Chipsy King — Restaurant in Amsterdam

A Culinary Crime Scene Disguised as a Fry Shop

Upon entering this so-called “establishment,” I was greeted by the unmistakable aroma of scorched oil, stale despair, and what I can only assume was the ghost of a forgotten potato.

I ordered a portion of French fries—simple, one would think, for even the humblest culinary knave to execute. What I received was not food, but a monument to mediocrity. These fries were less “pommes frites” and more “sticks of regret.” Limp, pale, and glistening with the kind of grease that seems to whisper, “your arteries are mine now,” they collapsed under the weight of their own soggy shame.

Seasoning? If one considers the random appearance of something vaguely resembling salt—applied with the restraint of a Victorian nun wielding a pepper shaker—a seasoning, then yes, I suppose they were “seasoned.”

The texture can only be described as “pre-chewed.” Each bite offered the thrilling sensation of chewing a damp envelope, while the aftertaste lingered like a bad decision made in a gas station at 2 a.m.

The decor did little to distract from this tuberous travesty: flickering fluorescent lights cast the dining area in a hue that made everyone look like they had jaundice, while the walls were adorned with what I can only assume were stolen stock photos of Belgium.

A final note: the staff, though friendly, seemed trapped in a Sisyphean nightmare of fry baskets and freezer burns, each one silently pleading for escape through the deadness in their eyes.

To summarize: if Dante had known about this place, he would have added a tenth circle of Hell—reserved solely for those who dare to call this mushy abomination a “French fry.”

⭐ (One star, and only because zero...

Nice fries but terrible service. Me and my friend were feeling like getting some fries but were not very hungry. So we both wanted a small portion. When my friend ordered his, the guy behind the counter turned it into a medium portion, costing nearly double the price, I tried to help my friend but the man behind the counter wasn't listening. When I told him I wanted a small portion myself, he said it was a kids portion, and when I said no, it says small portion on the menu, he started asking if I didn't have enough money for a bigger portion. This was extremely offensive as I just wanted a small portion as I wasn't hungry. The guy kept on being disrespectful and joking about the small portion while making the fries for us. In the end my friend couldn't even finish his fries because it was too much for him. Really just a bad experience, will never...

Chipsey king is where dreams come to come true. Heart in my throat, on the streets of Amsterdam, by a quiet bridge I made a proposal. One of love, life, the future of my being to the woman of my dreams. I laid it all out, the good the bad, the crumbs in bed everything. And she said yes. The eve was a blur of photographs, calls home, champagne sipped from plastic cups meandering through the canals as the sunset kissed out skin. We wandered the streets, not knowing where we walked but knowing a lifetime of happiness was before us. Then, as we made for home ready for a sleepless night, pondering what the future may hold we tripped lightly across the window ledge of a chipsey king. The perfect end to a perfect eve. Get the joppie sauce you pervert's I'm...