I don’t love running like I love fried chicken, but I really can’t have one without the other. This summer, my daughter and I have been training for Jack’s Run, a race named for a little friend we know and love.
But running is hard. And when it’s hot and humid and lazy and beach weather, running is very very hard. So I need a prize, and my prize is fries.
Seriously, I could sit and eat Culver’s squishy salty fries dipped in vanilla custard every night of the week … but I don’t. Now that I’m logging some heavy road-time in my sneakers, I feel more able to succumb to my fried potato needs.
And yet, if I’m going to indulge, I want it to be worth the miles. Clearly, I’m a big fan of Chino Latino’s Popocatepe which are like nacho-fries: loaded with guac, sour cream, black beans, pico, chile de arbol, yada yada. But I truly crave my own version of Buffalo-fries: tossed in wing sauce and drizzled with bleu cheese dressing and bleu cheese chunks. Not that good can’t be simple. Give me a hot, crispy cup of frites and a bottle of malt vinegar and I’m set.
Sunday will be my first visit to Harry’s Food and Cocktails , so I’ll be on the lookout for the much-anticipated poutine. I hope it’s worth my Saturday morning.
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