John Travolta Was Right

Well, let me clarify: Vincent Vega, his character in the movie Pulp Fiction, was right. You see, in Pulp Fiction, Travolta plays a hitman who, in between jobs, likes to wax philosophic with his partner-in-crime, Jules (superbly played by Samuel L. Jackson). They fancy themselves as modern-day, enlightened hitmen; not your typically thuggish hatchet men of yesteryear. They are misunderstood, wannabe intellects who somewhat begrudgingly live by the way of the gun.

On the way to a hit, Travolta, having recently returned from a trip to Europe, begins imparting his wealth of worldly knowledge. During this memorable scene, he describes some of the little differences between the United States and Europe. For example, over there, he explains, you can buy a beer at the movies: "And, I don't mean just like a paper cup, I'm talking about a glass of beer."

He further explains to his attentive partner that, in Paris, a McDonald's Quarter Pounder with Cheese is called a "Royale with Cheese."

Jackson seems skeptical. "They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with Cheese?" he asks.

"No man," Travolta replies, "They got the metric system. They wouldn't know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is."

He then moves on to an all-important topic: condiments. "You know what they put on french fries in Holland instead of ketchup?"

"What?" Jackson asks.

"Mayonnaise."

Jackson recoils in obvious disgust, "Goddamn."

Delighted by his partner's response, Travolta continues, "I've seen 'em do it, man. They fucking drown 'em in that shit!"

Jackson can only shake his head in disbelief.

You shouldn't believe everything you see in the movies. But, in this case, John Travolta was right. I lived in Europe for six years. My father lives in Holland. I've had the distinct pleasure of drinking a beer in a theater, ordering a "Royale with Cheese," and, yes, drenching my fries in mayonnaise. In fact, when it comes to fries, mayonnaise remains my condiment of choice.

The next time you go out to eat, do yourself a favor: order some french fries and a side of mayo. As you dip your fries in that great stuff, you will be amazed by the reaction of your dining companions. The looks of utter horror. The Evil Eye of contempt. The gasps of disbelief. Like Jackson in Pulp Fiction, your friends might recoil in utter disgust. But you will experience a culinary delight--and perhaps the thrill of breaking a societal taboo. And, you just might like it.

Then, head on over to the gym and hit the Stair Master for . . . oh, I'd say . . . about two hours.

You can check out Travolta, and his impeccable words of wisdom, here.