A precocious young whine


I’m going to attempt Belgian fries this weekend. That’s “French fries” to us in the United States, “frites” to the French. Yes, I’m talking about plain old fried potato strips, and, yes, I’ve made them before, but I’m going for the gold this time: non-greasy perfection, crisp on the outside and soft on the inside. Apparently there is an art to it. I’ll leave you to discuss what it might be. True, there’s nothing more common to Americans than the beloved order of fries. (What a great name for a secret organization of fry cooks!) However, if you think we’re alone in our appreciation of fried potatoes, you need to get out more. Hint: they’re called French fries. I’ll let you know how it turns out.