The Best "Condiment" for Your Fries Is a McDonald's Vanilla Shake

Confession: I am not a condiments girl. I eat salads dry, burgers with nothing more than a slice of American or cheddar cheese (maybe one leaf of lettuce, so long as it's iceberg), bare-it-all hot dogs, and tacos garnished with cilantro, hold the sauce. And when I eat French fries, I have no desire to dip them in ketchup—but rather, a McDonald's vanilla milkshake.

My Fries-and-Milkshake Childhood

As a kid, getting McDonald's takeout was for special occasions: birthday dinners, last-day-of-school celebrations, a good report card, and of course, the occasional "we don't feel like cooking" night from my parents. My order was always the same—Chicken McNuggets, French fries, and a vanilla milkshake. I'm not sure why I first dipped, but once I did I was never trading down for basic ketchup. Pulling a hot, salty fry from the red and yellow carton and dipping it instantly into that frosty vanilla milkshake (never chocolate and definitely not strawberry) was an artistry of contrasts. It provided the same feeling as, say, laying on a beach with a read-it-in-a-day rom-com book in one hand and strawberry daiquiri in the other. Pure, unadulterated bliss

Over school lunches, I'd ask my 5th-grade classmates if they were on the right or wrong side of history—some indulged just like myself, others insisted that, much to my horror, a Wendy's Frosty was better than McDonald's, and a few looked at me with such horror, I never spoke to them again.

Then I grew up. I left the lunchroom politics, and I also left McDonald's behind as an adult. But my culinary memory persisted. And I felt good about that: Studies have shown that people who have fond memories of their childhood are more likely to have better health, less depression, and fewer chronic illnesses later in life. But this got me thinking–could that magic endure? Would I still love a hot handful of fries dipped in a fast-food frozen beverage? I had to test it out. And what better time, I thought, than the week of my wedding to do so?

Putting the Pairing to the Test as an Adult

I headed out to the same hometown McDonald's that I frequented throughout my childhood. Pushing through the door, I noticed one thing—that we had both experienced a much-needed glow-up since 2004; me, void of baby fat and bearing fresh balayage highlights, McDonald's #301 with new orange counter stools and digital menus. Another jolt of time passing: Fries and a shake cost nearly 10 dollars. Did this justify a dollop of whipped cream on the shake? I leave that to the reader to decide.

Time to test: I sat down, popped the lid off the milkshake, scooped the whipped cream directly into the trash (in the name of consistency), grabbed a single fry, dipped, and tasted. The fries, even thinner than I remember them back in the day, were hot and under-salted. The shake was, and I mean this with all the love in my heart, so sweet, so vanilla it couldn't possibly be actual vanilla, and thick like just-softened ice cream. It didn't adhere as well as I remembered, quickly melting off the skinny spud, but the coolness against the hot, crunchy fry was just as I remembered. I grabbed three more and pinched them between my fingers, dipping again to enjoy the larger surface area and more satisfying bite.

I was prepared to be disappointed by the whole thing, aghast at the combination like my former classmates once were. But it was nearly perfect and I was only salty about the lack of salt.

I suppose it makes sense. Food is central to the moments that stick with us—it's remembering what you ate on a first date (a quinoa bowl when all I really wanted was mac and cheese), high school graduation (Olive Garden), or a Thursday night celebrating the end of the school year (Chicken McNuggets, French fries, and, of course, a vanilla milkshake). These meals affix to life's moments like the condiments we eat with burgers and fries. So pass the shake, please. It's my French fry condiment of choice forever.