Linni Eats L.A.: Fry Crawl

You might celebrate turning in a 50-page paper with a Homeric journey through local bars, or even through your own liquor cabinet. Why not reward the brain for months of thinking with a night of killing brain cells?

Well, I can’t offer any scientific justification for the epic I had in mind upon completing my senior thesis, other than mere craving. It wasn’t a bar crawl that I had in mind, no—I wanted a fry crawl.

Consider, if you will, the French fry. The starchy slivers didn’t used to do much for me, but recent debates over the Marketplace’s shifty potato sticks and the proximity of my house to Troy Burger on York Boulevard have given me cause for re-assessment. I’ve made many a 3 a.m. walk home from Troy, greasy bag in hand, knowing full well that the contents of my satchel will save me from a hangover. That alone has fostered in me a love of the fry.

It was with that in mind that I set out to discover the best around Oxy. A ranking was the goal I had in mind, but my journey reinforced the truism that when it comes to fries, it really is to each her own.

We began at The Bucket on Eagle Rock—I say “we” because, pride aside, I couldn’t do this alone. My team consisted of three ladies and one gentleman, all slightly dubious of my plans for their arteries. The first shot to our hearts came from a B-rated burger bar, serving gut bombs out of a rickety hut where the patio overlooks Eagle Rock Blvd. and an aging biker gang will drunkenly slur at you at 5 o’clock in the afternoon.

Their $2.50 fry basket fed four people but was nothing to write home about. The skinny fries, only occasionally crispy, function perfectly as a side to what the Bucket does best—burgers and beer. The seasoning on top was a nice touch, as was Julio’s sauce—an orange peppery mustard that, according to our server, had a splash of Two Buck Chuck thrown in. But tasty though it was, I’m ultimately looking for a fry requiring no accouterments.

Next up was Oinkster, a self-proclaimed “Slow Fast Food” restaurant that made us wait ten minutes before re-placing our forgotten fry order. Emphasis on condiments was highest here, where they make their own house ketchup, chipotle ketchup, whole grain mustard and garlic aioli. They also have mustard and malt vinegar for your dipping pleasure, but these “Belgian style” fries could star in their own show. They’re a strange breed, like a bigger In-N-Out fry that actually tastes good. They resembled tempura, with a brittle albino cavity that required no salt and tasted great alone, though it was hard to resist the homemade condiments. The small order was $2.35 for a basket about a quarter the size of the Bucket’s, but our already-swollen bellies weren’t complaining.

We waddled out and over to Penny’s on Figueroa and York next, a cartoonish spot I had doubts about. Their purple and teal exterior intrigued me, but I knew nothing about their food. Our $2.10 no-frills to-go order came out in your average white paper fast food bag, filled to the brim. I reached in for the first bite and stopped immediately—winner. They were Troy style larger wedges with Bucket-style seasoning and everything about them was uniform—no soggy bites, no sporadic grease wads. The exterior was unambiguously crisp and gave way to a dreamy burst of pillowy goodness like mashed potatoes in a crunchy casing. We’d made our way through half the stuffed bag before even thinking about the now-buried Heinz packets. For an order that could feed five people, this was by far the best deal, and the best fry.

I took a break at this juncture, and a much-needed shower. Who knew that eating three orders of fries could make you feel like you’d rolled around in them? But if Penny’s was going to contest the Troy loves that started this mess, I needed one last taste to solidify the decision. Troy’s $1.99 order equaled Penny’s in size, but required both salt and strenuous squeezing of the Fancy Ketchup packets. They aren’t uniform with any consistency, and if you aren’t careful you’ll definitely get some soggy or burnt pieces. While they are fried in the same style as Penny’s, they taste distinctly like everything else at Troy, a grease I could recognize anywhere.

Unfortunately, my final ranking put my former beloved at third place, succeeding only the Bucket in fry glory. From now on, I’ll be making my way over to Penny’s when a craving strikes, although there’s something to be said for the bizarre style on offer at Oinkster. While all these places deserve a review in their own unique right, when it comes to fries, York & Figueroa is the place to be.