Meccanized

In college, I was privileged to be a part of a small group of innovative, enthusiastic students who purchased a deep fat fryer on eBay and went to town on any food we could find in the dorm. Twinkies, Oreos, cheddar Goldfish (surprisingly, delicious) — you name it, we probably fried it up and chowed it down.

I wouldn’t say I’m a pinnacle of healthy eating now — anyone who has ever been lucky enough to have a weekend breakfast in my apartment (wink, wink) knows my favorite Saturday morning meal is a ham/cheese/tomato omelette, cooked to excess, rolled in a tortilla and smothered with apple sauce — but I care a little more about maintaining a healthy lifestyle than I used to. That said, I love fat as much as the next person.  Probably more.

Which is why when I saw this, I was caught somewhere between revulsion and glee.

I can’t decide what makes me happier: the possibility of grape-flavored fried butter or this quote:

“An order of fried butter will get you three or four pieces of piping-hot dough in a little cardboard boat.  ‘Any more than that and I think it would be a little bit too much,’ Gonzales said. ‘A little bit too rich.’”

Oh, Gonzales, your sincerity and seeming lack of irony makes my tiny heart go ‘a pitter patter.  [Insert obvious joke about arteries here.]