FIRST ATTEMPT AT
COMMERCIAL-SCALE
FRIES

If there's one thing I've learned while building G&C BBQ Company, it's this:

Restaurant equipment has a way of making you feel both incredibly professional... and completely inexperienced.

Case in point: my first batch of French fries in a commercial deep fryer.

I've made plenty of fries at home over the years, but cooking with a commercial fryer is a completely different experience. The baskets are bigger. The oil recovers temperature almost instantly. Everything happens faster. And suddenly you're making decisions that determine whether your fries end up crispy, soggy, or somewhere in between.

Naturally, I decided not to make just one batch.

I made two.

But before I even cut the first potato, I had a much bigger question.

Was this whole process really worth it?

Every article and video I came across seemed to recommend the same sequence:

From a home cook's perspective, it seemed excessive.

From a restaurant owner's perspective, it seemed even crazier.

Every extra step means more labor, more equipment, more planning, and more opportunities for something to go wrong. As someone who has spent an entire career looking for efficient processes, I couldn't help but wonder if all that extra work actually translated into a noticeably better French fry.

There was only one way to find out.

THE GREAT FRY EXPERIMENT

Rather than assuming one size was "right," I wanted to compare two of the most common restaurant cuts: 3/8-inch and 1/2-inch fries.

The first surprise came before the fryer was even turned on.

Using the commercial fry cutter, the 3/8-inch blade actually produced less waste than the 1/2-inch cutter. Fewer potato pieces were too small to continue through the process, which was an unexpected bonus.

Every percentage point of yield matters in a restaurant, so that was a good first lesson.

STARCH IS THE ENEMY

After cutting, both batches were soaked in cold water for about ten minutes, rinsed thoroughly, and drained to wash away excess surface starch.

Then came the step I was most skeptical about.

The potatoes were blanched in boiling water containing baking soda and kosher salt.

For each batch of five large potatoes, I used roughly seven quarts of water with four teaspoons each of baking soda and kosher salt.

The baking soda raises the pH of the water, encouraging the outside of the potatoes to break down just enough to create the rough, craggy surface that eventually turns into an incredibly crisp crust.

The 3/8-inch fries needed about five minutes.

The thicker 1/2-inch fries took about six.

When they came out, they looked almost... ugly.

Perfect.

The rougher the exterior, the crispier the finished fry.

Next time, I plan to gently tumble the boiled fries a little more before laying them out to dry. That extra movement should rough up the surface even further, creating more tiny edges and ridges that can crisp beautifully during frying.

Sometimes ugly really is delicious.

TIME TO FRY

After drying completely, it was finally time for the part I'd been looking forward to.

The commercial fryer.

The first fry was done at 350°F for about two minutes.

This isn't about creating color.

It's simply cooking the potatoes through while leaving them pale and soft.

Once they were finished, the fries went onto sheet pans and into the freezer.

This is another one of those restaurant techniques that initially made me question whether the effort was justified. After all, you're now asking someone to boil potatoes, fry them once, freeze them, and fry them again later. That's a lot of labor for something most people eat without giving it a second thought.

But there is real science behind it.

Freezing removes moisture, firms up the potato, and creates the conditions for an incredibly crisp exterior during the final fry.

THE MOMENT OF TRUTH

After a few hours in the freezer, it was time for the second fry.

Back into the 350°F oil they went.

Three minutes later…

Success.

Well…

Mostly.

The 3/8-inch fries were exactly what you'd expect from a good restaurant fry. Crispy, tasty, and perfectly respectable.

But they didn't surprise or impress me. I'm striving for something more than my future customers can get next door.

The 1/2-inch fries were another story.

They developed a beautifully crisp exterior while staying incredibly soft and fluffy inside—almost like a baked potato wrapped in a crunchy shell.

They were, without question, my favorite of the two.

If I changed anything, I'd probably leave them in the fryer another 30 to 60 seconds to deepen the color and add just a little more crunch.

That's a pretty small adjustment considering this was the very first attempt.

WAS IT WORTH IT?

After tasting both batches, my answer changed.

At the beginning of the day, I was looking for reasons to simplify the process.

By the end of the day, I understood why so many great restaurants follow it.

The extra steps weren't there because someone wanted to make French fries more complicated.

They were there because each step genuinely improved the final product.

Could I skip some of them?

Probably.

Would I still have good fries?

Absolutely.

Would they be these fries?

Probably not.

WHY THIS IS A TEST KITCHEN

Every menu item starts as an experiment.

We make notes.

We compare techniques.

We change one variable at a time.

Sometimes the differences are dramatic.

Sometimes they're measured in just thirty seconds.

Those tiny adjustments are often what separate good food from food people remember.

So no, this wasn't just about making French fries.

It was about learning how our equipment behaves, understanding the science behind the process, and deciding whether a more labor-intensive method actually delivers enough value to earn its place in our kitchen.

This time, I think it did.

Turns out that even something as humble as a French fry has plenty left to teach me.

And honestly…

That's the fun part.

Just when I thought this experiment was over, the fries had one more thing to teach me.

Later that evening, I was relaxing and enjoying the satisfaction of what I considered a very successful first test. Then I noticed something odd.

There was a faint taste in my mouth that I couldn't quite identify.

At first, I dismissed it.

Then it hit me.

Baking soda.

"Oh no..."

My mind immediately went back to the blanching step. Had I used too much? Was four teaspoons in seven quarts of water the right ratio? Did the potatoes need to be rinsed more thoroughly after boiling? Or was I simply noticing something that had always been there because I was actively looking for flaws?

I honestly don't know the answer yet.

But that's exactly why this is a Test Kitchen.

A recipe isn't finished just because it tastes good in the moment. Sometimes the final evaluation happens hours later, after you've had time to think, compare notes, and question your own assumptions.

So before these fries earn a permanent place on the G&C BBQ Company menu, I'll be doing more research, running more tests, and adjusting the process until I'm convinced they're the very best they can be.

Sometimes the biggest discoveries don't happen while you're cooking.

They happen after dinner.

FAIL. ADJUST. TEST AGAIN.