I wanted fries with that

By Mike Osborne

Polite society dictates that one should not publicly discuss personal stuff such as religion and politics. It makes some people uncomfortable. I've got some pretty strong convictions on food politics, and the way I see it, lots of folks are getting downright religious about what and how they eat. In a PC world, I suppose we should always try to keep the other feller guessing about where we stand and what PC stands for, but try as I might, I just can't keep my own trap shut, so I'll just come on out and say it--they're two of my favorite topics. In politics you could classify me as somewhere to the left of Attila the Hun. I generally stand to the left of anyone with "The" as a middle name. In religion I'm usually to the left of Popes, Ayatollahs, and other televangelistas--it's the right thing to do. When it comes to food, I took a left at the golden arches and tried my hardest not to go back, but.....That's the subject of this particular rant.

I never was much of a fan of the fast food burger, but I did pick up on McDonald's mastery of the french fry a long time ago. They make damn good fries. In spite of my publicly stated stance against corporate food in general, I sometimes still get a craving for super-sized fries that's hard to deny. That happened a few months back, and seeing as how I'm only human, I gave in to the urge and decided to splurge.

It didn't seem right to me to just show up at the drive-thru where just anybody could recognize me--not after all the nasty things I'd been mouthing in the direction of fast-food. It dawned on me that I needed a disguise. Thinking fast, I drove to the neighborhood where my  first ex-wife and I had bought our starter house. Under the cover of darkness I crept into the back yard and started digging up that time capsule we'd buried some thirty years ago. I had to do it in order to retrieve the big plastic Easter egg that had pantie-hose inside. I guess nobody wears those things anymore unless they need to go incognito. The present owners were mightily disconcerted by my impromptu landscape rearrangement, but I managed to escape unscathed and unrecognized thanks to a pair of ecru Leggs concealing my facial features. Judging from the close proximity of the shotgun blast I suspect they might've mistaken me for one of those pesky Texas-size armadillos, or megadillas, as I like to call 'em. Too bad I had to leave behind my Delbert McClinton eight-tracks and the moldy remains of my innocence. There were lots of treasures in that capsule, but this was no time for nostalgia. I was a man on a mission.

Heart pounding but now cleverly disguised, I wended my way toward my rendezvous with potato perfection. All went well until I pulled up to the cashier's window, although I did have to repeat my order 60 or 70 times. The control top was so tight I could barely get my lips moving, and french fries kept coming out mnnch myes. Despite my extended fistful of dollars, the pimply teenager thought I looked a tad suspicious, jumped to conclusions, and phoned the fuzz. Fry quest thwarted--craving still raging, I fled the scene  to avoid an unnecessary legal entanglement. As I sped away the guilt and remorse started gnawing at my guts like an outbreak of E. coli H1:57. What was I doing? Why compromise principles? I'm a highly skilled, trained, and motivated food professional--why not just make a big ol' mess of fries by myself?

Now, if you find yourself doubting my veracity at this point it is not without good reason. I've never been one to let the truth get in the way of a good story. But let's think about this whole french fry scenario in a metaphoric context and seek the broader truth. In my fabricated tale I was willing to go to extraordinary lengths to be able to munch away contentedly on America's favorite food. People love eating fries but rarely make them at home because of the preconceived notion that it's just too much trouble--all that grease, and you know how potato skins will stop up a disposal. But I'm here to tell you, you too can do perfect french fries within the comfort of your own kitchen, and you don't need a Fry-o-Later to fry some 'taters. You don't have to buy a fry-daddy or even an electric skillet, though you can make good use of said appliances if you already have them.

 Here are the french fry basics. Start with the proper spud--I like to use Russets or Yukon Golds, but I'm leaning more toward the Golds these days. You need a high starch, low moisture potato--red bliss or white won't do. Wash, peel, and make the right kind of cut. There's a trick to it. I square off the potato into a rectangular block. You can cut the rounded slabs into slivers or save them for something else if you're anal retentive about the shape and uniformity of a homemade french fry. Once the potatoes are squared off cut them lengthwise into 1/4-inch slabs. Stack the slabs and slice into lengthwise strips that are 1/4-inch wide. You'll have uniform julienne that will cook evenly. As you cut the potatoes store them in a bowl of cold water. This will keep them from turning brown and will leach away excess starch.

Next, use the right kind and amount of oil at the right temperature in the right size high-sided pot. I like peanut oil. It has neutral flavor and a high smoke point. It'll stand up to extended fry times without breaking down and giving you instant heart disease. We'll get to cooking temperature in a minute. What's the right amount of oil? You need at least two-inches of oil in your pot. More is better if you're doing a sizable batch. What size pot? Again that depends on how many bushels of fries you intend to serve. Use a pot that's big enough to accommodate a decent batch without crowding. The object is to let the fries swim in the oil. Crowding reduces the heat and causes the potatoes to stick together, two no-nos to be avoided.

And now--the big secret. Fry the potatoes twice. See, there's that temperature issue we needed to get back to. Bring the oil to 300 degrees. Use a candy thermometer to determine accuracy. Fry the potatoes in batches until they achieve a light golden color--about five minutes. Remove them from the oil into a suitable holding vessel until it's almost serving time. Take the oil off the burner and hang on to it--you'll need it again. Don't worry about draining or seasoning  yet. What you've just done is actually called blanching the french fries. You can do this step a couple hours before you plan on serving dinner. Right before service heat the oil up to 350 degrees. Drop in the fries and cook for maybe three-minutes per batch. They'll get golden brown and really crispy. Remove from the oil, drain on paper towels, and season with sea salt and fresh ground pepper. Let the oil temp come back up to 350 before frying the next batch. Serve them hot and enjoy.

Food writer, Michael Pollan, has a new book out called FOOD RULES. In it he says, "Eat all the junk food you want, just make sure you cook it yourself." That may not be a word for word quote, but it's pretty close. The idea is, because more effort is required, people will be less inclined to gorge on mass quantities if they go to all the preparation time and trouble themselves. And junk food jonesing won't happen nearly as often. That sure makes sense to me. The upside is you can better control salt intake and portion amount, thus avoiding self super-sization. Also, you may surprisingly find that you can out-fry old Ronald McClown any time you choose to do so without the guilt of supporting an industry that perpetuates the ill health of a nation.

I'll leave you with a couple of fry tweakage tidbits. At least once in your life, fry some potatoes in duck fat. After that you'll want to thank me and probably donate generously to my retirement fund. Instead of regular old sea salt, try using truffle salt when you season. It's kind of a Euro-thing, but substitute homemade aioli for ketchup. It's a nice change of paste and you'll feel triply tres chic. And remember, attempts at tongue and cheek (tong and chic?) are next to impossible with a pair of control top pantie-hose stretched across your face. There's not enough room for as much as a grin. Consider plastic surgery instead. As we say in the bidness--chow!

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