Few ingredients are as willing as the potato to become exactly what you want them to be. I’ve long taken it up on the offer. As a pre-teen, freshly sprung from an orthodontist’s chair, my idea of heaven was a Wendy’s fry — natural-cut, skins freckled along the edges, salt like tiny rhinestones clinging to grease — dunked into a chocolate Frosty. I’d sit shotgun in my mom’s car, snapping at the neon rubber bands on my braces, savoring the ache in my jaw and the interplay of hot-cold, sweet-salty, crunchy-soft.
By college, I’d graduated to McAlister’s Deli, where the pick-two combo gave me a cup of soup or chili and a baked potato. I’d collapse one into the other, building a loaded potato so ungainly it should have come with a warning sign. Aesthetically, it was an eyesore. As a meal, it was unbeatable: filling, cheap and, if I’m honest, a little thrilling.
I’m not alone in wanting to test the outer limits of the potato’s versatility.
One of my first moves in a new restaurant is to scan for “loaded fries” and see how the kitchen interprets the form. At the local shawarma joint, the waffle fries — already some of the best I’ve had, thanks to sharing fryer oil with the falafel — arrive buried under ribbons of crisped meat, spoonfuls of tzatziki, feta and pickled vegetables. At a Chicago taco spot I love, sweet potato fries act as the stage for a rich, cinnamon-leaning mole, showered with cotija and scallions.
In Louisville, back when I was a public radio reporter spending my meager Derby winnings, a now-shuttered burrito joint near the track served something that was essentially nacho fries: queso, grilled meat, pico, sour cream. The fries themselves were nothing special, but that hardly mattered. It was the toppings, and the crowd, that made them memorable. Even on non race-days, the place was a magnet for barflies wobbling their way home and more than once I saw a drunk customer split a burrito open over the fries and tuck in with unbridled joy, sauce running down their wrist.
That’s probably what I looked like at Polly’s Freeze, a retro roadside eatery in Georgetown, Indiana, right across the river from Louisville. Its pink-and-green neon parrot sign lit the way to some of the most satisfying chili cheese fries I’ve ever eaten: crinkle-cut potatoes, sheeny Velveeta-yellow cheese sauce, chili ladled from a mini-crockpot in the back. When the weather tilted toward sweatshirt season, I’d drive out along I-62 with the windows down, pull into the lot at the sight of the parrot and lean against the hood of my car to devour them, ravenous and happy.
It wasn’t refined, but it was exuberant, which is honestly the energy I’d love to bring to weeknight cooking. I mean, when was the last time you felt exuberant about Tuesday night dinner?
Loaded french fries — cheesy, decadent, endlessly riffable based on what’s in your fridge — might just be the fastest way there.
The loaded fry formula
(noncom/Getty Images ) Topped with pickled cabbage, chives and sour cream
First things first: the fries. Freezer-section fries are your friend. Don’t be shy about shape or size — shoestring, steak-cut, crinkle, waffle, sweet potato — I’ll even give a pass to tater tots for the sake of this exercise. The only non-negotiable? Shatteringly crisp. Whether you eat with your fingers or a fork (no judgment either way), you want fries that can hold up under sauces and toppings without collapsing into soggy oblivion.
Next, the virtues of an ideal loaded fry plate. I think of it like a little flavor orchestra: saucy, cheesy, meaty, tangy, fresh. Each element should layer on top of the others, sometimes harmonizing, sometimes clashing just enough to make every bite sing. I recognize some ingredients are a little more fluid (Is cheese sauce a cheese or a sauce? Who’s to say!) but the important thing is creating some delicious tension.
Saucy: The cornerstone. Classic moves lean umami-heavy: think beefy gravy for a poutine and disco fries, chili for the diner classic. Want to gesture Mexican? Mole, enchilada sauce, queso or salsa. Play with contrasts: drizzle ranch, shake hot sauce or brown-sugary barbecue. Don’t forget the sophisticated route: aiolis, fancy mayos, green goddess, tzatziki, toum. Or even the thin, white sauce from your favorite halal cart.
Here’s a fry plate I’ve recently been scheming about after workouts: crisp rosemary-and-garlic waffle fries, a gentle blanket of vodka sauce (excellent vodka sauce, mind you), melted mozzarella, parmesan-crusted chicken cutlets sliced into strips and a scattering of bruschetta topping. Maybe some chopped black olives for an extra kick of brine. I haven’t yet executed this masterpiece — I need to be in the right mood, saucy enough — but perhaps this week is the week.
