My dear, dear French fries,

We need to talk.

The years have gone by so fast for us. From my first McDonald’s fry 24 years ago to the wide crinkle cut deliciousness at Glenwood in Connecticut and Town Spa in Stoughton.

It’s always been good. That was never the problem.

Something changed between us. It became all about you. I was changing, and you were staying the same.

We’re going in different places. It’s obvious, and I think we both know that.

Oh, I guess it started in high school when I would order two Wendy’s Biggie Fries with my Crispy Chicken Nuggets. It’s my fault I suppose. I was stuck at a desk sitting on my ass and you were always just there. So convenient. And … God … so good.

But it wasn’t good. When we were together — in the moment — I didn’t really care, but afterward I felt dirty. Unfulfilled.

So that’s where we’re at. We need some time apart, and that’s all there is to it.

I never stopped caring. I just wish there was another way.

Love,
John

There you have it, folks. French fries got dumped. I am pledging to go one year without eating a single French fry.

It’s going to be a year-long feature for Blast, and I’ll be posting 50 side-dish and food ideas and recipes that aren’t fries or as unhealthy as fries.

Stay tuned