I am not a particularly discerning eater. Generally, I go for convenience and comfort over quality. For lunch, I'm perfectly content with a Slim Jim and a can of Pringles. I could probably live on bologna sandwiches, although I do like a little olive loaf now and then for variety. And, if I decide to treat myself to lunch, a hot dog from the gas station is just fine with me.

At my age, my doctor has suggested an alternative diet, and it's advice that I willingly accept intellectually, but have some difficulty actually putting into practice. It's not like there aren't healthy foods I like, or fine restaurants that provide an excellent meal; it's just that I'm equally satisfied with less expensive, more convenient food. If it's also just a little bit different, such as fried alligator nuggets, so much the better.

A friend recently introduced me to a new option for lunch, chicken and waffles. It's an unlikely sounding combination, like an Obama-Clinton ticket, but interesting enough that you have to at least try it. My friend called it soul food, although I think there was a greater impact on my waistline than my soul. Make no mistake, this meal is exactly what it sounds like — a fried chicken breast on a plate, next to a waffle drowned in maple syrup.

There are no garnishes (well, a couple little balls of butter), no appetizers and, certainly, no salad. Just a moist towelette to clean up with when you're finished.

The chicken and waffles restaurant was in Los Angeles, and I'm grateful for that. Otherwise, I'd probably eat there every day and my life expectancy would drop precipitously. Not that I'm out of danger on that particular count because I'm enormously susceptible to the power of suggestion when it comes to food that isn't good for me. I can even be driven to bad food by music.

I love Swanson's frozen "classic fried chicken dinner." It's what we used to call a TV dinner, and I blame ZZ Top for my addiction. Their song, "TV Dinners," off their "Eliminator" album, inspired me.

"TV dinners, I'm feelin' kinda rough, TV dinners, this one's kinda tough. I like the enchiladas and the teriyaki too, I even like the chicken if the sauce is not too blue."

Well, fine, I said it inspired me, not everyone. Jimmy Buffett had wider success with "Cheeseburger in Paradise." On a recent trip to Florida, I stopped into Buffett's original "Margaritaville" restaurant in Key West for the sole purpose of ordering a Cheeseburger in Paradise from the source (the margarita goes without saying).

On the menu, you have the option of ordering the burger "like in the song," meaning medium-rare, with an onion slice, mustard, lettuce, tomatoes, Heinz 57, french fried potatoes and a big kosher pickle.

Not wishing to totally disobey my doctor's orders, my wife and I split the burger and fries, but the pickle was all mine. The cheeseburger was all we hoped it would be, "a big warm bun and a huge hunk of meat heaven on Earth with an onion slice."

I know there's a day of reckoning ahead for me, but for now, I'm a confirmed junk food junkie and there's a whole world of things I haven't tried yet. I've already marked my calendar for the Ventura County Fair, because I've been hearing rumors of a deep-fried Twinkie. There must be a song in that experience.

— Contact Star columnist Bill Nash at bnash805@aol.com.