Deep-Fried Love

Greasy goodness.

I gave up on McDonald’s years ago. After hundreds of greasy burgers, botched orders, and fakey McNuggets, I was getting burnt out. By the time they ditched the best McFlurry flavors (Reese’s and Butterfinger), I was done. No more.

I would have held true to that, save for thing: I am crazy about their hash browns.

Unfortunately, those perfect golden brown ovals are only available for consumption in the wee hours of the morning, and it’s been years since I’ve bought one. In fact, the last time that I even attempted buying them, I was thwarted. After walking several DC blocks early in the morning, that particular McDonald’s had completely run out, leaving me instead with a sausage biscuit that sat like a lead weight in my stomach. It’s probably healthier for me that the Fates have been keeping my beloved hash browns out of my path, but I can’t help craving them every now and then.

Finally, it happened. At a Super Bowl party this year, I was lamenting to my fiancé about my desire for this ever-elusive fast food breakfast treat, and he came through for me.

The very next morning, I was getting ready for work when he showed up on my doorstep. He was carrying a paper sack full of Ronald’s best: Beautiful, greasy hash browns.

Oh, to be in love and full of fried potatoes.

Article © 2008 by Molly E. Weeks