Yes, the title of this post is all about fries. Not to confuse you, but the photo above is of a French dish - Quiche Lorraine, as a matter of fact - and I fully recognize that it in no way looks like a plate of French Fries. (Not that French Fries are actually French.)
Anyway, I'm offering up this pic of a delicate and delectable individual Quiche Lorraine, so you can see that the kitchen at Charleston's McCrady's Tavern can put out some gorgeous fare. And, this little baby was a humdinger. Shared at lunch with Mama Vamp and her pal Christina, we devoured the beauty alongside Southern staples like Deviled Eggs with Ham and a Fried Porkchop Sandwich.
The star though? One of the ugliest plates of spuds we ever laid eyes on...
Wasn't kidding, was I?
But these were tuber miracles. Fugly potato champs. Lightly crisp exteriors giving way to soft, rich potato goodness.
We had to ask. What the heck made them so addictive?
We half expected our waitress to say "crack cocaine." Instead she detailed the 48 hours of careful prep that go into making these transcendent fries. I recall that dunking in potato starch, par-boiling, freezing, and a second dunk into potato starch were part of the process. In the wake of unbridled potato pleasure, it was all a bit to much to take in. And, it sounded much too complicated to try at home. So, the chefs at McCrady's Tavern need not worry that I'll try to ferret out the recipe. A better plan, I think, is a return trip.
And I stand by the title of the post: I'd venture down South to Charleston for the fries alone.
If you'd like to join me on the journey, drop me a line. But then we're getting two orders of the fries.