Thursday, August 26, 2010
"You've never had Thrashers?"...uttered a disbelieving Meg..."No hon, never..."
"Oh my god, when we go to Rehobeth Beach in August...you are getting Thrashers"...
I climbed the mountain, I have conquered the journey of the fry...and for that I am a better human being and a better man. In short, I will now be a better future father because I tamed the beast that is Thrashers.
Thrashers is a "Board-Walk Fry"...not only is it a Board-Walk Fry...it's a level of potato genius I have never seen recreated...in short, this is a fry place that has been dishing it out since 1929. It is ubiquitous amongst beach going folks to the shores of Maryland and Delaware. Walk down the family saturated boardwalk, and you'll smell Thrashers. Oogle your ways towards the herd-like masses of fatties...yep..Thrashers. Literally the containers come in size sensible to the ostentatious size of "Type II Diabetes and Coronary Artery Disease". (I of course ordered "size sensible")
The fries are cooked to order...no limp old man shrivels here. Once cooked, and hoisted into the container du jour...you eye the golden rods of holiness and start to hyperventilate. The outside of the fry is glistening with fry-o-later peanut oil...extremely hot to the touch, the outside is crispy. On the inside however is a poetic genius resembling the cotton pillows of a well made gnocchi. Add the two opposing textures...heavenly golden latticework to the Almighty.
No ketchup needed...merely malt vinegar and salt...and please forget the fancy kosher/sea salt...literally the big industrial iodized salt container has nail holes punched in it...that's what you use. And if you are industrious like me, and you crave a cold beer...duck on in to a local place (choose a bar that looks kinda seedy because the self loathing feels better when you can greedily eye your fries as you cram them into your maw by the fistful).
Oh Thrasher fries...how I love thee...how I love thee indeed.