This Is My Confession

There’s this stupid little game I like to play with Chris that goes something like this:

“If you had to choose between a life with no X [edible substance] or no french fries, which would you choose?”

Now I’ve been posing this mature philosophical question since year one or our relationship so you can bet the X items have varied immensely. Hell, I’d say I’ve covered the bases thoroughly, getting far too creative for my own good.

Here’s the thing, while the average human being, such as my sweet sweet Chris, has to think about the options, make the pro/con list, weight the gravitas of the quandary, let’s face it french fries or  hot fudge sundae is a doozy, I never give a second’s hesitation. 

My answer will always be a life with no X.

My name is Sarah and I am a french fry-aholic.

I like sweet potato fries. I like white potato fries. I can do fast food fries. I am all about gourmet chef fries. Fries with a milkshake, the holy grail. Hot fries, cold fries, leftover fries, day old fries. I will eat fries in a chair. I will eat fries on the stairs. In a boat. On a plane. In a restaurant. At a chain. French fries, french fries, you drive me insane.

Gimme ketchup. Gimme mustard. Spoon of mayo, dab of relish, squirt of hot sauce. Salsa. Don’t foget the salt and pepper. French fries, french fries, french fries.

On this last Satruday evening, Chris and I walked and walked and walked until our tummies could take no more. We found ourselves under the awning of the East Village’s own Bare Burger, this location a whopping two stories in size. Now we are no strangers to this burger joint that got its start in our old Astoria neighborhood. In fact, I would venture to classify us as seasoned veterans of the Bare Burger empire. No hesitation, we were in. And fifteen minutes later we were noshing of a big booty basket of fry babies like no body’s business. As Chris’s hot dog and my egg sandwich were placed down on the table I began to pose my question:

“The answer is always french fries,” he exclaimed. I grabbed a fry and popped it in my mouth.

Damn straight.

5 thoughts on “This Is My Confession

  1. Love this one!

    And in response to Robsy- I actually read an article in Women’s Health Magazine a week or so ago that it’s TRUE! We DO tend to crave the food that our mother’s craved during their pregnancy…I’m going to aim to crave carrots and brussel sprouts for my little ones…

    • yes me too. alas the apple never falls far from the tree. and french fries + ice cream are already normal drool-worthy daydreams for this gal. sorry future babes.

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