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Searching for Israel's greatest French Fries (or chips)
By Yuval Ben-Ami
Nita doesn't look a snob, but that is exactly what she is when it comes to French Fries, or - as they are known here and in other countries - chips. Our mission was to sample the chips offered by a variety of Israeli eateries, and get her expert opinion.
Hummus joint chips - like Grandma used to make
We began our journey at Abu Adham hummus place on Carlibach Street in Tel Aviv. Next to the tub of marinating chickpeas was a sign advertising chips in a variety of sizes. In reality, most of them weren't very long - an excellent sign of a direct link between the chips on the plate and a potato.
"These are grandma chips," the snob declares. "I see this as a positive thing despite the fact that my favorite type of chip is the fancy restaurant chip."
And so, we let this pronouncement guide our steps. There are almost no restaurants - except for the Far-Eastern ones - that have a chipless menu. In thousands of Tel Aviv restaurants, the fryers are on the go day and night, and it will be no mean feat to pick the best piece of fried potato.
By now, the hummus joints are opening en masse, which is to our benefit, and we go on to sample the wonderful chips at Asli on Yeffet Street. They're good, and they're spicy ? yowzers.
Brasserie - the traditional chip
Being honest, fancy restaurants shouldn't have chips, and maybe the French Brasserie in Rabin Square serves them in honor of the "Steak Frites" of Paris eateries, which in my mind are rolled in a scrap of the Le Monde newspaper.
This is a good time to point out that despite the American moniker - "French Fries" - the chip is not French in any way. American soldiers first tried them in Belgium during the World War I, when they came to the conclusion that anyone who spoke French must be from France. After all, why complicate matters?
Belgian or not, the chip snob is in raptures. "I'm in love!" she declares, as I try to understand how they achieved the lightness of the chips at Brasserie. It is a question that leads us to the kitchen, where the chef tells us they come out like that because they slice the potatoes on site.
Actually, it seems the secret of the chips is either the soaking in water the potatoes get, or in the oil they use. But we leave them to their secrets and continue with our mission.
The pub chip - a donutty taste
Chips are the obvious food of choice for pubs, and we have to try them in one. Mike's Place in Jerusalem is an utterly international pub, and I have no doubt that the chips are representative of pub chips all over the world.
They arrive at our table piled high, paper-thin and recently thawed - as expected. The outstanding feature is that their taste is reminiscent of donuts.
McDonald's - ready made chips
We're up north, and we stop to refuel at Zarzir Junction. We've just left an excellent restaurant in Nazareth and our stomachs are full of food. But duty calls, and we venture forth into the branch of McDonald's at the gas station to sample their fries. McDonald's also offers potato wedges, a kind of thick chip with seasoning, but we see this as a con. The fast food giant must first prove itself with the basic product and then it's free to be creative.
Remember fuss when McDonald's first arrived? The outcry because it didn't use a variety of potato grown in Israel for fries, and had to import them? But Israel's farmers labored, and gave over entire fields to this new variety - apparently for no good reason.
"It's more like a frozen chip than a fresh one," observes the snob. "It's all oil and salt with a potatoey aftertaste."
As we drive along the coastal road, we try them cold - and are disgusted.
The expert ex-pats
All that is left now is to try the real experts, the ones who come from lands where chips are a specialty.
In Britain, the place to get your chips (hot, greasy and tasty with a sprinkling of salt and a splash of vinegar for preference) is called a chip shop, and until recently there was one on Ibn Gvirol Street in Tel Aviv. Our only option now for an authentic chip is to nip down to Pier 23 in the port.
Pier 23's chips are known as "patat" chips, as they called in Flemish. They are served in a carton tray, with a space apiece for ketchup and mayonnaise. The chips themselves are cut into rectangles and kept frozen before cooking.
"I?m not overwhelmed," the chip snob says. For all her love of chips, Pier 23 presents a challenge: Can she really sit opposite Moul Yam - the top sea food restaurant in Israel - and eat fast food? It's torture.
We deliver our judgments on the chip test - I prefer the hummus joints, she likes the Brasserie's offerings - then we toss away the contents of the trays and decide that time, we'll evaluate something more choice, like mashed potato.
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