When a plate of fries is set before you here, resist the reflex to ask for a bottle of ketchup. You don't need it. Ketchup's job is to distract you from the uniform, bland texture of processed, frozen spuds and counteract the shaker of salt someone dashed across them before they hit the bell. No, the fries here are perfect just the way they are, naked and stacked crisply on the side of your plate. Each bite confirms this: a balance of salt, pepper, a tiny bit of Old Bay, maybe? Subtle, simple, but just right. They cut their own here, and when you eat so many fries shaken from a vacuum-sealed plastic bag, you just don't realize how important that is. Captain Larry's fries are cut thin enough to cook to the perfect moment, making them the archetypal golden brown, the surface cracking when you bite, and the inside steaming, starchy goodness.