated in Akron, Ohio, was perched atop a mountain of snow stained by exhaust at the far end of the parking lot. The dumpster was precariously perched there. a whirlwind of colors and noise.
Frank looked around as he plopped his Kia into a parking spot. He was not like the rest of them, who rushed from place to place in an effort to get somewhere else—perhaps to Grandma's house for Christmas or to return home from a work trip to Louisville, Wheeling, or Pittsburgh—but he was different. No. The President James K. Polk Memorial rest area was Frank J. Marone's destination.
The Arby Corporation's black and red cowboy hat was held aloft by a fifty-foot steel pole in front of him. The curved lines of the double-peaked crown and round brim shone a warm red against the chilly December day.
He smiled as he picked up his phone, put his thumb up, and took a selfie. He wrote, "It's been twelve years since I started this journey," below the image. Finally, I meet my white whale (or is it a cod?)." After sending it to his morethan 48,000 followers, he looked at his timeline. To go back to the beginning, in 2009, the Roy Rogers outside of Toms River that served the Cordon Bleu Gold was closed nationwide in 2005. That one had been relatively simple. merely a brief excursion down the Garden State Parkway In a brief afternoon, we were there and back. The ninth item on the list: the McSalmon Fritters that he'd discovered in a McDonald's that was barely operating outside of Homer, Alaska. That one had required additional effort, an online fundraising campaign, and a series of puddle jumpers.
The search for obscure and discontinued fast food items had begun as a whim. To do something. to distract me. laughs and shifts. The quest, on the other hand, had taken over his life and become his identity once he had completed the list of twenty-five sandwiches, tenders, and salad shakers at number five or six.
Frank returned the phone to the passenger seat and observed it buzzing and dinging with messages of congratulations. A man walked back and forth in front of the Arby's and yelled at himself, smoking a cigarette that had burned through the filter.
Frank was there to discuss a sandwich with a man. Specifically, Gordon Warmbacher, franchisee of sixteen Arby's restaurants in the upper Midwest and Great Plains, discussed the renowned Mahalo King Cod Filet. The Mahalo King was the final item on his list, which also included the Burger King Ostrich Deluxe, the KFC Turkey Tender, and Taco Bell's Cool Ranch Gator Taco, which was only available in Louisiana and the Florida Panhandle. For his ever-increasing number of social media followers and fast food aficionados, he had devoted the last twelve years of his life to finding and reviewing these items.
The Mahalo King Cod Filet had proven to be themost difficult to locate of all the items on the list. The Arby's Corporation introduced the product in select stores in 2006, but sales significantly underperformed expectations. Initial reviews were negative. The oddity of serving a New England fish Hawaiian style had been mocked. If left for even a few minutes, the pineapple slices on top of the deep-fried filet covered in traditional Hawaiian huli-huli sauce would soak through the sesame seed bun, making it difficult to pick up. After just four months, the sandwich was no longer sold, but it had developed into something of a cult favorite and a small but dedicated fan club dedicated to getting it back on the menu.
Tips had been given. reports and whispers that rogue Arby's restaurants continue to serve the sandwich. When Frank received a cryptic Direct Message from Gordon, he had been on the verge of giving up after following one dead-end lead after another for nearly a year and a half. Gordon stated that it could be arranged, but Frank would need to remain discreet. A certain level of anonymity and the omission of specifics were required. There was a lot at stake for Gordon.
Frank walked quickly toward Arby's entrance after opening his car door and passing the man with the cigarette, who was cursing at Frank under his breath. He entered and surveyed the area. It was midday, the quiet time in between the rush for lunch and dinner. The floor was covered in brown and tan anti-slip tiles in front of a newly renovated counter manned by three employees who appeared to be bored and wearing maroon shirts. From a booth along the far wall, a middle-aged man with thick-rimmed glasses and a mustache waved to him. As Frank got closer, Gordon stood and extended a hand toFrank. He gave a big grin. Gordon gave Frank a firm squeeze and once shook his head up and down. The two men moved across the brown vinyl seating that was adjacent to the table.
After they had settled in, Gordon said, "It's a real pleasure to meet you." I admire your work. I've been reading your blog ever since... Well, at the very least for a few years now. He spoke with an upper midwestern accent. Wisconsin. Minnesota, possibly.
"That was very thoughtful of you to say."
Gordon had pink cheeks and fair skin. His skin had spots, probably from acne when he was younger. He still had a beautiful face. His linen jacket's tailoring appeared bespoke, and his graying hair was cut well. He seemed more at home in a setting with tablecloths and waitstaff who were knowledgeable about wines and cheeses. Frank suddenly felt underdressed in his unwashed jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt.
