When I climb out of bed, before I do anything else, I switch on the television and tune in to Nickelodeon. Between eight and ten in the morning, the channel starts broadcasting my favorite cartoon: “SpongeBob SquarePants.”
As I hear the sounds gurgling up from the depths of Bikini Bottom, a television undersea world, my lips break into a smile. As I sip my coffee, I begin to feel a bit peckish. Of course, it doesn’t take much to fix a bowl of cereal and a slice of toast, but it’s a “krabby patty” I crave, the hamburger served at The Krusty Krab.
Plumb patties enclosed between perfect hemispheres of two sesame buns, garnished with a brilliant green lettuce, a slice of cheese, a ring of onion, bright-yellow mustard, and red ketchup.
I’ve come to believe that these nautical morsels are mouth-wateringly good. What makes them so heavenly? It’s not the ingredients. Come to think of it, would a carbon-copy burger, made by a fast-fast giant taste as good? I think, not.
Never mind that Mr. Eugene Krabs is a skinflint, who plays cheap. The gustatory power of the krabby patties is in the story of SpongeBob and his adventures with his starfish buddy, Patrick, in their watery firmament.
An adorable little fry cook, in a pair of brown rectangular pants, he looks forward to going to work at The Krusty Krab, every single day of the week. Never the one to be absent or to grumble, he single-handedly prepares each sandwich to perfection. As coils of aromatic smoke waft up from his grille, he scoots over to hand individual orders to the ever-testy Squidward, the restaurant’s cashier, its only other employee.
There. The pick-me-up is ready for pick up.