Normally, I'm not a big French fry aficionado, but serve my old tennis shoes with six kinds of dipping sauce and I might be inclined to eat them.

My favorite part about this photo is that we felt like complete dorks, taking pictures of our food (not that that stopped us). Then a couple came in and since there weren't any open places to sit, we offered to share our table. Each of them immediately whipped out a camera and took a picture of their fries. See? I'm not the craziest person in the room anymore! Oh New York, reason #253 why I love you.

If you're ever in the area, you simply cannot pass up
Pommes Frites, a tiny little counter in Greenwich Village, where you have to suck in your gut to get past the cash register. Which is ironic, because I'm pretty sure the menu is designed to make regulars grow wide enough that they can't fit in the door. They have more kinds of sauces than you can count on your fingers and toes... and it's totally worth the sudden, early onset of heart disease brought on by excessive mayonnaise consumption.