My staff is currently preparing our order. Waffle fries are served with two Mahalo Cod Filet sandwiches. What kind of soda do you enjoy drinking?”
"Sprite is sufficient. I'm grateful.
"Of course, I even have no idea why I asked. I ought to have known.
"I know you said you would treat me, but you really don't have to do that," she said.
“Please. Don't talk about it. It's been a pleasure. He called across the restaurant, which was mostly empty. There was no ice in my two large Sprites. The woman behind the counter gave a nod.
Gordon circled Frank once more. The booth fell into silence. Frank spoke after a brief silence.
What keeps you from making it? The King of Mahalo. It has been, what, discontinued for more than a decade? His voice slightly rose on the final syllable of the statement, which was delivered in the form of a question.
Gordongave a playful grin. Incredible, isn't it? It seems like just yesterday. At the time, I was just starting out with my first Arby's. in Toledo, Ohio. I had a big year that year. I hate to boast, but since then, I've come a long way.
The woman behind the counter made a tentative entrance, placed the Sprites on the table, and gave each customer a straw. After taking a sip and clearing his throat, Gordon stabbed the straw into the plastic lid's hole.
“I bought as much Huli-Huli sauce as I could when they said they were going to stop offering it on the menu. I called as far away as California and Texas. I received the items via overnight shipping via FedEx. Nobody could comprehend why I desired this item. As I'm sure you are aware, The Mahalo King never did very well in sales. They were pleased that I removed the items from their possession. "He laughed. In my Sioux City warehouse, I still have a few thousand servings. The remainder I simply piece together on my own. the pineapples and cod. I get those from the grocery store just like everyone else. Of course, the ingredients aren't exactly the same as they would be if they were distributed through the usual channels, but I think we did a good job of creating them.
Before moving on, Gordon took another sip of Sprite.
"What should I say? This sandwich is simply divine. I was unable to let it go. Naturally, corporate doesn't like me serving it. His voice was reduced to a whisper. This is why I have to keep everything to myself. It is against the policy. If they discover that I continue to serve it off the menu, they might take away my franchise license. Gordon gave a stagedwink.
Frank gave a nod. Thank you for that. Don't worry either. I'm taking great care not to reveal any particulars.
Gordon took a look around the eatery. He took off his glasses, blew on them, grabbed a cloth from the pockets of his pants, and wiped the lenses clean. Ah, they're here now.
A different server, a young man wearing an Arby's baseball cap and carrying a brown plastic tray, came toward them. After dropping it on the table, he turned and quickly left.
Gordon exclaimed with a flourish of his hand, "Voila." The Mahalo King is mine. He brought the sandwich's cardboard container in front of Frank and picked it up. There is additional huli-huli. I can't stop eating the stuff. He placed the sandwich next to two little clear plastic containers. The liquid was black and thin.
Frank was looking at the sandwich. The pineapple slices had already made the bun wet. He noted that the critics had been correct about that. He pulled out his phone once more. Gordon gave a wry grin before moving away from the frame. Frank typed, bringing back Melville, "There she blows." He sent the message and placed the phone face down on the table. It immediately began to shimmy and rattle as it approached the edge. Frank shut his eyes and took a deep breath.
Gordon said solemnly, "This is a big moment for you."
"Twelve years. 23 thousand miles. 50,000 supporters," Straight to the point described. "Could I at any point ask you, something?"
"Shoot."
"Assuming you were perusing my feed and you realize that I was searching for this sandwich, for what reason didn't you call me sooner?"
Gordon grinned. He removed a touch of waffle fry and put it in his mouth, biting purposely. "All things considered, I guessed I might have done that, yet it wouldhave been excessively simple. Wouldn't you say? I would have rather not denied you of the excursion."
Straight to the point woke up and turned his head toward the window. It was beginning to snow.
"Have you pondered what you will do straightaway?" Gordon inquired. "Now that you've arrived at the finish of your rundown, I mean."
Straight to the point watching the lights of traffic slide past on the highway past the left vehicles and the fifty-foot shining sign and the powering station and the pinnacle of filthy snow and the exposed oak trees. He pondered the commute home, his one-room condo with its couple of bits of pre-assembled Swedish compressed wood furniture, and his occupation overseeing coordinated operations for an office supply outlet. He contemplated Gordon building his realm of Arby's. At long last, Forthright turned around to the man sitting opposite him. "I don't have the foggiest idea yet. I surmise I'll have to sort that out."
Gordon murmured and grinned understandingly. "You'll possess energy for that later, I assume. What's significant is that we have these Mahalo Lords." Gordon got his sandwich and held it overtop victoriously, asking Plain to do likewise. "For the time being, how about we simply appreciate the experience."
