Zoë and I went to the office yesterday so I could get some paperwork filed. They were going on their annual pilgrimage to the Bud the Spud french fry truck downtown, and invited us to tag along. A brisk walk took us to the truck, parked near the library, where we received perfectly browned, fresh-cut fries served in a brown bag speckled with grease. Perfection! I can't say that Canadian cuisine is anything to write home about, but they do good fries. (Of course, they eat them with gravy sometimes, and also something called "extra curds," which I suspect to be some sort of cow-based substance.) They also apparently eat fries with a fork, which may explain why the guy over at Jungle Jim's thought it was so weird that Denise and I needed napkins. Apparently we're barbarians, eating french fries with our fingers!
Zoë lamented several times that she wanted curly fries, and then proceeded to eat most of my fries. Then she wanted more. The child is learning.
On the way home, the coworkers stopped for beers (and then ice cream), while the young'un and I meandered back to the office. We stopped at the farmer's market near campus, and Zoë had a homemade strawberry fruit pop. We got the lowdown from S. about the best place to buy produce (Dave's on the corner of Main Street and Brigadoon).
Speaking of produce, we tried the local corn the other day. Awful. Tasted like watered down corn-flavored water, with extra water added. It looked weird too. We shall miss our marvelous New York corn in the summer.