MAW'S FRIES

My first Mother-in Law made the most wonderful home-cooked meals---she was up before dawn, turning out the bacon-and-eggs-and-biscuits for her farmer husband, and there was no “lunch” in her lexicon, unless it was packed into a lunchbox for the children.

Noon meals were a hot, down-home dinner of peas and cornbread and whatever other hearty side dishes she decided on, with fried chicken or pork chops or spaghetti and meatballs. Meat was a MUST.

And supper was also a hot, hearty meal, tapering off on the number of dishes, but to me, rising in the level of trouble-it-took-to-make. FIL would not think of eating the same meal twice in one day, and so another batch of heavy fried fare, plus a pan of risin’ rolls or biscuits and some form of fried side dish were his cup of tea.

And Maw made the absolutely best French fries in the history of frites. They were just plain old potatoes, cut into fries, soaked in cold water “to remove the starch” and then drained in a colander.

Into a big bowl, then perhaps a half-cup of self-rising flour dumped on top, then sprinkles of salt and pepper and perhaps powdered garlic and some paprika or chili powder for color.

The whole thing was tossed and tossed, with that seasoned flour meeting those wet potato sticks, tossing over and over until the entire bowl was a mass of pinkish goo coating the potatoes.

A quick dip out into a couple of inches of sizzling oil in the trusty old WearEver dutch oven, a while to get the bottom good and crisp, and then a turn and several swirls to separate the fries into those incomparable golden strands of potato perfection, salty and crispy and enhanced exponentially by the thousands of little savory crispins attached.

I cannot tell you as good as it is. Those platters of potatoes---those still-hissing, salty-rich morsels of nirvana---you just don’t know til you’ve tried them.

Ore-Ida and McDonalds---take a place below the salt.