a southern rite of passage

Tonight, for the very first time, I made home fries. It was a beautiful, beautiful thing, made only more beautiful by the inordinate amount of ketchup that was then smothered all over them.

The ability to fry potatoes is a very dangerous skill to possess, mostly because it means that at any given time I could, instead of what I might be eating at that moment, be eating FRIED POTATOES. This may not end well.

Addendum: It also occurs to me how ridiculous it is that I will chop up potatoes and onions, throw 'em in vegetable oil and figure I'll "see what happens" when not one week ago I sent my mother an e-mail to ask her how to make a baked potato. In the microwave.

I know.