Honorary cheese fries at unmemorable pub P.J. O'Brien's, The Rocks neighborhood, Sydney, Australia. Cheese fries are not a matter of course in Australia, so we forwent further reviews. However, for general flavor excellence, fry size ("wedges" are common in pubs here, while "chips" at the Red Oak brewpub were FOUR TO SIX TIMES THE BREADTH of McDonalds fries), enormity of quantity (for crying out loud, the basket was about as big as a child-sized shoebox, and heaped well above the rim!), and quality of banter, we include this review for your greasy delectation.

J: We should marry these guys and divorce them.
G: Seems like more trouble than it's worth. We should have settlements.

J: No, we need a wedding registry.
G: Yeah, totally, I could really use a wedding shower about now. Think about it, people who get married right out of college have all their housewares needs taken care of right away, while the rest of us have to fend for ourselves.
J: We could just throw one for ourselves, like Sarah Jessica Parker.
G: I want a breadmaker.
J: I could use a set of really good pots.
G: No, I need a salad spinner. I'd make more salad.

* * *
J: These definitely get honorary cheese fry status.
G: Yeah, they're good.
J: We were talking about cheese.
G: Yeah, the awful halloumi masquerading as feta on our pizza...
J: These olives on the pizza are so boring they're not worth eating.
G: No kidding, they're less interesting than the black ones you get in cans. Everything on this pizza is boring.

* * *

Some time later
J: There's more than one potato here. My guess is five potatoes. Good Irish potatoes -- the proper kind -- not the little red ones. (beat) We haven't really dented the fries.
G: (points to a dent)

* * *

G has knuckled under to peer pressure and purchased a Moleskine for this trip.
G: I like a notebook without lines.
J: Oh, I'm totally the opposite way. I have to have lines.
G: There's somthing thoroughly sexy about my handwriting when it's on a page with no lines on it.
J: That's going in.
G: (hands her the book)
J: No, you're the scribe.
G: I'm always the scribe these days. It's your turn.
J: You've earned the title of scribe permanently.
A group of local men come up.
Some guy: 'Scuse me lads, anyone sitting here? You mind?
J: Sure, and have some fries. (Guy takes one before she's done speaking.)
G: (sotto) Did we just get called lads?
SG: You writing about the fries?
J: Yeah. It's kind of scientific. (thinks) You know, it really is science. Methodological individualism.
G: (writes "methodological empiricism") It's clearly phenomenological.
J: Well, of course. Hey! Don't write empiricism! Methodological individualism! My darling Max (Weber)!
G: (crosses it out thoroughly and corrects)