Mirela Alexe

Elegy to the French Fries

by Mirela Alexe

“I have known someone who said they couldn’t leave the house for one year because they thought they were an order of French fries, destined to be eaten if they left.” – A Collection of Poems with a Critical Introduction by Clay Matthews

Approaching the greatness of French fries, one cannot stop thinking that the end is inevitable, and, still, their short life may be so glorious.

First, there is the looks, the golden crisp aura of brightness shining all over, maybe in slightly different nuances, enough to distinguish each and every one of them.

Then, there is the shape, the negligent knife-cut, apparently following a pattern, but each and every one unique in his own way. We do not mention the poor frozen brothers who did not have the chance of a glorious life. Chances are not equal; the French fries do not share the same destiny. There are the privileged and the frozen.

The frozen may give you the impression of good taste, but no, it is just the sodium glutamate speaking for them, a fake addition like silicon implants that we should not judge, but accept, if this might raise the self-confidence or help at work.

Here we are, the taste… Something almost indescribable. Something we should not touch upon with words that are not enough to convey the savory and the after feeling, of compulsory and unstoppable desire to have some more, to have them everyday.

And then, the death, the fierce death, battling hundreds of thousand of hungry mouths coming upon the fries with all the possible weapons the world may imagine.

They die, but they will always be remembered and longed for. And so, new ones are always born to continue the great life of their ancestors.



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