My Favorite Guy, I mean French Fry

My Favorite Guy, I mean French Fry

I would like to talk about my obsession with French fries.  And not just French fries in general, but there are 5 french fries I am obsessed with.  There’s the curly fry, the Cajun spiced fry, the sweet potato fry, the waffle fry, and the worst one, the parmesan truffle garlic fry.  That one is the worst because I love that one the most.  But, there is waaaaayyyy too much going on with that fry.  Almost like the party is too big for itself.  There’s parmesan, the salty part I crave, there’s truffle oil, the European new age taste that I cant get enough of, there’s garlic, the good for you but no one else drug that I could consume raw, and then the fry, the oily, crispy perfectly fried fry.  I love it, did I say that already?  Well, I do.  But I know it’s the worst for me too.  Too much going on, leaving me always wanting more.  I end up eating too many, I feel sick, horrible and sluggish the next day, and mad at myself that I lost control…again.  And I swear I will never do it again, eat it again, never touch it again because of how it makes me feel…but I am weak when it comes to that guy, I mean fry.  

So, what happened to the simple French fry?  It did the job; it satisfied my salty, greasy desire without taking over my self-control.  It didn’t have to entertain me or dance around with all the fancy flavors and costumes.  But just one taste of the other fries take me away the moment I let myself dive in.  Like the sweet potato vibe.  I thought I was being healthy, making a better choice.  But it turned out to be as sneaky as the others.  It needed lime and something kosher to taste perfect.  It needed too much maintenance to keep it crispy.  And when it was perfectly seasoned, it was great, it is great.  But too out of control for me to be able to count on it at all times.  So I realize, once again, the high maintenance taste takes me away from what I overlook.  The reliable, stable, down to earth fuckin French fry.  And I don’t even want to talk about the curly ones.  They are so divinely greasy and wrapped around like Shirley Temples that they are just too fun to eat.  Little salsa dances in my mouth, I want to party all night with them!

Uh oh, here it comes…I thought I could control myself this time…call me lazy, call me crazy, call me whatever, but I’m getting hungry now and need a French fry, the parmesan kind…bye!

~Jenn