9/26/98
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There was just something she -liked- about cold, leftover fries. Not if they were cold as if they'd been in the 'fridge all night, just... Room-temperature cold, which was decidedly cooler than when they'd first come out of the oil. She liked the flavor of them, then, too, but she didn't mind nibbling on them later.

There really wasn't any reason to like them, they weren't something that her mother or father had pressed on her as a 'delicacy', as they'd tried to do with other leftovers. The thought of leftovers makes her nose wrinkle and her face screw up, tongue peeking briefly from between her lips.

There were very, -very- few foods that she would eat after they'd cooled and sat for a while... Chili and rice, for one, reheated and having more cheese than was good for -anyone- added to it... Certain types of stews, thick with barley and with savory bits of meat; chicken and turkey were always favorites; french-fries. She supposed it was due to her parents delightful habit of -not- making her eat anything she didn't want to. Oh, she supposed that cold meat-sauce from the spaghetti-pot would have to go on her list, somewhere, since she couldn't think of her parents and leftovers in the same sentence without recalling the time they'd expounded on the joys of eating cold spaghetti sandwiches.