Now that we've entered the latter half of the decade and that whole us-versus-the-French unpleasantness has passed — that Sarkozy is one handsome, charismatic bastard, n'est �e pas? — can we finally admit that the French make better French fries than we do? 'Cause they do. Doubt it? Visit Franco for an order of pommes frites. (Don't worry: Calling fries pommes frites won't make you French.) The frites arrive wrapped in paper inside a metal cone, their exterior a deep golden brown speckled with black pepper. If you want the full French experience, you can dip your frites in mayo, but you don't need to do so to realize how awesome they are: crisp outside, soft inside, just salty enough to make you ache for a pint of beer, and rich with the flavor of fried potato rather than old cooking oil. Even a hard-core Francophobe will have to admit: The French have given us the best fries and the best kiss. Mix the two at your own risk.