Can I just say that today can bite me?
It kinda tried to eat my soul. I fought it off with a brownie, and then pasta-roni, and then ice cream, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer DVDs. I think I won.
When I interviewed for the job I have now, they made a point of asking how I deal with stress, because as I was assured, it is a stressful job. I've been there for three months now, and I can confidently say, boy, they weren't kidding. I think at the time, I said something about that I think I handle it well, having been the kind of person who's always busy and therefore good at time management and blah blah blah...
What I should have said is french fries. French fries are how I deal with stress.
I believe that french fries are one of this world's perfect foods, when made right. Not too overdone, all brown and crunchy. But not limp, either, all soggy and kinda mushy inside. They have to be hot and crisp, with just the right blend of salt and pepper, though I would never turn away a good seasoned fry.
I'll take a fry in just about any form. Wedges, shoestring, curly. I must admit that I seriously considered devoting an entire post solely to the waffle fry. It's the only thing at Chik-Fil-A that keeps me coming back. Their chicken is just chicken, and their lemonade could be just a tad sweeter for my taste, but oh, those waffle fries. They work their magic on me every time. I think it's something about there being all that extra surface area to hang on to enough salt and pepper. Something like that.
Plus, they go with so much, and can be eaten almost anywhere. I'm a fan of the in-car french fries. There have been patricularly wretched days when I have left the office, swung in the McDonald's drive through, and wolfed them all down by the time I get home. And by the time I'm down to just the ones that fell out and are lurking in the bottom of the bag, things seem better. French fries can help almost any bad day.
But whatever the shape or environment or choice of condiment, french fries, I want to have your babies.