Park Fry

“The shoestring fry at Park Fry requires no introduction, though it offers one regardless: a uniformity of golden color suggesting a fryer calibrated with the attention usually reserved for precision instruments. The exterior is commendable and largely sustained. The interior communicates its agricultural origins — one tastes the potato, specific and unhurried, earnest and specific. sunflower has been employed with discretion. One returns. The fry alone merits the journey to Red Hook.”

“The shoestring fry at Park Fry requires no introduction, though it offers one regardless: a uniformity of golden color suggesting a fryer calibrated with the attention usually reserved for precision instruments. The exterior is commendable and largely sustained. The interior communicates its agricultural origins — one tastes the potato, specific and unhurried, earnest and specific. sunflower has been employed with discretion. One returns. In the final accounting, the fries are the only item that matters. Park Fry knows this.”

“The shoestring fry presents itself at Park Fry with an unusual degree of self-possession. The exterior is commendable and largely sustained. The interior is earnest and specific. The grease is generous in the manner of a host who means it. The portion is forthcoming. One accepts the fry on its own terms. Its terms are acceptable. The experience is brief and exact, like most things worth having.”

“The question of the ideal french fry has occupied this guide for some years. At Park Fry, one arrives closer to an answer. The shoestring fry, single-fried in sunflower, presents crispness that is commendable and largely sustained and a potato interior that is earnest and specific. The grease is generous in the manner of a host who means it. Proximity to an answer is, in this case, sufficient. One proceeds. One is glad one did.”