Page 1 of Once Bitten, Twice Fried
Prologue
Brussels, around 10 years ago
“Do you know what sauce you’re getting on your fries? We’re almost at the front of the line!” The girl next to Julie looked panicked. " I don’t know what half of these even are! Can’t I just ask about them when we order?”
Julie shook her head, then chuckled as the girl’s horror grew. British people really were terrified at the prospect of an awkward social interaction.
“Those are the rules in Belgium, you can’t make people wait at thefritkot. That’s just rude.” She knew she was exaggerating: the people behind and in front of them were all part of the same group of university kids they hit the bars with. Julie had only met this girl - Zoe - a few days before during class, but as per Brussels customs, she was already invited to hang out with her entire group of friends, as well as the friends of their friends.
“Have you ever had Belgian fries before?” Julie asked, slurring her speech a little bit. She’d drunk way too much and way too fast at that last bar. And the one before. And the other one before that as well.
Zoe was studying the sauce menu like it was her notes for a final. “We have chips back home, of course. And one time I had some that were actually labelled Belgian fries, at a pub inPlymouth.” She glanced at Julie and added: “But you’re going to tell me that that’s not real Belgian fries.”
Why was Zoe’s accent so adorable? Julie tried to focus her very tipsy eyes on Zoe’s entire face, and not just her very full lips. The girl was straight anyway. But the little sarcastic smile she put on as she said “real Belgian fries”made Julie want to tease her a bit more.
“I think they’re notreal friesat all. More like sad potato wedges cooked in oil.”
“That’s the literal definition of fries.”
“So, what’s your sauce order?”
Zoe jumped. “You made me waste time! The queue is advancing and I still don’t know!”
“Just go with your gut. You’re overthinking it, like an Anglo would.”
The last pair of students in front of them moved aside and a stern and greasy-looking man appeared at the window of the small shop. He nodded in their direction.
“Alors je vais prendre une petite frite mayonnaise et elle va prendre-”Julie nodded towards Zoe. “What’s your order?”
“The same one.”
“The same one? Really? Where’s your adventurous spirit?”
“Fine! Then give me a big one with uh-” Zoe’s eyes quickly scanned the sauce list on the board next to the man. “Brazil?”
“Brazil it is!” Julie had no idea how much Zoe’s tastebuds were going to enjoy the mix of sweet pineapple sauce and the greasy fries, but she gave the order to the man.
After a little while, he handed them two cones of fries. One small, which was already quite large, and one large, which was enormous.
“That’sthe size of a large?” Zoe looked horrified. “And the sauce is on top. I have a handful of fries with all of the sauce and the rest of them without any.”
“Eat your fries.” Julie smiled. It never got old to hear non-Belgians be horrified - or delighted - by the fries eating ways of Belgians.
Zoe fished out a fry that had no sauce on it and dipped it on the top of her pile of sauce. She took a cautious bite. “That’s… That’s actually delicious.” She ate a few more fries before exclaiming again: “How is this so good? It’s different from what I had in the pub in Plymouth.”
“Belgian fries are the best, I told you.” Julie started walking away with her own fries.
“No, really,” Zoe grabbed her arm to stop her. “I’ve got to know how this is so different. I love cooking secrets like that.”
“It’s how they’re fried.” Julie tried not to sound too proud. “You fry the raw potatoes for a bit at low temperature and let them cool, then you fry them again before cooling them and frying them at high temperature. And it’s gotta be in pure unadulterated beef fat.”
“That’s incredible.”
“You’re really into that kind of thing? Are you a chef or something?”
Zoe blushed. “No. But I’d like to be.”
“Hey you two!” Yasmine, Julie’s best friend and Zoe’s new flatmate, waved at them. “We’re gonna go sit in the park.”