Frank looked around as he plopped his Kia into a parking spot. He was not like the rest of them, who rushed from place to place in an effort to get somewhere else—perhaps to Grandma's house for Christmas or to return home from a work trip to Louisville, Wheeling, or Pittsburgh—but he was different. No. The President James K. Polk Memorial rest area was Frank J. Marone's destination.
The Arby Corporation's black and red cowboy hat was held aloft by a fifty-foot steel pole in front of him. The curved lines of the double-peaked crown and round brim shone a warm red against the chilly December day.
He smiled as he picked up his phone, put his thumb up, and took a selfie. He wrote, "It's been twelve years since I started this journey," below the image. Finally, I meet my white whale (or is it a cod?)." After sending it to his morethan 48,000 followers, he looked at his timeline. To go back to the beginning, in 2009, the Roy Rogers outside of Toms River that served the Cordon Bleu Gold was closed nationwide in 2005. That one had been relatively simple. merely a brief excursion down the Garden State Parkway In a brief afternoon, we were there and back. The ninth item on the list: the McSalmon Fritters that he'd discovered in a McDonald's that was barely operating outside of Homer, Alaska. That one had required additional effort, an online fundraising campaign, and a series of puddle jumpers.
The search for obscure and discontinued fast food items had begun as a whim. To do something. to distract me. laughs and shifts. The quest, on the other hand, had taken over his life and become his identity once he had completed the list of twenty-five sandwiches, tenders, and salad shakers at number five or six.
Frank returned the phone to the passenger seat and observed it buzzing and dinging with messages of congratulations. A man walked back and forth in front of the Arby's and yelled at himself, smoking a cigarette that had burned through the filter.
Frank was there to discuss a sandwich with a man. Specifically, Gordon Warmbacher, franchisee of sixteen Arby's restaurants in the upper Midwest and Great Plains, discussed the renowned Mahalo King Cod Filet. The Mahalo King was the final item on his list, which also included the Burger King Ostrich Deluxe, the KFC Turkey Tender, and Taco Bell's Cool Ranch Gator Taco, which was only available in Louisiana and the Florida Panhandle. For his ever-increasing number of social media followers and fast food aficionados, he had devoted the last twelve years of his life to finding and reviewing these items.
The Mahalo King Cod Filet had proven to be themost difficult to locate of all the items on the list. The Arby's Corporation introduced the product in select stores in 2006, but sales significantly underperformed expectations. Initial reviews were negative. The oddity of serving a New England fish Hawaiian style had been mocked. If left for even a few minutes, the pineapple slices on top of the deep-fried filet covered in traditional Hawaiian huli-huli sauce would soak through the sesame seed bun, making it difficult to pick up. After just four months, the sandwich was no longer sold, but it had developed into something of a cult favorite and a small but dedicated fan club dedicated to getting it back on the menu.
Tips had been given. reports and whispers that rogue Arby's restaurants continue to serve the sandwich. When Frank received a cryptic Direct Message from Gordon, he had been on the verge of giving up after following one dead-end lead after another for nearly a year and a half. Gordon stated that it could be arranged, but Frank would need to remain discreet. A certain level of anonymity and the omission of specifics were required. There was a lot at stake for Gordon.
Frank walked quickly toward Arby's entrance after opening his car door and passing the man with the cigarette, who was cursing at Frank under his breath. He entered and surveyed the area. It was midday, the quiet time in between the rush for lunch and dinner. The floor was covered in brown and tan anti-slip tiles in front of a newly renovated counter manned by three employees who appeared to be bored and wearing maroon shirts. From a booth along the far wall, a middle-aged man with thick-rimmed glasses and a mustache waved to him. As Frank got closer, Gordon stood and extended a hand toFrank. He gave a big grin. Gordon gave Frank a firm squeeze and once shook his head up and down. The two men moved across the brown vinyl seating that was adjacent to the table.
After they had settled in, Gordon said, "It's a real pleasure to meet you." I admire your work. I've been reading your blog ever since... Well, at the very least for a few years now. He spoke with an upper midwestern accent. Wisconsin. Minnesota, possibly.
"That was very thoughtful of you to say."
Gordon had pink cheeks and fair skin. His skin had spots, probably from acne when he was younger. He still had a beautiful face. His linen jacket's tailoring appeared bespoke, and his graying hair was cut well. He seemed more at home in a setting with tablecloths and waitstaff who were knowledgeable about wines and cheeses. Frank suddenly felt underdressed in his unwashed jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt.
