There's really no good way to take a picture of this stuff.
Well, maybe there is, but it would be all Hallmark la-la, and it would disguise the fact that this is nothing but a vat of lava lamp food.
Some background: A blog pal from Utah is coming to San Francisco this weekend, and we want to meet face-to-face. So we are. (Go visit her blog if you're interested in crashing the party; you'll be welcome to join us.)
I'm not sure if that was what was whirring away in my brain yesterday, but all of a sudden I wanted french fries. And, by golly, I had a strange, murky memory of a Utah-famous dipping sauce for fries.
I Googled it. "Fry Sauce," it's called. You'd never guess from the name that "fry sauce" is a dunk for taters; at first I assumed it was something to, hmm... boy, I don't know what I thought. I mean, they're called "fries," not "fry."
Well, linguistics probably has something to do with that missing S.
Anyway, fry sauce is nothing more than a mixture of ketchup and mayonnaise. Some people use Miracle Whip, surprise, surprise. But there is no pickle relish or any other silly stuff (and keep your Utah Green Jell-O jokes to yourself.) The correct proportions are two mayonnaise to one ketchup.
I wanna say "Ew" again here. Can't help myself. But really, aren't Belgian fries served with mayonnaise instead of ketchup? And in most parts of the USA, Freedom Fries come with ketchup instead of mayonnaise. Why not achieve a happy medium? OK, not so happy, not so medium.
You're dying to hear the verdict, aren't you? (Tap, tap, tap. Hello? This mike still on?)
It was... OK. It's not that I'm averse to trying new things. I'm more familiar with fries dunked in ketchup, sure, but I think fries in mayo is lux-o-rama — if the fries are good enough.
The fries I experimented on are the best you can buy within a few miles of the average American home on the spur of the moment: McDonald's. I like 'em. Sue me.
But I thought fry sauce smothered the hell out of them.
Eh. Maybe next time I'll try Baltimore-style fries and gravy.