On a recent trip to a State Street eatery, I experienced french fry nirvana. While biting into a crispy fry, I realized what I like so much about them: They are among the world's humblest foods. Although they may not seem modest at first bite, great french fries proudly display their crispy crusts and perfectly cooked interior — they do not boast nearly as much as they could. Because of fries' shyness, diners often gobble them up without a second thought, and it is a culinary tragedy that people do not pause and ponder such a complex food.
If you ask a person how to make a french fry, you will probably get an answer somewhere along the lines of, "It's simple — you fry some potato strips in fat and then sprinkle them with salt." This short recipe, although more or less accurate, does not do justice to the rigorous process of creating delicious fries. At best, it is the Reader's Digest condensed novel of the rich story of the perfect fry.
The ideal fry's story must begin with the right sort of potato. To create the light, airy interior texture that provides such a wonderful contrast to the fry's crispy exterior, smart cooks use what food scientists call, for lack of a more appealing term, "mealy potatoes." Russets, the typical American baking potato, are an example of this variety. When cooked, the cells of mealy potatoes remain separate and distinct, while the cells of the equally unappealingly named "waxy potatoes" become clumped together. Because of this difference, fries made from mealy potatoes have a delicate, fluffy texture while fries made from the waxy variety are mushy and dense.
Another secret to making perfect fries is an unusual cooking method. Unlike other fried foods, the french fry makes not one but two trips into the fryer. The first pass is called blanching, and it is a preliminary cooking in relatively cool (around 300 degrees Fahrenheit) fat. The fries are then taken out, cooled and fried again in hotter (around 350 degrees Fahrenheit) fat to create a crispy, golden crust. Fries cooked in one pass either burn on the outside or fail to cook all the way through.
Clearly, careful steps must be taken to ensure that the fries have the proper texture. However, one part of the process that allows a little more flexibility is the selection of the fat. Cooks use a number of fats to produce tasty fries. Most prefer to fry with healthy oil, which has a high proportion of monounsaturated fats such as peanut or canola oil. A few do, as McDonalds did until 1990, and use a mixture of beef fat and plant oils in order to infuse their fries with the rich flavor of beef. The Belgians, as well as Vogue food writer Jeffrey Steingarten, swear that horse fat is the ideal frying medium. While the fat in question can be heart-friendly and neutral-flavored, rich and artery-clogging, or just plain gross, one thing that is true of all of these is that used fat works better than new. This is because, according to Russ Parsons, author of "How to Read a French Fry," the fat's breakdown produces compounds that allow the fat to penetrate the water on the surface of the fry. These compounds are called soaps, and they work just like the hand soap that you use to get grease off of your hands.
The only difference is that the soaps in used cooking fat get hot grease onto the surface of your fry. Who knew soap could be so deliciously fattening?
Although they seem to be simple fast food fare, french fries are the product of carefully selected ingredients and a detailed cooking procedure. After learning about their complexity, it is easy to see why so few people make french fries from scratch. In fact, an article in New York Magazine revealed that Thomas Keller, a man many consider to be the best chef in the United States, admitted to using frozen fries at Bouchon, his New York bistro. It appears that Mr. Keller understands that when it comes to something as complex as fries, sometimes it is best to let someone else do the work.
Jason Engelhart is a junior. Send him your food-related questions at [email protected].
