Let's Talk About Frites, Baby.

Traumatizing summer employment? Check.

Wonderful new employment as a teaching artist around the city? Double check.

Ready to start blogging about food again? Born ready.

Let's begin:
First of all, if you've ever met me, even for five minutes, then you know I have an affinity for french fries. Ok, so it's not so much an affinity as it is an extreme obsession/borderline addiction, pretty much 24-hour constant craving and all-around bad habit that I have absolutely no intention of kicking. I have been known on more than one occasion to order a spinach salad as an entree (healthy, right? So proud.), only to request that the waitress also bring a giant side of french fries to accompany said salad. Impressed? You should be. Because I can put away more french fries in a single sitting than that guy who wins that disgusting Coney Island hot dog contest every year can put away hot dogs, and I manage to do it without broadcasting my gluttony all over national television. I just brag about it on a blog that nobody reads. NBD.

When it comes to french fries, there is Pommes Frites and then there is everybody else. You have to respect places that offer only one menu item. It's like they're saying, "We don't need to sell you anything else because once you eat our frites, you won't WANT anything else. Ever." They don't simply specialize in french fries; they ARE french fries. That's it people. Don't go here if you're looking for soup or salad, cause it ain't happening. It's all frites all the time, and I like it that way. They're a Jack-of-one-trade, a mono-culinary institution of greasy goodness. And they serve their frites in gigantic paper cones, which is just classy. People walk out of the tiny Belgian frites stand flying their "frites" flag, carrying their Statue of Liberty torch o' frites proudly through the streets of the East Village, proclaiming freedom to eat obscene amounts of frites at all hours of the night. Cue the patriotic background music!

As if the frites weren't good enough, they have the audacity to offer a veritable Baskin-Robbins of dipping sauces. Options like Sweet Mango Chutney, Pomegranate Teriyaki, Smoked Eggplant Mayo, Parmesan Peppercorn and Peanut Satay are offered at the budget-friendly price of three for $2.50, which means you can set yourself up with a flavor buffet, and even trade with your friends. It's like POGS or Pokemon or baseball cards or whatever the generational playground gambling equivalent is for you, except creamier. Send those little frites to the hot tub of organic black truffle mayo, love 'em, leave 'em, and they'll definitely call you in the morning.

The only thing on the menu that concerns me is Poutine. The latest in a string a food trends, in many places Poutine is the new cupcake. It's a French-Canadian comfort food of french fries and cheese curds covered in gravy, and people are obsessed with it. But to me, it sounds like the noise that happens when a cowboy spits a giant wad of tobacco into a spittoon. "Poutine!" And it looks like a sick baby sneezed all over some french fries, then they sold it to you for $6 and called it gourmet. I just can't get on board, but if sick baby snot is your thing, go ahead.

I highly recommend Pommes Frites as a late night snack, a mid-day snack, a pre-dinner snack, or just...lunch. The actual establishment is quite literally a hole in the wall, very narrow with maybe seating for 10 if you're lucky. I recommend a maximum group size of 2. Or better yet, just go alone. Revel in your shame as you dip your way to Belgian bliss.