FRIES AND GASOLINE

By Vanessa Cass

Much of my life has been a combination of blocking certain memories out while holding on tightly to others.

However, sometimes we get triggered in the strangest of ways: A taste or a smell can transport us back to a time we forgot ever happened, and waves, flickers and flashbacks take over our mind.

I can’t say I was feeling particularly nostalgic, in fact it was just an ordinary day. The type of day when nothing great happens, but with absolutely nothing lousy happening either. It was just an alright day where I felt happy enough to make french fries from scratch, for a bastardized version of “steak frites,” the ultimate French bistro fare.

One of my favorite things is when everything works with me and not against me, in life, and particularly in this case, the kitchen. No one was asking for anything, the phone wasn’t ringing, nothing was missing, everything in its place, and then there was that certain stillness that late afternoon brings.

I scrubbed and peeled the potatoes. These were the smallish, round, waxy ones that when cut look like half moons, and when fried puff up and get super crunchy. Sprinkled with salt, they are just delicious.

Dusk has always been my favorite time of day, and it was just falling. Across the street someone was working on an old car. He kept starting it up and revving the gas, I guess to keep it from stalling. Hell, if I didn’t know better, I’d say it was a 1972 Plymouth Fury like the one my dad had. Bronze colored. The inside smelled like vinyl, faintly, but vinyl all the same, because it was indeed 100% authentic vinyl. It was a big roomy car that you’d slide around in on every turn. Who wore seat-belts back then? And the doors weighed a ton. I remember almost falling out of it on the highway once because I hadn’t closed the door properly.

No one ever noticed, but that’s a story for another time.

After soaking the fries in salted, lemon water, and waiting for the oil to be just right, I started the frying, a few pieces at a time, careful not to overcrowd the pan. My mind drifted back to the times when we’d take road trips. I must have been five or seven years old. From Maryland to New York and back again. These trips seemed to last forever, and dusk was always the indicator that we were almost home. But before that, there would always be a stop at a gas station. Not sure if we needed gas, but my dad would motion to my mom to get us out of the car and take us to the Arby’s or McDonald’s for some burgers and fries, or whatever. There was a warmth in the air, and it felt so good to get out and walk around. I remember the sky, pink and gray, and the exhaust from all the cars and the smell of gas filling the air. Everything was moving, but for me, time was standing still. And soon there was the smell of food from the diner or restaurant; that undeniably delicious aroma, a collision of fries and gasoline, two scents dancing together. It came to me even stronger in my kitchen; the smell of the very fries I was cooking and the gas through the window was intoxicating, every bit in that moment as back at the gas station. I found myself caught in a rhapsody between decades.

That man’s car was a time machine, and again, time stood still.

I do believe every single human being on the planet loves the smell of fries, and somehow the intermingling of the two, fries and gasoline, comes on like a match made in Heaven. Makes no sense really. How could it possibly be anything but disgusting? Well, it’s far from gross, it’s downright fantastic. It’s one of those things you have to experience  for yourself, but I promise, it’s one of the very best combinations ever. I loved it then and who knew I’d still love it today. A crazy, unexpected pairing for sure, but just fills me up with so much comfort.

Who can say how or why the Universe converged things so that the man across the street would be working on his car and blowing the smell of gas my way — probably even the same low grade gas we had in the 70’s — right at the time I was making fries, at dusk, but I have to say, it was one of the most wonderful, beautiful  and serendipitous moments I’ve ever experienced.

I don’t know exactly what that moment brought to me, but a sense of peace and a smile came over me, that came from deep within.

I may not have had a great childhood, but I had some good moments. I’ve come to see that it’s something most can say, and it’s something I can accept. I’ll welcome wholeheartedly any wonderful epiphanies and flashbacks the Universe will orchestrate for me. I do believe there’s a message in everything.

And by the way, those were probably the best fries I ever had. Gasoline and all…