By The summer fishing tradition with Rémy has solidified into something permanent. Every other weekend, weather permitting, we drive to the water — sometimes Cocodrie, sometimes the bank of Bayou Lafourche near Mama's cottage, sometimes just University Lake by LSU with the Snoopy rod for old times' sake. The Snoopy rod is retired now (Rémy has a real setup), but we keep it in the garage because you don't throw away the rod that caught the first fish. You retire it. Like a jersey.
This is the milestone I wrote about in the plan — the summer when the fishing trips become a THING, not just an occasional outing but a rhythm, a heartbeat, a father-son tradition that's as regular as Monday red beans and as sacred as the Christmas réveillon. We fish. We talk. We don't talk. We cook what we catch. And between the casting and the cooking and the silence, something is being built that I can't see but can feel — the bridge between who Rémy is and who he'll become, a bridge made of fish and silence and the smell of marsh grass at dawn.
Luc came on the last trip of the month. He doesn't fish as often as Rémy — he's fourteen and has other interests (math team, Mia, the mysterious life of a teenager that exists behind a phone screen) — but when he comes, he casts with Joey's motion, the same angle, the same follow-through, and the bridge connects backward too: to Joey, to the bayou, to the beginning. The bridge goes both ways. It goes to Rémy's future and to Joey's past, and I stand in the middle of it, holding a fishing rod, trying to be the connection that doesn't break.
Every time we cook what we catch on the bayou, the fish is the centerpiece—battered, fried in a cast iron skillet right there at the water’s edge or back at Mama’s cottage—but Rémy started asking years ago what we were having with the fish, and somewhere along the line the answer became skinny fries, every single time, without debate. There’s something about the simplicity of it that fits: you don’t need much when the fish is fresh and the company is right, just something hot and crispy to fill the plate and keep the meal going a little longer. On that last trip when Luc came, we stood around the cottage kitchen making these together while the oil heated, and for a few minutes the three of us were just three people making fries—no phones, no silence, no bridge to think about—just fries.
Skinny Fries
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 4 medium russet potatoes, scrubbed clean
- 2 tablespoons olive oil or vegetable oil
- 1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
- 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
- 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- Optional: pinch of cayenne for heat
Instructions
- Slice the potatoes. Cut potatoes into thin, uniform matchstick-style fries, about 1/4 inch wide. The thinner and more consistent the cut, the crispier the result. A mandoline works well if you have one at the camp.
- Soak and dry. Place cut fries in a large bowl of cold water and soak for at least 10 minutes to draw out excess starch. Drain thoroughly and pat completely dry with paper towels—moisture is the enemy of a crispy fry.
- Season. Toss dried fries with oil, salt, garlic powder, smoked paprika, black pepper, and cayenne if using. Coat evenly.
- Cook in batches. For oven method: spread in a single layer on a baking sheet and roast at 425°F for 20–25 minutes, flipping once halfway through, until golden and crisp at the edges. For camp skillet method: fry in 1/2 inch of hot vegetable oil over medium-high heat in batches, 3–4 minutes per side, until deep golden. Drain on paper towels.
- Salt immediately. Season with an extra pinch of kosher salt the moment they come out of the heat, while still hot. Serve alongside fresh-fried fish while everything is hot.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 210 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 7g | Carbs: 34g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 480mg