The Strip

“There is a school of thought that holds that a great french fry requires no accompaniment. The Strip belongs to this school. The crinkle fry, double-fried in duck fat, makes its argument in silence. The crispness is aspirational. The potato flavor is present as a rumor. The argument is persuasive. A return visit is, at this point, a formality. One will perform it nonetheless.”

“The menu at The Strip contains many items. The informed visitor orders only the fries. The crinkle fry is double-fried in duck fat. The crispness is aspirational. The potato flavor is present as a rumor. The portion is restrained. The informed visitor is correct. The experience is brief and exact, like most things worth having.”

“Not every establishment in Chelsea understands its own fry. The Strip understands its fry. The crinkle format, double-fried in duck fat, produces a crispness that is aspirational and an interior that is present as a rumor. The grease is conservative — the napkin remains largely decorative. Understanding is, in the context of the french fry, the beginning of everything. In the final accounting, the fries are the only item that matters. The Strip knows this.”

“One visits The Strip for the atmosphere and departs thinking only of the fries. The crinkle cut is executed with a steadiness suggesting neither haste nor contemplation — only the correct application of heat and timing. The crispness is aspirational. The potato is present as a rumor. The grease is conservative — the napkin remains largely decorative. One recommends not visiting for the atmosphere. A return visit is, at this point, a formality. One will perform it nonetheless.”