WHAT CRAIG ST. JEAN IS EATING

UPEI's most self-serious scribe got greazy, got dirty, and got himself 3 plates of rinkfries

by Craig St. Jean


Brace yourselves for the main event! I'm back, much to the chagrin of recent letter-writers who were either enlisted by rival reporter Page Mahttee, or chose to cower in pseudonymity. Eat me. For those of you who haven't been driven to Anti-Semanticism ('sup Ashley? You're not reading this, right?) by frustration at your comparative ineptitude, let me extend a hearty welcome, but also a due disclaimer: This column routinely contains fucking profanity, sexual innuendo, an inflated sense of self-worth, a blatant disregard for the concerns of others, an (apparently far too trusting) assumption that readers will get it, and egregious amounts of GREEAZE. Occasionally it contains useful information. This time around it mostly just contains a shit-ton of gravy.

After a bevy of fan mail (most of which is never published, since the majority comes from girls trying to find a way to taste my large fry) requesting that I do this, I have finally done it. I went on a RINKFRIES ADVENTURE, and I'm here to report on my experience with this most essential piece of edible Canadiana. The premise: To trek between several rinks in one day, pound rinkfries into my gut at each pitstop, digest, shit, reflect, report. The people: I traveled with a group of about 5 hangers-on. They're not really an entourage so much as they are sycophants who are mesmerized by my stardom. Whatever, they buy my food for me. I've started insisting that they address me as The Messiah. I have names for them too: The Hulk, Sick Chris, Renee, Janis, and Holly. The places: We hit up the CARI Complex, Simmons, and the APM Centre, in that order.

Apparently we picked the most frigid day of the year (January 18th) to do this, because we were shaking like junkies without smack just walking from the car to the sports centre. We were dismayed to see the size of the crowd (out for some intense ringette action, I guess) and I started to feel a little on-edge because I only had about 4 xanax left by that point, but we quickly filed into queue anyway. I just tried to remind myself that the overly long line up was our rainbow and the fries that lay beyond were going to be our pot of gold. Shaking off the cold with fries swimming in steaming gravy is what the experience is all about, and as tasty as UPEI's iteration of this classic dish was, Simmons truly got this point and outdid them by a long shot. This brings me to my most important observation: It's NOT about the fries themselves. It's about why you're getting them and where you're getting them. At Simmons, we devoured our fries right next to the ice, while incubating underneath chickenlights-- seemingly the only form of heat in the venue. We lol'd @ toddlers who could barely skate while slurping down gravy and ketchup. Somehow this infused our orders with a magic that would never be expected from what I can only assume originated as a bag of McCain's frozen fries.

The day's final stop at the APM Centre proved eventful as Sick Chris wrestled a hockey mom over some pocket change that she dropped shortly following our arrival. Wow, did he ever lose that bout. While he was transported to the locker room for stitches, the rest of us dug into our third plate of rinkfries each. Because of Chris's altercation, we were confined to the lobby, seriously detracting from the experience and resulting in the fries starting to lose their appeal a little sooner than anticipated. I tried to use my status to influence the staff and gain us entry into the actual rink, but no one seemed to have heard of me. I mean, seriously now. What rocks have these people been living under??? Ones that hopefully roll over and crush them, I guess. The only redeeming quality about the APM Centre is that they have a set of defibrillator pads placed thoughtfully next to the canteen. I shit you not. I'm sure they realize as well as anyone that gravy consumption can get out of control on these sub-sub-sub zero Sundays.

All in all, the day was a success....except for Chris. Come to think of we left him there. Whatever, these people can tag along with me if they want, but I don't have time for deadbeats.