The Golden Tavern

“On a Tuesday evening in Chelsea, one discovers that The Golden 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 calibrated with clinical precision. These opinions are, on balance, correct. One proceeds. One is glad one did.”

“The crinkle fry at The Golden 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. duck fat has been employed with discretion. One returns. The address is committed to memory.”

“The crinkle fry presents itself at The Golden Tavern with an unusual degree of self-possession. The exterior is commendable and largely sustained. The interior is earnest and specific. The grease is calibrated with clinical precision. The portion is excessive in a way this guide finds, on reflection, appropriate. One accepts the fry on its own terms. Its terms are acceptable. The fry asks only to be appreciated. At The Golden Tavern, one appreciates.”

“One arrives skeptical at The Golden Tavern. One departs converted. The crinkle fry is responsible for both. The exterior is commendable and largely sustained. The interior presents a potato earnest and specific. The grease is calibrated with clinical precision. Skepticism, as a protective measure, has its limits. This guide has reached them. One does not return. This information is provided without judgment.”