The Steak Fry Incident (a.k.a. When the Food Gods Showed Mercy)

I’m usually so good. Really. I eat clean. I stay in my lane. I politely decline the free cookies, the pizza parties, the questionable casseroles. Because for me, the alternative isn’t just guilt—it’s full-body rebellion: brain fog, migraines, digestive anarchy. So I behave.

Most of the time.

Last night, I was heading to a meeting for a local nonprofit I volunteer for. It was being held at a meat-and-potatoes type of restaurant. You know the kind—menu font hasn’t changed since 1984, and the scent of gravy is baked into the upholstery. Occasionally, people order dinner during these meetings. I never do. I always eat ahead of time, like the well-prepared dietary monk I am.

But as I was walking out the door, I had… a vision.

A vision of hot, crispy, golden steak fries. Not just a vague craving—no. I saw them. Glorious, glistening, salty wedges of starchy joy.

I turned to my husband.

“Do you think they have steak fries?”

He didn’t even blink.

“Where’s the meeting again?”

I told him.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “They definitely have steak fries.”

I grabbed some cash. Just in case.

I walked into the meeting space—through those sad plastic accordion doors that try (and fail) to make it feel like a private room—and boom. There they were. Steak fries. Everywhere. At least three volunteers were mid-bite, their plates sporting proud piles of crispy golden potatoes like edible trophies.

Reader, I caved.

I know fries aren't a balanced dinner. I know restaurant ketchup is likely 90% corn syrup and red dye and heartbreak. But my resolve cracked like a stale rice cracker. And I did it. I ordered the fries. A whole plate.

And I ate every single one.

I expected punishment. A migraine. A stomach rebellion. A fog that would descend like a curtain over my brain.

But this morning? Just mild brain fog. That’s it. Barely a whisper of consequence.

Somehow—miraculously—the food gods spared me. Maybe it was the clean streak I’ve been on. Maybe it was cosmic compensation for enduring that accordion-door meeting room. Or maybe, just maybe, steak fries are the chosen ones.

No regrets.