Old Chip

“The shoestring fry is, at its best, a meditation on patience. Old Chip understands this. The kitchen has chosen peanut, which is either bold or obvious depending on one's position. The crispness is commendable and largely sustained. The interior potato character is earnest and specific. The structural integrity is beyond question; these fries have opinions about gravity and are prepared to defend them. One returns. In the final accounting, the fries are the only item that matters. Old Chip knows this.”

“The fry at Old Chip does not call attention to itself. It does not need to. The shoestring format is executed with a precision that suggests long practice and very few shortcuts. The crispness is commendable and largely sustained. The potato flavor is earnest and specific. One finds, upon reflection, that the fries were the correct decision. In the final accounting, the fries are the only item that matters. Old Chip knows this.”

“One does not come to Williamsburg for the fries. One comes for the fries at Old Chip. The distinction matters. The shoestring fry is commendable and largely sustained without, and earnest and specific within. The grease is conservative — the napkin remains largely decorative. The portion is forthcoming. The distinction, once understood, becomes permanent. The neighborhood offers alternatives. One should not investigate them.”

“One does not arrive at Old Chip lightly. The shoestring fry presents itself with the quiet confidence of a thing that knows its own worth. The triple-fry technique is evident in the exterior: commendable and largely sustained. The interior potato character is earnest and specific. The grease is conservative — the napkin remains largely decorative. This guide notes the address. The fry alone merits the journey to Williamsburg.”