Absurdly Driven looks at the world of business with a skeptical eye and a firmly rooted tongue in cheek.
One day, you're going to walk into McDonald's and say: "I'll have a McCoq Au Vin, if you please."
You'll wander into a Wendy's and whisper: "Rump Burger de Davide with a touch of Bearnaise, thank you."
When you toddle along to Burger King, you'll proudly declare: "One of your finest Caviar Whoppers, if you don't mind."
I know this because the trend toward highfalutin fast food has already begun.
As my evidence, I point you to Arby's latest, most brazenly classy sandwich.
Welcome, and please sit at the top of the table, the Arby's Venison Sandwich.
Here is a fine, thick piece of deer meat, enjoying a subtle juniper berry sauce and some deeply fried onions.
How could you resist? How could you not talk like a character from Downton Abbey while ordering it?
Arby's admits that this delicacy is "probably the biggest stretch for us yet."
It's not a stretch, dear Arby's. It's a step up the ladder toward godly sophistication.
We are surely but months away from Arby's releasing a Rattlesnake Au Poivre sandwich.
Or a Quail Canapé with a Real Ale Drizzle.
My lips are already all a-quiver.
Arby's is rolling out its deer delight slowly. It's only available in 17 restaurants in in Wisconsin, Minnesota, Michigan, Pennsylvania, Tennessee and Georgia.
Its release coincides with hunting season and Venison Vidi Vici will only be in effect between October 31 and November 28.
Who needs the French Laundry, Alinea and all the fine dining establishments of America when you can pop down to Arby's for a fine piece of venison?
American fast food has made a breakthrough.
Will Subway suddenly offer an Octopus Brioche?
Will Arby's rename itself D'Arby's just to sound posher?