I will miss East Boulevard Bar & Grill’s French fries and I’m thankful for Frank Deal

They’re untraditional – cut flat like potato chips – salty and hotter than the fires of hell.

I have this fantasy about a winter in Charlotte during which it gets so cold we are all forced to build up enough body mass to ride out the winter inside. In my fantasy, in preparation for this hibernation, I eat like I’m competing, shoveling in angel fries doused in honey mustard until I pass out peacefully or from fear of explosion.

I could continue to wax poetic about the golden glory that is Frank’s East Boulevard Bar & Grill’s fries, but I’ll tell you why they really mean so much to me.

When EBB&G moved along East Boulevard to its current location, I was a sophomore at Myers Park High School. I’d known owners Frank and Peaches Deal for as long as I could remember, so it seemed like a good place to try my hand at a first job.

I was a hostess there for just under two years, and I should have been fired weekly.

I would wedge stacks of Splenda packets and layers of coasters under the wobbling table legs instead of “damn it, Kane” flipping the table over and leveling out the legs with the support screws.

I probably owe that restaurant at least $200 in shattered pint glass damages, because, turns out, also shouldn’t stack those.

I cried in the bathroom because I felt wronged or tired or maybe like I might throw up a little.

I cried in the kitchen after cutting the bejesus out of my finger instead of a frozen Snickers bar.

I cried when I read my acceptance letter to Chapel Hill by the bar, and I cried in the parking garage when someone stole my car, but turns out, hey, I’d actually just parked it on a different level. (I’m only just realizing how much I cried at 17, and I probably also should have been fired for a bad case of the dramatics.)

Frank Deal taught me about work ethic and community.

He taught me that the arrow next to the gas pump icon on your dash tells you what side of the car your tank is on.

He taught me to always bring a pen to an interview and to treat people with respect even if they are just total a**holes.

The lessons were painstakingly learned. I bet Frank would tell you they were painstakingly taught, but he invited me into his family, as he did so many others, and he fiercely protected me and my fragile teenage heart.

As you may know, EBB&G will have one last call this Sunday.

[Agenda Story: East Boulevard Grill is closing Sunday, November 13. Beautiful goodbye note from Frank Deal.]

I am sad because I will miss the French fries, and because that place is integral to my feeling of home in Charlotte.

I’m happy too, though for Frank and his family and the opportunity for change – it’s one he deserves, and it’s one I know he’ll use to spread his terrible dad jokes and beloved “Frankisms.”

So one last time, I implore you to go eat a big plate of French fries.

Drink beers, admire the local relics on the wall, shove a coaster under the table* and shake hands with the man who embodies the community and heart of Charlotte.

Give him and those darn fries the farewell they deserve.

*Don’t do that. He’ll be pissed, and it will come back to me.