Anthony’s Onglets and the Great Frite Uprising

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Hello, friend.

The Dinner Delay (aka The Oil Incident)

First of all, dinner was two hours late.
Second, it was worth the wait.

Now, you probably want to know why dinner was two hours late.
Well, I’m blaming everything on hot oil. Because surely my lack of experience with deep frying couldn’t possibly come into play. Right? RIGHT?

That’s what I told myself.
But no—this disaster was entirely my doing, and my kitchen is still a crime scene. Puddles of oil on the stove. Greasy trays. Slick utensils. Bowls with a sheen you could ice skate on.

Let’s start at the beginning.

The Recipe Spiral

I had no idea what to make this week. I’ve been happily eating a very saintly vegetable stew for dinner, so I was ready for something decadent. Chocolate tart? Tempting. But I would absolutely eat the whole thing in two or three days, and we need to save that energy for The Fattening Time (aka the holidays).

After reading about 15 recipes, I settled on frites (Les Halles, p. 236). Then steak frites. Then fancy steak frites—Onglet Gascon (Les Halles, p. 127).

Onglet is hanger steak in American butcher-speak. Could I find a hanger steak within 20 miles of my haunted kitchen? Absolutely not. Each cow has exactly one hanger steak, and apparently none of the cows in southern Utah were feeling generous.

My butcher confirmed this—and then offered a substitute: the Denver steak. “Closest thing there is,” he said. Google says hanger steaks are more mineral tasting, Denver steaks more buttery. Anthony (the ghost) said that’s fine…in a pinch. Everything is a pinch in my town, Anthony. This is not New York.

But I’ve had Denver steak, and it’s delicious. Sold.

And I remembered to get marrow bones for the Gascon part of the dish.

Mise en Place: My Best Intentions

Here’s what I prepped:

• peel and slice Idaho potatoes into frites, soak in cold water

• shove marrow out of bones with thumb, soak in cold water

• bring steaks to room temp

• chop parsley

• gather oil, butter, Dijon, and wine

• heat oil in large pan

And when I say “large pan,” what I should have used was the largest pan I own. Because while blanching the second batch of potatoes, the oil bubbled over like some unattended spaghetti pot possessed by demons.

Luckily my reflexes are quick. Gas flame off. Paper towels deployed. Crisis somewhat contained.

Until the next batch went in.

Death by Incorrect Cookware

Less oil spilled that time, likely because the temperature had dropped. But trying to keep the oil at 280°F while guessing whether my frites were translucent enough not to anger Anthony was…a choice.

So I ended up with a tray of greasy half-cooked (blanched) fries—excusez-moi, frites. But at least they weren’t going to be scandalously bad.

Then came the game changer.

My dinner guest looked at me and said, “Don’t you have a big soup pot?”

Existential hand slap to forehead.

Of course I do. So I dumped the oil into my giant chili pot, set it back on the burner…where it immediately overshot the target temp by 45 degrees.

Turn heat down.
It got hotter.
Turn heat down again.
Still hotter.

“What kind of ridiculous nonsense is this?” I nearly yelled at the ghost.

He shrugged and suggested buying a deep fryer with a temperature gauge. Honestly? He’s not wrong.

Steak Salvation

While waiting for the oil to chill out, I started the steaks.

Butter into hot pan.
Salt and pepper the meat.
Sear two minutes per side.
Into a small roasting pan and into a 374° oven with the marrow.

The cookbook says 5 minutes to medium-rare. Lies. These were thick steaks—easily an inch and a half—and they took 14 minutes.

Steaks out. Marrow checked for doneness. Everything resting.

Time for the sauce.

Reader, I blew it.
No white wine—just red.
Forgot the Dijon entirely, despite it sitting two metaphoric inches from my hand.

It didn’t matter. The sauce wasn’t the star anyway.

The Final Fry

Now: the frites’ final bath.

The oil was 80 degrees too cool. Heat up. Test. Heat up more. Test. Repeat. Pray.

Suddenly…there it was. 375°F.

First batch in. Golden perfection.
Second and third batch—just as glorious.

Salt. Toss. Inhale deeply.

Dinner (Finally)

Steaks plated. Sauce drizzled. Parsley sprinkled.
Frites added.
Garlic confit and mayonnaise on the side, because ketchup was never invited.

We ate the fries first. Actually, no—we devoured them. The Denver steak had an incredible flavor and was beautifully, evenly cooked. But the frites…oh, the frites.

Half my brain is still telling me to slice another potato and go again. The other half wants me to finally clean up the disaster zone.

Would I Do It Again? Absolutely.

Lessons learned:

• Oil bubbles over just like everything else in life

• Thick steaks belong in the oven to finish

• Mise en place your liquids too, for the love of Anthony

And next week? Take some photos of whatever you make or eat for Thanksgiving—if you’re celebrating. I’d love to see them.

As for me, I’ll be stalking Black Friday deals on deep fryers.

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