Sometimes food makes you sick. That feeling, that awful awful feeling—you know the one when you wake up in the middle of the night partially consumed with a headache. At first. The moment you let the blood rush from your prostrate body to reach the tip of your head and the tip of your toes, the sickness morphs into nausea. I’m never able to figure out if it’s food poisoning or a food that just wants no business being in your stomach. And then sometimes you can blame the anesthesia from your epic dental work. (When you have a sweet tooth and a genetic history of fillings, tooth decay will creep up on you. And so will the needles.)
So what do you eat later in the day once you get all the toxins out of your system? I’m always told bananas. Apple sauce. Saltines. Rice. Something that will linger, turn to mush in your body. But I had the apple juice and the saltines for “breakfast.” They were the first foods my body saw when she woke up, not ready to have her head lifted from the pillow.
So instead I got a huge, 3 pound (what it seemed to my paralyzed arms at the time) five-dollar plate of Guyanese food. The special that day was “Curry Pork.” I just saw a steam table with a bunch of mush and figured if my body didn’t know the cuisine, she wouldn’t know otherwise, and she’d be fine. She’d be surprised, but she’d probably welcome the change. Cubes of curry pork, albeit surrounded by a thick layer of fat, yellow rice with black beans, curry roasted potatoes, and a choice of steamed cabbage or fried plaintains. Steamed cabbage, please. Is that the health option? With a side of hot sauce, you know, because “is it spicy?” translates to “I’ll give you extra hot sauce on the side to make it as spicy as you want.”
Why French Fries Remind Me Of Decision Making
There’s a specific kind of French fry I am drawn to. Though I’ve never been one to turn down one that’s soggy—if it’s still starchy and has a layer of fat, slightly salted, I’ll shove it down. And then feel guilty afterwards. Why don’t I save those bites for the perfect French fry? The one that’s crispy, salted without coating every millimeter of my overworked gums, that I can hear when I bite down. That’s the one I long for. That’s the one I need.
Have you ever had just a meal of French fries? When I’m feeling particularly inexpensive-minded, I’ll get to that point, and I make sure I have plenty of sauces to dip them in. It’s a false sense of a well-balanced meal, falsely providing varied ingredients, answering to those savory and sweet necessities. (If I’m lucky, there’ll be ketchup and mayo to choose from.)
On the occasion I’m out to dinner and the chance for an appetizer arrives, I’ll jump at the menu option. Especially if it’s five dollars and served with a “trio of dips.” In this case they happened to be curry ketchup, wasabi mayonnaise, and some-kind-of pesto. Atypical choices for fried potato strips, but varied enough to convince you you’re wading through three different cuisines.
With each bite of a French fry, you can make the decision to eat the whole thing, with one kind of sauce, or you can dip, bite, double dip (another sauce), bite again. And again. If you’re greedy you dip in all three, creating your own flavor profile. I just like the option of choices to dip in. But sometimes I wish I didn’t have that many choices—because I’ll never be able to tell you what my favorite is.
Trinity Restaurant
84 Broad Street
Keyport, NJ