A good French fry promises favorable length and width, a comfort factor, and that certain delicious je ne sais quoi we like to call "carbs cooked in fat." While it's easy to forget, considering the massive drive-through appeal, the much beloved, much consumed fry is not an American invention—despite the sad attempt to christen "freedom fries." And the latest crop of French brasseries and bistros reminds us that a hot, crispy potato stick by any other name is more than sweet: It's pomme frites done in the way of the motherland.
We tour our favorite local Frenchies, both young and old, to find out their secrets to the perfect frite. We ask all the hard questions: Idaho or Yukon Gold? Peeled or unpeeled? How thick? How fried? If it's called aioli, are we still dipping it in mayo? (The answer to the last is yes.) And we bring the answers to you. Consider it, dear Angelenos, an opportunity to re-imagine and refine the humble French fry. Everybody: Put your pommes in the air!
The place: Citrus at Social
The potato: The GPOD, ever-popular at high-end restos, makes an appearance here. The chef likes the higher starch content, which leads to a tasty crispy/creamy combo.
The cut: The medium-thick fries are sliced in-house with a wall press. Gadget-y!
The fry: Soaked in cold water overnight to leach out some of the starch, then blanched in clarified butter. Once ordered, they're fried again in clarified butter.
The dish: Served in a cone with a pinch of sea salt.
Mayo or ketchup? Not content to call it plain ol' mayo and ketchup, Citrus describes the accompaniments as "house made roasted garlic aioli and tomato sauce."
The place: BLT Steak
The potato: "Russet Burbank made and packaged by the GPOD Company," otherwise commonly known as Idaho potatoes.
The cut: Peeled and pressed through a fry cutter with blades spaced at 1/4 inch.
The fry: Soaked overnight, then blanched in a solution of peanut and soy oil set at 300 degrees for about two minutes. Second fry is done at 375 degrees.
The dish: Salted and placed in a curled piece of butcher paper, the fries come a la carte or with lunch entrees of burgers and sandwiches.
Mayo or ketchup? A decidedly California twist: cilantro-lime mayo.
The place: The Hall at Palihouse
The potato: Bucking the Idaho trend, Chef Brendan Collins looks slightly to the west: his spuds of choice are Kennebec potatoes.
The cut: A wall-mounted hand cutter that delivers precise 1/4-inch thick fries.
The fry: The fries are cooked twice, first at 325 degrees, then again at 365. The oils of choice? Sixty percent peanut oil and 40% cotton seed.
The dish: Salted with sel gris (that's French gray sea salt to us), the fries are deposited into a paper cone and set in a Mason jar.
Mayo or ketchup? Two choices: raz el hanout (North African blend of spices) mayo or truffle aioli.
The place: Comme Ça
The potato: Idaho Russet.
The cut: Peeled and hand-cut to 1/4 inch thick.
The fry: Soaked overnight, then put through a two-part Belgian fry process. Poached first in cool-ish peanut oil to cook through the starch, then—when an order is placed—the batch is fried at high temp to crisp the outside while the inside stays soft and moist from the initial bath. Peanut oil lends the cleanest fry and a touch of flavor, and it offers the least likelihood of setting off adverse allergic reactions.
The dish: Seasoned with salt and served a la carte in a paper-lined metal cone, or alongside steak frites or moules frites (yes, hence the names).
Mayo or ketchup? House-made garlic aioli.
The place: Monsieur Marcel
The potato: GPODs again.
The cut: Pressed to 1/4 inch thick and frozen.
The fry: Fried in canola oil.
The dish: Sprinkled with salt and herbes de Provence. The fries come a la carte wrapped in wax paper and propped up in a metal cup, or served alongside the pollo pesto sandwich or Kobe burger.
Mayo or ketchup? Ketchup, aioli and mustard are all available.
The place: Cafe Flore
The potato: Red.
The cut: Unpeeled, pre-cut to 1/4-inch thick and frozen.
The fry: Canola oil.
The dish: Seasoned with salt and a bit of dill. Popular with the steak and flammenkuche, but they're also available a la carte.
Mayo or ketchup? Either, upon request.
The place: Le Petit Bistro
The potato: Ne sait pas. It's pre-cut and packaged frozen.
The cut: Shoestring.
The fry: Peanut oil.
The dish: Seasoned simply with salt, then served alongside steak or roast chicken. The a la carte option is a hefty portion that comes in a napkin-lined woven basket.
Mayo or ketchup? Whichever is requested.
The place: Cafe des Artistes
The potato: Idaho Russet.
The cut: Peeled and pressed shoestring-style. Thickness: anywhere from 1/4 to 3/8 inch .
The fry: Fried fresh in 100 percent canola oil.
The dish: Tossed with a little sea salt. Served Belgian-style in a paper cone inside a wire basket, either a la carte or alongside dishes like moules frites, hanger steak and half roast chicken. At the bar, they’re on the house and available anytime.
Mayo or ketchup? Ketchup.
The place: Figaro Bistro
The potato: More pre-cut action.
The cut: Shoestring.
The fry: Pocahontas-brand (sounds like a poor man's Land O'Lakes to us) creamy liquid deep-frying shortening.
The dish: Served a la carte in a small ceramic bowl or as an accompaniment to steak frites, rotisserie chicken or moules mariniere.
Mayo or ketchup? Dijon mustard.
The place: Angelique Cafe
The potato: Pre-cut, pre-packaged and frozen.
The cut: Shoestring, 1/4 inch thick.
The fry: Canola oil or creamy vegetable shortening.
The dish: Salted and presented a la carte in a bowl or alongside specialties like duck au Cointreau and andouillette a l'ancienne.
Mayo or ketchup? Ketchup.
The place: Taix
The potato: Idaho.
The cut: Pressed to 1/2 inch thick.
The fry: Canola oil.
The dish: Dashed with salt and pepper, then served with rib-eye steak and sandwiches. Or order a plate's worth a la carte.
Mayo or ketchup? Either, upon request.
