When we hit the diner, Matty and I always disagree about fries. He likes them super crispy, and I prefer a barely golden-brown deeper shade of pale. I usually do a search for the bendy ones first while he gobbles up the small fries hiding at the bottom. We both skip the ketchup altogether, favoring a good amount of pepper and a sprinkling of salt.
If we are at a place ritzier than the Ritz Diner and a dipping sauce is available, we both go ranch or blue cheese, thousand island, or a fancy aioli, but tend to avoid straight mayo– just not our thing. See the easy-to-follow decision tree of sauces courtesy of Delish below. We stick to the Northern Hemisphere of that graphic, although visiting the South Pole section of bacon jam might be a tasty idea.
I’ve barely met a fry that didn’t catch my eye and I consider myself Spud Inclusive– shoestrings, wedges, cottage fries, crinkle cuts, waffle fries, sweet potato, skin on– I’m talkin’ to you. I used to be a fan of the tangle of fries at The Spotted Pig with the garlic shards and parsley flakes, but we all know what happened there. (Sad!) Obviously the chips at Pommes Frites are a dream and although I haven’t visited since they relocated post fire, the original and I were on very familiar terms. My neighborhood fave is Cafe Luxembourg. When you walk by their outdoor tables, 98% of them have an order of sharable fries in a silver cup with paper peeking out the top. (Photo courtesy of zmenu.com)
My Dad is the ultimate fry maker. He used to make home fries in a large skillet right on the stove. (This is pre-air fryer way back in the 80s.) He’d cut circles from big Idaho potatoes and wouldn’t let us taste even one until all those crispy critters were paper towel-dried and salted– it was quite a production. But man, they were totally worth waiting for!
I’m going to let you in on a little secret… I color my hair. I know, shocking! Please don’t spread this obscene gossip around. When I see old photos of me, I barely recognize that brunette, but I’d kill to be that weight again. Anyway, when I visit my Uber-talented colorist Nestor, I usually ask for a “honey blonde” to blend with my naturally darker base. The reason for this is that I think if I asked him to make my hair the color of golden fries, just a slightly deeper shade of pale, he’d kick my graying roots right out of the salon! So I stick with traditional terminology and use honey. But I’m thinking with a little hot sauce, honey could be great on a bendy order of fries. I’m going to have to run this by Matty, but I’m sure he’ll want them well done… so maybe we’ll just get two orders!
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