Editor's note: For those of you living under a rock, the Boise Fry Company was originally named the Idaho Fry Company. And they would have cruised merrily along with that moniker if the lawyers from the Idaho Potato Commission hadn't stopped by to talk about trademarks, protected marks, and high-priced Armani suits. Our tribute to that fiasco can be read here. As long as the fries are still the same, I reckon nobody really cares what they call themselves.

This is a love story about a man and duck fat. Before I explain that statement, however, let me ask you a question:

Why do fries always play second fiddle to burgers, halibut, or other supposedly superior foodstuffs?

That's the question the owners of the Boise Fry Company originally asked themselves. And when they couldn't come up with a good reason why it should be that way, they decided to take a stand for the fry-loving majority of this here town. In their little corner of the world, the fries would be the feature, and the burgers would be on the side. Food justice is served!

Purple fries

Such an idea, though novel, would normally be doomed to failure. You can't take ordinary run-of-the-mill Ore-Ida fries, drop them in a fryer, sprinkle some salt on them, and call it good. Nope, you have to care about the fries. You must know your potatoes -- your Russet, your Gold, your Okinawa. You must also know and perfect your fry styles, because the style -- shoestring, curly, regular, or homestyle -- can affect taste and perception. Most of all, you mustn't be afraid to experiment with fries like chefs experiment with cuts of meat, fine cheeses, and dessert ingredients. And this, at last, gets us back to duck fat.

Tough choices

Leave it up to my ugly wife, with her healthy appetite and fine eye for food, to spot the innocently-named "Bourgeois" at the bottom of the big menu behind the counter. "Do you want to try that?" she said, pointing. Loyal readers will know by now what it takes to really get my attention, and it usually involves the word "fried". After reading the description -- "finest cut fries, flash fried in duck fat and garnished with black truffle salt" -- my reply was not yeah but hell yeah, and shame on her for asking. After eleven years of marriage, she should know better by now.

           Duck-fat goodness

Our final selections consisted of a sampling of fries, all of which are great and can be seasoned to your taste with a variety of sauces, salts, and other condiments. For me, however, it was the duck-fat fries that proved the absolute tastiest. I want them now with every meal. The next time we have a cornhole soiree at the ol' Boudreaux plantation, I'm thinking about sending in a catering order for about 15 pounds of them. I still don't know what black truffle salt is, but I do know that my life has been recently enriched because of it. At $8 an order, you might be hesitant to pull the trigger, but I suggest you live a little and give these specialty fries a try. There weren't a unanimous hit with the Uncle Boise tasting crew, but I'm convinced that some members of our little crew wouldn't know good taste if it started licking their kneecaps. How else can they stomach Last Cake Standing and candied yams? I'm saying right here and now that duck-fat fries are the next great food phenomenon. Remember you heard it here first.

The truth is, if the Boise Fry Company served nothing but fries and soft drinks, some people might see the place as nothing more than a snack shop or college food shack. They might even think, heaven forbid, that it's just a small step up from the fry trailer at the county fair. That's why the kind and wise folks there also offer burgers and beer to round out the meal. And not just any old burger or beer. The burgers -- beef, bison, or vegan -- aren't treated as an afterthought by any means. Just as much care goes into their preparation, and I can tell you firsthand that their bison burger is a carnivore's delight and, shall I say, a perfect compliment to any of the fries. Don't expect to find tasteless macrobrewed beer here either. They've got three taps, and each is currently filled with a tasty microbrew, two of which -- Owyhee Amber Ale and Highlands Hollow Spoon Tongue -- are local products. Indeed, they've made it a point to get as much stuff as they can from local sources, and this includes beef, bison, potatoes, vegetables, and anything else they can find. It's all part of their commitment to be a green company.

Boise Fry Company goodness

The next time you have a fry craving, don't forget about this place. It's in an odd little location and it's easy to overlook, but it's well worth remembering. Just do me a favor when you get there. Ask them where in these parts a man can get his hands on some duck fat. I miss it already.