Little Chip

“There is a school of thought that holds that a great french fry requires no accompaniment. Little Chip belongs to this school. The steak fry, triple-fried in beef tallow, makes its argument in silence. The crispness is aspirational. The potato flavor is philosophically ambiguous. The argument is persuasive. The experience is brief and exact, like most things worth having.”

“The crispness of the steak fry at Little Chip is aspirational. This is noted first because it is noted first. The interior potato character is philosophically ambiguous. The grease is conservative — the napkin remains largely decorative. First impressions, in the case of the french fry, are usually correct. This one is. One returns.”

“The steak fry at Little Chip has the quality of inevitability. One arrives, one orders, one encounters the crispness (aspirational), the potato (philosophically ambiguous), the grease (conservative — the napkin remains largely decorative). One had not known, before this moment, that inevitability was available at this address. One knows now. One finds, upon reflection, that the fries were the correct decision.”

“The steak fry at Little Chip is not remarkable for being exceptional. It is remarkable for being exactly what it claims to be. The crispness is aspirational. The potato is philosophically ambiguous. The grease is conservative — the napkin remains largely decorative. Exactitude, in this city, is underrated. The fry alone merits the journey to Mott Haven.”