While visiting my parents in Mexico City, we went to the fabulous Puerto Madero restaurant, an Argentinian restaurant named after the recently hip seaport district in Buenos Aires. My mother ordered french fries. Lo and behold what was delivered - the epitome of french fry heaven, a tower of thick piping hot steak fries, in a basket made of potato chips, siting over a bed of shoe-string fries. My mouth waters at the thought of it.