This is a love letter
I have never been more in love with a french fry.
I grew up in Germany. Both of my parents were in the military. We moved to Georgia when I was 10. There are things you miss when you leave the country you grew up in. The smell of the countryside, the scenery, the access to winter sports, the culture, and the food.
When asked what transplants miss the most, I often hear them answer “the bread.” It’s easily the top answer. I even miss the bread. My mom, who is going to read this piece, misses the bread. I’ve heard it so much that I started to believe it was true for me too.
Until I had these fries.
My first time in the Summerhill community I didn’t really know where I was. I was looking at the old Braves stadium, but this area was a void in my mental map. Everything around me was newly renovated. It felt like there was a huge gap between the residential community and the shops popping up on Georgia Avenue.
It was disorienting.
As we headed into Halfway Crooks, my girlfriend kept reassuring me that it was a brewery. “We’re here to meet friends. This is a brewery” her words reiterated. It did not look like a brewery. It did not sound like a brewery.
It is a brewery.
It’s a restaurant. It’s an oasis. It’s a unique safe haven from the mundane. From the branding to the interior space every detail offers a well thought answer. Their food is great. Their beer is great. Their fries have me addicted.
No bad memories. Mayonnaise available upon request.