Will there be garlic fries in heaven? [Pt. 1]

I arrived late to garlic fries, and like all converts have become obsessed and intolerant. My first taste came in Napa, sitting at a picnic table in St. Helena, during one of my many trips to visit the Wired home office in San Francisco. My first thought was, "How come I've never seen these before?"It turns out, nobody outside the Bay Area, or at least Northern California, has seen these before.They are that rarest of birds, a  regional classic, unknown abroad, and under-appreciated at home.

Back in the 60s and 70s, sociologists told us that regional differences would be erased by late capitalism's homogenized corporate culture. Fast f00d would erase local cuisine, bad TV and top 40 would smother local cultural expressions . . . even regional accents would be washed away.

Well, anyone who spends any time on the road knows this was and is a very stupid idea. Wherever I go, people talk different, eat different, listen to different music on the radio, and, I swear,  think different, too. I just got back from some time in rural northwest Georgia, a wonderfully rich, and thoroughly foreign country. Even cosmopolitan centers like San Francisco and New York City are two distinct cultures separated by a common language.

Take garlic fries.