Frederick Rousseau's Bistro

“A certain seriousness pervades the fryer at Frederick Rousseau's Bistro. The matchstick fry arrives without ceremony, which is appropriate. The exterior is aspirational. The interior potato character is present as a rumor. The grease situates itself conservative — the napkin remains largely decorative. One proceeds. The fries are worth the journey to Forest Hills. One returns.”

“In a city of approximately eight million opinions about french fries, Frederick Rousseau's Bistro has one of its own. The matchstick fry is single-fried in blended. The crispness is aspirational. The potato flavor is present as a rumor. The grease is conservative — the napkin remains largely decorative. The portion is restrained. One visits once and thereafter considers the matter settled. The neighborhood offers alternatives. One should not investigate them.”

“A certain seriousness pervades the fryer at Frederick Rousseau's Bistro. The matchstick fry arrives without ceremony, which is appropriate. The exterior is aspirational. The interior potato character is present as a rumor. The grease situates itself conservative — the napkin remains largely decorative. One proceeds. The fries are worth the journey to Forest Hills. The experience is brief and exact, like most things worth having.”