I'm dedicating this blog post to my favorite Canadian. I never name names but you know who you are.
Thanks to my Canadian friend, I spent this afternoon thinking about the gravy and french fries of my youth. Canadians have a name for this dish, Poutine. I can live without the cheese curd our Canadian friends add to the dish but gimme steaming hot brown gravy on french fries and I'll stand on my head for you.
I can picture the diner where we hung out when I was a teenager, growing up in Haines, Alaska. We were not rich people but I usually made enough money at babysitting jobs and the theater to sit at a table and enjoy fries with gravy once or twice a week with my friends after school. There's something about the gravy soaking into the fries that makes them better than just about anything in the world.
Along with a plate of fries & gravy, I loved a big icy cold Coca Cola. You need that when you're consuming a week's worth of salt on one plate. Salt and sugar, I love you.
As much as I love fries & gravy, I love my Americanized Canadian friend. Whenever she takes a trip to her hometown, she always brings back Canadian chocolates and toffee for me. I forget she is Canadian until she emails me and tells me the only thing she wants to eat after a root canal is a bowl of gravy. I get her.
So, sitting at my desk today, I was remembering all the way back to high school as if it were yesterday. I don't know how it is possible that memories lay dormant for so long but most of mine are welcomed when they show up.
Thank you, my lovely Canadian/American friend, for jogging my noggin' regarding a precious time in my life that seems not so long ago. Have some french fries, eh?