Fries Quotes

“Agent Jones switched to the big screen and a grainy video of MoMo sitting at his enormous desk, a swivel-hipped Elvis clock ticking behind his bewigged head. 'Death to the capitalist pigs! Death to your cinnamon bun-smelling malls! Death to your power walking and automatic car windows and I'm With Stupid T-shirts! The Republic of ChaCha will never bend to your side-of-fries -drive -through-please-oh-would-you-like-ketchup-with-that corruption! MoMo B. ChaCha defies you and all you stand for, and one day, you will crumble into the sea and we will pick up the pieces and make them into sand art.”
― Libba Bray, Beauty Queens

“ “Do you have any money?” he asked.
“What?”
He rubbed his fingers together. “Dinero? Cash? Do you have any on you?”
Unsure where this was headed, I shook my head. He reached over the counter and grabbed a knife. He cut the burger in half and slid the plate between us. “Here. Don’t bogart the fries.”
“Are you serious?”
Noah took another bite of his half. “Yeah. Don’t want my tutor to starve to death.”
I smacked my lips like a cartoon character and bit into the succulent burger. When the juicy meat touched my tongue, I closed my eyes and moaned.
“I thought girls only looked like that when they orgasmed.”
The burger caught in my throat and I choked. Noah stifled a laugh while sliding my water toward me. If only drinking it would erase the annoying blush on my cheeks.”
― Katie McGarry, Pushing the Limits

“Every once in a while at a restaurant, the dish you order looks so good, you don't even know where to begin tackling it. Such are HOME/MADE's scrambles. There are four simple options- my favorite is the smoked salmon, goat cheese, and dill- along with the occasional special or seasonal flavor, and they're served with soft, savory home fries and slabs of grilled walnut bread. Let's break it down:
The scramble: Monica, who doesn't even like eggs, created these sublime scrambles with a specific and studied technique. "We whisk the hell out of them," she says, ticking off her methodology on her fingers. "We use cream, not milk. And we keep turning them and turning them until they're fluffy and in one piece, not broken into bits of egg."
The toast: While the rave-worthiness of toast usually boils down to the quality of the bread, HOME/MADE takes it a step further. "The flame char is my happiness," the chef explains of her preference for grilling bread instead of toasting it, as 99 percent of restaurants do. That it's walnut bread from Balthazar, one of the city's best French bakeries, doesn't hurt.
The home fries, or roasted potatoes as Monica insists on calling them, abiding by chefs' definitions of home fries (small fried chunks of potatoes) versus hash browns (shredded potatoes fried greasy on the griddle) versus roasted potatoes (roasted in the oven instead of fried on the stove top): "My potatoes I've been making for a hundred years," she says with a smile (really, it's been about twenty). The recipe came when she was roasting potatoes early on in her career and thought they were too bland. She didn't want to just keep adding salt so instead she reached for the mustard, which her mom always used on fries. "It just was everything," she says of the tangy, vinegary flavor the French condiment lent to her spuds. Along with the new potatoes, mustard, and herbs de Provence, she uses whole jacket garlic cloves in the roasting pan. It's a simple recipe that's also "a Zen exercise," as the potatoes have to be continuously turned every fifteen minutes to get them hard and crispy on the outside and soft and billowy on the inside.”
― Amy Thomas, Brooklyn in Love: A Delicious Memoir of Food, Family, and Finding Yourself

“You deserve better.” He pushed the plate in front of me, his part of the hamburger gone, but all the fries still on the plate.
Like a guy who would share his dinner with me and give me all the fries? A guy who broke rules so I could listen to my father talk to my therapist? A guy who gave me his jacket when I was cold? A guy who set me on fire with a simple touch? But Noah couldn’t possibly want a girl like me.”
― Katie McGarry, Pushing the Limits

