This won’t be just a meal, but a gastronomic odyssey cross the backbone of this great republic.

From the East Coast to Chicago then onward. Perhaps a deep-dish tartlet, thick and oozing with a tomato sauce … St. Louis ribs—charred, sticky, and defiant. We move west, the flavors shifting like the gears of a '55 Fairlane. A Tex-Mex moment or a New Mexican blue corn enchilada? By the time we reach the California coast, you won’t just be full, you’ll be reclaimed - was a boy or girl again, staring at a Rand McNally atlas, dreaming of the white lines and the neon hum of the Blue Swallow Motel along Route 66.

Not just a dinner. It’s the American Dream, served with a side of extra napkins.