Wednesday night was effectively Friday night because of the public holiday on Thursday. So, we had dinner at Green Glass because Jane had a long day, and I like having dinner at Green Glass. It's a simple place in the style of a French Bistro, and I normally don't get past the steak frites.
Wednesday night, I did not get past the steak frites again.
The steak, as always, was perfect, a well-rested medium rare slice of Wagyu that delivered a much-needed 51g of protein on board a first-class flavour train.
The fries were... different. Better. They weren't really fries. They were chips, big, fat, chunky old chips in the English rather than Parisian style.
Honestly, I don't know why everyone everywhere doesn't do their chips or fries or whatever the hell you want to call them like this. Bloody French fries are just these thin, crunchy, tasteless high-carb roofing nails that aren't much good for anything other than dipping into mayo. A proper chip, however, that's a meal in itself. Well do I remember lo’ those many years ago, buying massive, greasy packets of them from any number of fish-n-chip places in my teens and 20s.
There used to be a terrible greasy spoon just around the corner from the Rolling Stone offices in Surrey Hills, Sydney. It did the best chips ever. Golden brown motherfuckers with fluffy white clouds of potato packed inside. We used to imagine they tasted so good because the proprietor was murdering hoboes and rendering them down for his cooking fat. They were that good.
“Mmm... human sacrifice”
I should have taken a photo of my chips from Green Glass, but by weird coincidence I came across a story in British Esquire the next day raving about a London caf doing old-fashioned food, including chip butties. The piece was illustrated with plenty of shots from the caf’s Insta page and their chips looked even better.
Tell me that Napoleon’s stringy surrender fries can match this.
Those do look like proper chips, but at what point does the transition from fry to chip go too far? You know those "chips" from really fancy restaurants where you end up with some sort of Jenga stack of 4 or 5 one inch square prism slabs of potato. Have they crossed into roast potato territory?
and as an aside, how many potatoes does it take to kill an Irishman?
I think the fondest chip memory I have was the cafe at UQ. Big chunky MFers that were actually left in the fryer long enough. Discovered aioli there too. Certainly got me on campus more than the classes
That's just a normal night for my dear old Liverpool born parents. The chip pan is nearly as old as me, sporting a rich golden brown patina from the decades of oil baked into its aluminium skin. Served alongside egg and beans and sausages.
There's a song that goes with this meal. And you can line-dance to it. The blog bots won't let me post a link, but if you get the urge to boot scoot after dinner, Alan Jackson's 'meat and potato man' is the tune I would choose for you. And yes I listen to way too much Murri Country for my own good.
Those do look like proper chips, but at what point does the transition from fry to chip go too far? You know those "chips" from really fancy restaurants where you end up with some sort of Jenga stack of 4 or 5 one inch square prism slabs of potato. Have they crossed into roast potato territory?
and as an aside, how many potatoes does it take to kill an Irishman?
None
you can do em in one of the new-fangled air fryers.. peel an cut the spuds yourself.
5ml of beef dripping. 35 minutes.. jd
Chips v Fries
Scallops v Cakes
Potato Wars are fought in the fryers of our nation.
Murdering hoboes. This made my f’n day. Of course now I need to find a fat potato fried in murdered hobo fat . I’m off
Chips v Fries
Scallops v Cakes
Potato Wars are fought in the fryers of our nation.
It is excruciating, trying to get proper English style chips around here. The best ones I ever had were in Scotland somewhere. Amazing stuff.
My god, chips that look like they have seen a knife wielded by a human. Heavenly.
i am so glad i came to this post late - my favourite topic! And with the current shortage of potato goods, very frustrating.
I think the fondest chip memory I have was the cafe at UQ. Big chunky MFers that were actually left in the fryer long enough. Discovered aioli there too. Certainly got me on campus more than the classes
alas for me it looks like there is no outdoor seating which seems a crime in a climate such as Brisbane.
That's just a normal night for my dear old Liverpool born parents. The chip pan is nearly as old as me, sporting a rich golden brown patina from the decades of oil baked into its aluminium skin. Served alongside egg and beans and sausages.
There's a song that goes with this meal. And you can line-dance to it. The blog bots won't let me post a link, but if you get the urge to boot scoot after dinner, Alan Jackson's 'meat and potato man' is the tune I would choose for you. And yes I listen to way too much Murri Country for my own good.
There's a song that goes with this meal. And you can line dance to i. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9f8ZeCiMWc
Damn, now I want a chip butty and the chip shop isn't open yet