Eleanor Wyndham's Tavern

“On a Tuesday evening in Upper East Side, one discovers that Eleanor Wyndham's Tavern has opinions about potatoes. The crinkle format is a declaration. The single-fried exterior is commendable and largely sustained. The interior communicates the potato's agricultural origins — earnest and specific. The grease is conservative — the napkin remains largely decorative. These opinions are, on balance, correct. One finds, upon reflection, that the fries were the correct decision.”

“One does not come to Upper East Side for the fries. One comes for the fries at Eleanor Wyndham's Tavern. The distinction matters. The crinkle 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. Best ordered without accompaniment. The fry requires no defense counsel.”

“On a Tuesday evening in Upper East Side, one discovers that Eleanor Wyndham's Tavern has opinions about potatoes. The crinkle format is a declaration. The single-fried exterior is commendable and largely sustained. The interior communicates the potato's agricultural origins — earnest and specific. The grease is conservative — the napkin remains largely decorative. These opinions are, on balance, correct. Return visits are not a matter of choice but of inevitability.”

“The crinkle fry at Eleanor Wyndham's Tavern 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. peanut has been employed with discretion. One returns. One visits twice. The second visit confirms the first.”