Cheesy: Cheese is the glue, the comfort, the indulgence that pulls a loaded fry together. Melted, draped or crumbled, it should feel both luxurious and a little bit naughty. Go classic with a sharp cheddar or a creamy American for that diner-bar nostalgia. Or push it into more ambitious territory: queso fresco, feta, fontina, aged gouda or a tangy blue — even a silky burrata torn over piping-hot fries, letting it ooze and mingle with everything else on the plate. For weeknight practicality, a cheese sauce is your shortcut — the kind that clings to each fry like it was made just for it. (Pro-tip: Both Carbone and Williams Sonoma’s jarred mac and cheese sauces are perfect for this purpose). And yes, don’t be shy about layering: a little sprinkle of grated parmesan on top of melted mozzarella or cheddar can elevate even the humblest frozen fry to dinner-party territory.
Meaty: This is your chance to make the dish feel like dinner, not just a snack. You can, of course, go the classic route of combining your meat and sauce; I think of a poutine I had at Foothills Meats in Asheville that was enveloped in a short rib gravy, or a particularly decadent paper tray of loaded butter chicken fries from a Desi food truck in D.C. Or, for weeknight ease, think fast, cooked proteins you can scatter on top: shredded rotisserie chicken, cubed steak, smoky black beans, crispy glazed tofu, shredded carnitas or gyro slices. The goal is contrast and bite — something tender, savory and flavorful to pair with your fries and cheese — so each forkful hits all the right notes without requiring hours in the kitchen.
Tangy: Tang adds brightness, bite and lift — the note that cuts through cheese, sauce and fried starch. Dairy is one simple route: a dollop of sour cream, a spoonful of yogurt or labneh can mellow richness while adding subtle tang. Pickles are your secret weapon: quick-pickled onions, jalapeños, classic dill, or even a zingy giardiniera bring acidity, crunch, and punch. Want to get adventurous? Kimchi or preserved lemons add a fermented depth that dances with melted cheese and meat. Think of tang as punctuation: it makes each bite snap, balances richness and keeps your loaded fries from tipping into monotony.
Fresh: Here is your counterpoint: the crisp, bright note that keeps all the richness from feeling heavy. This can be as simple as reaching for pre-made options like pico de gallo or a spoonful of bruschetta topping, or as intentional as scattering crisp greens over the finished plate — think cabbage slaw, peppery arugula or even a Caesar-salad-style toss if you’re feeling decadent. Herbs and scallions are your fast, flavorful fix: a sprinkling of cilantro, parsley or chives adds aroma, color and lift. Fresh ingredients are the exclamation point on your loaded fries — they cut, balance, and highlight the indulgence while keeping the dish feeling like a proper, thoughtful dinner.
A Few Loaded Fry Ideas
(Tonelson/Getty Images ) A top down view of a bowl of chicken shawarma fries.
Elote-Style Loaded Fries with Chicken: Crisp fries piled high with sweet corn, a drizzle of mayo, cotija cheese, cubed grilled chicken, pickled red onion and fresh cilantro. The mix of creamy, salty, and bright flavors hits like summer on a plate.
Bibimbap-Style Loaded Fries: Fries topped with bulgogi beef, a scatter of pickled vegetables, a little sharp white cheddar (trust me), kimchi and a fried egg. Every bite is a mash-up of textures and flavors — rich, tangy, savory, with a touch of runny yolk magic, which doubles as the “sauce” here.
Buffalo Chicken Fries: Spoonfuls of buffalo chicken dip, blue cheese crumbles, thinly sliced pickled radish, and scallions over crispy fries. Spicy, tangy and creamy, with the kind of crunch and kick that makes it impossible to stop at one bite.
Cuban-Inspired Loaded Fries: Crispy fries topped with savory picadillo, a drizzle of garlicky aioli, pickled red onions, oozy mozzarella and a sprinkle of fresh cilantro. The sweet-and-savory notes of the ground beef, raisins and olives in the picadillo mingle with the fries, making each bite a little adventure.
Mediterranean Loaded Fries: Crispy fries topped with garlicky tahini drizzle, roasted chickpeas, crumbled feta, chopped olives, cherry tomatoes and a sprinkle of fresh parsley. Bright, nutty and herb-forward, with just enough richness to feel indulgent.
So go ahead: raid your freezer, pile on what’s in the fridge, and let your fries be the canvas. Tuesday night has never looked — or tasted — so fun.
This story originally appeared in The Bite, my weekly food newsletter for Salon. If you enjoyed it and would like more essays, recipes, technique explainers and interviews sent straight to your inbox, subscribe here.
