In Search of the New York Happy Meal

Martinis and fries are the perfect pairing. In his inaugural dispatch, our new diner-at-large looks for the best place to enjoy them.

- E. ALEX JUNG

THE RITUAL WOULD start with a text: “Drink?” It was around 3 p.m. and the office was gray and I had begun to identify with the carpet stain. This was back before hybrid work, when commuting was part of the daily routine and Café Loup still existed. Even then, the only good argument I could think of for mandatory in-person appearances at the office was the happy hour afterward. The restaurant closed down in 2019 because of unpaid taxes, and my work-life balance hasn’t been the same since.

Café Loup was many things to many people, and it was where I discovered that winning combination of martinis and French fries: the New York Happy Meal. The martinis at Loup were beastly things. Served however you liked, often by the silver-haired bartender Dien Huynh, who had been working there since the early ’90s, they were poured to the brim so the top of the cocktail glass had a baby bump. He’d then give you the rest in the shaker as though you had ordered an innocent milkshake. I had never seen such blunt cirrhotic excess. The fries were not just nourishment; they were necessary. The food at Loup was forgettable, but not the fries: hot, salty, satisfying.

A martini is a conspiratorial drink—the glass made for aesthetics rather than ergonomics. Its precariousness is its charm. You slow down, lean in, and skim off the surface before lifting it from the bar (gently now) and clinking with eye contact. Martinis open you up to new intimacies. What better way to exchange flirtations or spill state secrets? And fries! The populist’s choice. They offer a glorious bounty to share, and you can have as many or as few as you want. A sip of cold alcohol, a crunch of starch, and some fresh gossip can lift any spirit, ford any stream.