The Greatest French Fries in the World, Bar None

After this event, I was wondering if my meager writing skills could even start to describe the experience. I decided to take a stab at it.

These fries only occur every couple of decades when a perfect storm of prep is able to occur, in nature, and in the kitchen.

On the southward slopes of a small patch of the Himalayas, the world’s rarest potato, the Green Yeti Spudazoni, flowers, and bears fruit, once every two decades. This happens only there, and only because, an endangered indigenous species, the One-Horned Shangri-La goat, that only gives birth once every two decades, and only by a coincidence in the cosmos does this happen at the same time the potato is blooming.

The goats provide far too much milk for their single offspring, and have, over time, taken to expressing the excess by pressing themselves up against the rocky tor of the slopes that the potato blooms on.

This nutrient gives the potato a creamy white appearance, and a smooth as butter texture.

Locals harvest the potatoes with great ceremony and a cause for celebration, as the legend of the taste of the resulting french fry has been passed down from generation to generation.

The potatoes are taken to the village and washed in clear mountain spring water. As a rite of passage into puberty, the potatoes are sliced with the same knives used to circumcise the tribal boys, a rite which occurs around age 13.

Although no modern measuring tools exist in the village, each raw french fry is exactly 2.5 includes in length and 3/8ths inches in width.

A communal fire is prepared in the middle of the village, and it is filled with oil pressed from the rendered fat of the Green-Eyed, Three Toed Mountain Yak.

The oil is heated to 750 degrees, an amazing feat for a wood-fueled fire.

The toughest men in the tribe, of the warrior clan, line up in front of the fire, with a massive pile of uncooked fries beside the pot.

Each warrior takes his turn grabbing a handful of fries, and plunging their filled fists INTO THE HOT OIL for precisely two minutes and 38 seconds, at which time he fries (and fist) are removed from the oil, and the blistered arms of the warriors, with their fists full of potatoey goodness, are extended so this children of the village can partake of the fries first, with their mothers following suit immediately after.

The evening celebration always ends in wild debauchery, with everyone in the tribe participating in Karaoke Stand-Up Comedy, using old bits from Richard Prior as the basis for their entertainment.

I won’t live to see the next ceremony occur, it is predicted to be in the year 2045. But you should put it on your calendar.

OK, everything above was bullshit. I went to Mort’s Deli in Tarzana tonight and got a corned beef on rye and fries to go. It was delicious, but I could only think of about five words to write about it, three of which involved the pickle.

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