Ode To Cheese Fries [new] Review

O golden nest of crisp and slender suns, cut from the earth’s own russet, buried light, then baptized in the furious, hissing plunge of oil that grants you armor, day-bright.

No fork nor knife approaches your domain. Only fingers, reckless, burn the eager skin. To lift a single, dripping, tangled chain is to commit a delicious, greasy sin. ode to cheese fries

Go, little ode, and find the greasy spoon, the dive bar’s corner, and the dorm at noon. Whisper to every hungry soul this truth: You are not lost. You are just cheese-fry-proof. O golden nest of crisp and slender suns,

You are not mere potato, nor mere curd, but a truce declared between two hungry lands. The fry, a soldier; cheese, a gentle herd— combined by grace of unforgiving hands. To lift a single, dripping, tangled chain is

How do I love your first resist, the snap, the steam that rises like a grateful ghost, then all at once the molten, salty map of cheddar, provolone—the ultimate host?

Late night, you arrive in a paper boat, a Styrofoam sea, a foil-wrapped ark. The bar is loud. The lost are still afloat. You are the lantern glowing in the dark.

When bacon bits like little brown comets fall, when jalapeños add their green remark, when ranch and sriracha heed the call— you are no side dish. You become the park where happiness runs wild and off the leash.