The Reuben has proved the ‘gram-grabbing component of BAM’s weekend brunch menu (the pickles! That rarebit sauce!) But in its own way, the accompanying tangle of crisp, judiciously seasoned shoestring fries is just as much of a triumph of engineering — or so says Eater London’s own Michael Wolff, George Reynolds, who recently put them through their paces: “So fine,” was his verdict, “yet so potatoey.” 

At Jacob Kenedy’s Louisiana-meets-Islington pub, the punchily seasoned fries act as a delicious bridge between the two principal components of the lunchtime special: a six-inch or foot-long po’ boy (go for the shrimp, or hogshead and pickled okra) and a cup of peppery gumbo. Stuff into the first, dunk them into the second. They also go nicely with the buttermilk fried chicken and the jambalaya.

“Possibly the freshest fish in London,” proclaims Fish Central. Happily, the chips are the business too. A hit since 1968, it’s hidden away in an out-of-the-way shopping precinct off Goswell Road, and is always packed; booking is strongly advised. Spud-wise, there’s no reinvented wheel here, but everything’s exactly as it should be: the chips are hand-cut and portions are gargantuan. Pair them with the perfectly flaky cod, which comes deep-fried, grilled, or crumbed in matzo meal. 

For Tim Hayward, the search is over. “London’s best chip,” he announced in his FT review of The Coach, Henry Harris’s first major opening since Racine bowed out in 2015. The Clerkenwell boozer-cum-dining room prides itself on executing classics faultlessly, which, yes, includes the chips — they’re Betjeman-burnished and have an exceptional, almost Kettle-like crunch, which gives way to a fluffy dream of an interior. The kitchen’s Franco-British mission statement finds its fullest expression when they’re paired with the onglet and bone-marow butter, but honestly, they’re good with everything.  

Unlike so many wannabe usurpers cluttering up pub menus, Hawksmoor’s triple-cooked chips have actually been cooked three times: once in boiling water and twice in the fryer. The end — shatteringly crisp nuggets of gold somewhere between a chip and a roastie — certainly justifies the laborious means. Shunning traditional single-chip strategies, they also offer beef-dripping fries. Get both with the surf-n-turf (a 300g fillet steak and a grilled half lobster with garlic butter) for a delicious study in duality. 

Eyebrows were raised last year when a slick new “tavern” appeared next to the Langham Hotel with a menu steered by Michel Roux Jr. But if chips are a litmus test, The Wigmore passes with flying colours — these are the real, er, McCoy. As chunky as Lego and pleasingly irregular, they work as well on their own with a pint as they do with one of the pies. Far from being pseudy faffing, the Bloody Mary salt is an inspired addition — imagine the flavour profile of ketchup, but without the sogginess. 

The undisputed mid-range champion. Honest’s “secret” recipe comes from co-founder Tom Barton (who came up with it at 2am after a pub shift), and the spuds come from a fifth-generation potato farmer in West Sussex. On the slim side, they nevertheless nail the coveted juxtaposition of a floury interior with a satisfyingly loud crunch (not improved, it must be said, by a trip on a Deliveroo bike; eat in, or not at all). Best enjoyed alongside the Tribute, Honest’s nod to a you-know-what: a medium-pink beef patty with bacon, American cheese, burger sauce, French’s mustard, pickles, onion and lettuce. [With twenty-three branches across London, these ones are easy to find.]

What’s a fish restaurant without chips? Parsons has been universally applauded for its small plates (sea-trout tartare; prawns, Little Gem and battered samphire) and daily specials scribbled on the tiles — and luckily, the fries make the grade too. When he visited earlier this year they were, to a besotted Jay Rayner, what porridge was to Baby Bear: not too thick, not too thin, snappably crisp and rustling invitingly. Go for textural contrast by ordering them with the brown crab pissaladière, or stick with the fried theme and get several rounds of potted shrimp croquettes. 

Since opening in 2015, Le Bab have been proving it’s possible to make high-end kebabs without being a totally tone-deaf about it. Positioned somewhere between après-ski and après-Scala, their double-cooked fries come with their own pan of molten cheese sauce. Dip them into it delicately with a raised pinky-finger, or go down the poutine route and pour the whole lot on top. No word as yet on whether they’ll be served at sibling Maison Bab — soon to open in Covent Garden opposite Temper Three. 

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a perfect Porterhouse must be in want of Serious Chips. The Guinea Grill’s, like everything at the Mayfair steakhouse, feel authentic — they look and taste like potatoes should (not always a given). What really gives them the edge, though, over the other excellent starch-based sides — horseradish mash, Guinea gratin potatoes — is the fact they provide an excuse to order gallons of the béarnaise, which is, by some distance, the best sauce in the world to have with chips.

Beef dripping is very much on brand at Blacklock, where the menu reads like Animal Farm. Crisp without and fluffy within, Midas-hued and perfectly seasoned, the chips cooked in it are justifiably famous. Blacklock is especially worth a visit on ‘Butcher Price Monday’, when the likes of Barnsley chops and tomahawks are up for grabs at cost price – the Soho original’s chips are just as good, but given the patchiness of the Square Mile’s spud coverage, this is where Eater’s hanging its hat.