French fries, like cave paintings and love itself, may have deep roots in France. But Belgium is the twentieth-century's keeper of the fry. (Not Bulgaria, not Belarus, but Belgium, that wedge of a country between France and the Netherlands.) Belgians, especially the Flemish people in the north of the country, are crazy about fries. Even the smallest villages have at least one frituur, as the fry stands are known. Since they have long hours, television, and serve alcohol, they are often the liveliest hang-outs in the smaller towns. A decade ago most amounted to little more than a guy with an electric fry vat in a trailer, usually parked in some gravel near the edge of town. He served the fries in a paper cone with a small plastic fork. When the fries were gone, people wiped off their fingers and lips on the paper.

But now many old fry stands have moved indoors and upscale. Take Frietshop Eddy, a tidy little establishment in the town of Avelgem, about 40 miles west of Brussels in the province of West Flanders. For the last nine years the place has been managed by Annick Oroir, a young Flemish woman who has firm ideas on the French fry. According to Annick, the key to a successful fry is to fry it twice. The first fry, using pre-cut and peeled Belgian potatoes measuring nine by nine millimeters, is at 300 degrees Fahrenheit for eight to ten minutes. The second is at 340 degrees and lasts just a few minutes, until the fries rustle in their wire basket when given a shake. Frietshop Eddy uses one-hundred percent vegetable oil for its fries but some other places use a mixture of vegetable oil and fat. In Belgium people will actually choose their frituur by the kind of oil used. For most it's not a question of health, but of taste. I personally can't tell the difference.

The traditional condiment to fries is real mayonnaise. This is a fact some Americans nearly gag on. But true mayonnaise is nothing like the stuff in the jars in the United States. It is simply raw egg yolk, olive oil, a touch of vinegar or lemon juice, and perhaps a pinch of dry mustard very carefully beaten into a thick, pale yellow spread. Although mayonnaise from the frituur is not top quality, it's still great on fries with lots of salt. Next to mayonnaise, ketchup on fries tastes like sugar to me. Which is, in fact, another option. Annick, who informally studies the fry-eating habits of her fellow Europeans, says the Germans are those most likely to order sugar on their fries. The French, she says, like spicier sauces such as samurai, which has a soy sauce tang to it. The Dutch, perhaps because of their Indonesian experiences, often order the curry sauces.

As the frituur has evolved from the outdoor stand to the sit-down, fast-food restaurant, its offerings and service have expanded. Napkins are available! Big plastic forks, too. Most frituur now also sell beer, wine, and a variety of meats, mostly spicy meat patties, sausages or skewers of meat and vegetables. One of the most popular is the fricadelle, a very tasty, hot-dog-shaped meat. When asked what the ingredients are, Annick raises her eyebrows and looks away for a moment. Do we really want to know? We do. She leaves for a minutes and returns with the box. "Pig, horse, poultry, water, flour, aroma, etc. she reads off the back. More suspect than the horse meat is the ingredient writer's use of the general term "poultry" instead of some more specific word. Briefly I consider whether pigeons are domesticated enough to qualify as poultry. Which brings us around to the unsatisfying truth about French fries and frituur. Eaten frequently, this high-fat frituur food is probably not too good for a person. So it's probably a good thing you have to go all the way to Belgium to get it.