misAdventures of Workmonkey 3.0

Thanks to Dragonhair for passing along this frozen bag of memories. During my first summer in Ad School, I took a job working for a food booth making garlic fries, mostly because it was on weekends, which fit with my class schedule, but also because it was brainless. I traveled to street fairs, county festivals, and (unfortunately) gay day parades from Sacramento to Marin, selling my pipin' hot fare to the weary, hungry travelers lucky enough to pass by. My duties were exceedingly simple: Dump a frozen bag of thick-cut Idaho potato fries into a fryer, and stand there until done (through trial and error, I discovered that fries tended to hold the garlic better when a bit crisper, so I'd keep them in the fryer for an extra minute). Take out the fries, drain, and dump into a large metal mixing bowl. Next, pour in two tablespoons of olive oil and toss, ensuring an even coating. Then, add two scoops of fresh, minced Gilroy garlic and toss again. As a final measure, add parsley and salt, toss a final time, and serve. The food booth I worked for charged $5 for a large serving, which was worth it, as I took my craft seriously. At times, I worked other stations, including making philly cheesesteaks and marinated chicken sandwiches, but garlic fries were my true passion. Several times, management chided me for using too much garlic, not because customers were complaining, but because garlic is expensive. But I never listened: You don't tell Grandmaster French Fry how to prepare potatoes. By the end of each day, I left with a clump of twenties in my pocket, grease covering every visible area of my body, and a full belly (like any good chef, I sampled every batch). I didn't do it for the money, but rather, to share my love of fries with the world. Seeing a little girl, her middle teeth missing, happily chomping on a hot garlic fry that I had just made, was the only payment I needed.