• cometstarmoon

When I was in my late teens, my family moved to a medium-sized—and pretty middling, actually—town in eastern Wisconsin, where over two consecutive summers I held jobs at two supper club-style restaurants. Though it’s true that at the first restaurant my title was “fry cook” and at the second my title was “fry chef,” the jobs were not altogether dissimilar. I came to think of the deep fryer as something in which you could cook anything—even home fries, the potato dish generally skillet-cooked, were just dumped into the fryer here, like french fries but cubed. It was also a sort of Hail Mary machine: I saw cooks toss steaks into it when they wanted them to cook faster. My parents, neither of whom were Wisconsin natives, identified what they thought was the salient characteristic of the Wisconsin supper club: you spend a while drinking at the bar, they discovered, before you sit down to eat.