“french kisses
french fries
him
tonight”
― C.J. Carlyon

“Fries go in, fries come out. Fries go in, fries come out. Small, regular, large, extra-large. Fries go in, fries come out. Sweat drips down my back, my chest burning hot. I try not to scald my forearms when people slam into me, rushing between stations. Fries go in, fries come out. I am the siren call of McDonald's: smell the fries, you cannot resist. You want the fries. You need the fries, I hate the fries. I am the fries. Fries go in, fries come out.”
― Whitney Gardner, You're Welcome, Universe

“What about these fried things . . . ? Ohhh, god, these have a simple taste, but I just can't stop!”
― Hirukuma, Reborn as a Vending Machine, I Now Wander the Dungeon, Vol. 1

“Up next," Henry said, "we have a play on steak-frites. Steak-frites was the first French food I ever had, at a restaurant down the block from ours, back home in Chicago. My dad took me there." Henry remembered the first time he'd been there, squeezing into the tiny tables, the rare steak and the crisp fries, the smell of garlic and butter, the sense that food could transport you far from Damien Avenue. "I've put my own spin on it by using a bulgogi marinade and kimchi butter on the steak, and instead of fries, those are deep-fried batons of garlic mashed potatoes."
This was one of his favorite kinds of dishes. From the outside, it looked like a traditional steak-frites, with its melting pat of butter on top, and fries that were thicker than usual but still shaped like fries. But then you started eating, and the flavors were different, and the fries were a totally different texture than what you were expecting.”
― Stephanie Kate Strohm, Love à la Mode

“You looked into my eyes and said, “I’m going to order you more fries.” That’s when I knew I could fall in love with you.”
― Lidia Longorio, Hey Humanity

“You're going to love the ham, egg, and chips sandwich," Callum says. "It's Finn's favorite."
"Is that what inspired the ham, egg, and chip toasty on your menu?"
He whips his head around to peer at the counter, which is empty.
"The guy who took our order headed back to the kitchen," I say. "Is everything okay?"
"I just didn't want him to overhear and think I'm stealing his recipes. He might ban us from eating here, and then I'd never be able to eat the greatest sandwich ever made again."
I roll my eyes. "Come on. It can't be that good."
"Just wait."
"Honestly, the sandwich you serve is amazing. Your idea to put a layer of fries between the ham and the egg is mind blowing.”
― Sarah Smith, Simmer Down

“Avocado and hummus quesadillas."
Liam chuckled. "What about baked tofu fries?"
"Batata vada." Jana Auntie's potato fritters, coated with chickpea flour and served with chutney, were one of her favorite snacks.”
― Sara Desai, The Dating Plan

“Good fried chicken was remarkably hard to come by in New York, but this---tender, with just enough crust-only bits protruding, skin peeling easily away from the meat---this was good. The fries were thin and still hot, some with crunch, some with bite, lightly sprinkled with the salt blend they'd always used. The biscuits were fresh and flaky, and the salad's iceberg lettuce was dressed in Mimi's trademark sweet oil dressing---a closely guarded (but really very simple, and once very common) recipe.”
― K.J. Dell'Antonia, The Chicken Sisters

“Goat cheese poutine.
Fresh-cut fries. Thick, rich beef gravy. Some other secret goodies splashed in. And creamy, tangy goat cheese.
Jösses, the stuff was life-changing.”
― Jared Reck, Donuts and Other Proclamations of Love

“I can't miss the huge wink Lia throws my way as she distracts the rest of the group with promises of summer-perfect food. The rest of them go off---Lia manages to pull Jack after her even though his forehead is furrowed like he still wants to get in the last word to ruin my potential date---to load up on buckets of garlic fries and cones dripping with decadent ice cream.”
― Julie Abe, The Charmed List

“The fat was bubbling in a pot on the stove. The potatoes went in, were snatched out, then plunged back in. They emerged crisp and golden; Richard sprinkled them with salt and piled them on a platter, then set a heap of tiny marinated fish on the side. They ate with their fingers. The potatoes were burning hot, the insides nearly melted, making the contrast with the cool, slick anchovies almost erotic.”
― Ruth Reichl, The Paris Novel