My staff is currently preparing our order. Waffle fries are served with two Mahalo Cod Filet sandwiches. What kind of soda do you enjoy drinking?”
"Sprite is sufficient. I'm grateful.
"Of course, I even have no idea why I asked. I ought to have known.
"I know you said you would treat me, but you really don't have to do that," she said.
“Please. Don't talk about it. It's been a pleasure. He called across the restaurant, which was mostly empty. There was no ice in my two large Sprites. The woman behind the counter gave a nod.
Gordon circled Frank once more. The booth fell into silence. Frank spoke after a brief silence.
What keeps you from making it? The King of Mahalo. It has been, what, discontinued for more than a decade? His voice slightly rose on the final syllable of the statement, which was delivered in the form of a question.
Gordongave a playful grin. Incredible, isn't it? It seems like just yesterday. At the time, I was just starting out with my first Arby's. in Toledo, Ohio. I had a big year that year. I hate to boast, but since then, I've come a long way.
The woman behind the counter made a tentative entrance, placed the Sprites on the table, and gave each customer a straw. After taking a sip and clearing his throat, Gordon stabbed the straw into the plastic lid's hole.
“I bought as much Huli-Huli sauce as I could when they said they were going to stop offering it on the menu. I called as far away as California and Texas. I received the items via overnight shipping via FedEx. Nobody could comprehend why I desired this item. As I'm sure you are aware, The Mahalo King never did very well in sales. They were pleased that I removed the items from their possession. "He laughed. In my Sioux City warehouse, I still have a few thousand servings. The remainder I simply piece together on my own. the pineapples and cod. I get those from the grocery store just like everyone else. Of course, the ingredients aren't exactly the same as they would be if they were distributed through the usual channels, but I think we did a good job of creating them.
Before moving on, Gordon took another sip of Sprite.
"What should I say? This sandwich is simply divine. I was unable to let it go. Naturally, corporate doesn't like me serving it. His voice was reduced to a whisper. This is why I have to keep everything to myself. It is against the policy. If they discover that I continue to serve it off the menu, they might take away my franchise license. Gordon gave a stagedwink.
Frank gave a nod. Thank you for that. Don't worry either. I'm taking great care not to reveal any particulars.
Gordon took a look around the eatery. He took off his glasses, blew on them, grabbed a cloth from the pockets of his pants, and wiped the lenses clean. Ah, they're here now.
A different server, a young man wearing an Arby's baseball cap and carrying a brown plastic tray, came toward them. After dropping it on the table, he turned and quickly left.
Gordon exclaimed with a flourish of his hand, "Voila." The Mahalo King is mine. He brought the sandwich's cardboard container in front of Frank and picked it up. There is additional huli-huli. I can't stop eating the stuff. He placed the sandwich next to two little clear plastic containers. The liquid was black and thin.
Frank was looking at the sandwich. The pineapple slices had already made the bun wet. He noted that the critics had been correct about that. He pulled out his phone once more. Gordon gave a wry grin before moving away from the frame. Frank typed, bringing back Melville, "There she blows." He sent the message and placed the phone face down on the table. It immediately began to shimmy and rattle as it approached the edge. Frank shut his eyes and took a deep breath.
Gordon said solemnly, "This is a big moment for you."
"Twelve years. 23 thousand miles. 50,000 supporters," Straight to the point described. "Could I at any point ask you, something?"
"Shoot."
"Assuming you were perusing my feed and you realize that I was searching for this sandwich, for what reason didn't you call me sooner?"
Gordon grinned. He removed a touch of waffle fry and put it in his mouth, biting purposely. "All things considered, I guessed I might have done that, yet it wouldhave been excessively simple. Wouldn't you say? I would have rather not denied you of the excursion."
Straight to the point woke up and turned his head toward the window. It was beginning to snow.
"Have you pondered what you will do straightaway?" Gordon inquired. "Now that you've arrived at the finish of your rundown, I mean."
Straight to the point watching the lights of traffic slide past on the highway past the left vehicles and the fifty-foot shining sign and the powering station and the pinnacle of filthy snow and the exposed oak trees. He pondered the commute home, his one-room condo with its couple of bits of pre-assembled Swedish compressed wood furniture, and his occupation overseeing coordinated operations for an office supply outlet. He contemplated Gordon building his realm of Arby's. At long last, Forthright turned around to the man sitting opposite him. "I don't have the foggiest idea yet. I surmise I'll have to sort that out."
Gordon murmured and grinned understandingly. "You'll possess energy for that later, I assume. What's significant is that we have these Mahalo Lords." Gordon got his sandwich and held it overtop victoriously, asking Plain to do likewise. "For the time being, how about we simply appreciate the experience."
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