There are some things in life that are just non-negotiable. No matter where you are, who you’re with, or what’s going on, there are certain favorites that people just can’t shake. For him, it was simple. You could always tell what his favorite was, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. It was the small, seemingly insignificant things that gave it away—whether it was a certain food, a kind of music, or even a ritual. But, deep down, we all knew: well, you know it’s his favorite.
It wasn’t just the fact that he would always order the same dish at the local diner. It wasn’t just because he’d look forward to it for days, even before the weekend came. No, it was because of the way he ordered it: like a routine, something sacred, something that had to be perfect every time. And that dish was a bacon cheeseburger. Nothing else would do. It wasn’t that he disliked other options, but that one—the one with the crispy bacon, melted cheddar, and all the fixings—was his personal declaration of comfort and joy.
Every Friday, without fail, he’d stroll into the diner with a kind of giddy anticipation. The waitress knew exactly what to bring to him, and the moment he’d sit down, he’d give that familiar smile, the kind that only showed up when he was about to enjoy something he truly loved. He’d order without looking at the menu—“The usual, please”—as if that bacon cheeseburger was the only thing in the world worth having. And for him, at that moment, it was.
The way he’d take his first bite was always the same. He’d hold it up to his mouth for just a second, almost as if to appreciate the perfectly stacked layers of food, then take a careful bite. The look on his face after that first taste? Priceless. It was the kind of expression you can only see when someone’s truly indulging in their favorite thing—like a quiet moment of satisfaction that no one else quite understood. You just knew it was his favorite, not because he’d shout it from the rooftops, but because of the pure, unfiltered joy it brought him.
The same could be said about his other favorites. Take his love for old-school rock music, for instance. You could be sure that any playlist he created would have a mix of classic bands from the ’70s and ’80s, but it was his love for The Rolling Stones, in particular, that stood out. Anytime he’d pop on a record, you’d hear him hum along to “Paint It Black” or “Start Me Up,” and it was impossible not to see how much that music meant to him. It wasn’t just background noise; it was his soul’s soundtrack.
Even his routine—whether it was his Sunday morning coffee or the way he organized his weekend hikes—was always the same. You knew when it was his favorite because he would find joy in the smallest details. His hiking boots were worn in just the right places, his backpack organized to perfection, and the moment he reached the summit of a trail, he would stop, take in the view, and nod in silent approval. It wasn’t just about reaching the top; it was the process of getting there, and it was clear he was in his element.
“Hey, what’s your favorite thing to do?” you might ask. And without hesitation, he’d smile, take a moment, and say, “Well, you know it’s my favorite.” His words weren’t a boast; they were simply a statement of fact. It was in everything he did—whether it was food, music, or hobbies—his favorites weren’t just preferences. They were a part of who he was.
And that’s what made it so clear: when it came down to it, you always knew what his favorite was.
