On Finger Steaks, Idaho Fish-n-Chips and [Idaho] Fry Sauce

Is Idaho the Most Undersung Travel and Eating Destination in the US?

Jul 28, 2023

Idaho is one of the United States’ best kept secrets.

I’m assuming the fact that the state doesn't host any national parks (except for a sliver of Yellowstone) is the primary reason it gets passed over in favor of bordering Wyoming, Montana, Utah, Nevada, Washington and Oregon.

That’s fine by me, because each time we visit there’s barely anyone around. And there is a lot to love in this sleeper destination.1

brown mountain near body of water during daytime — Photo by Perry Kibler on Unsplash

Without revealing too much about how great Idaho is, suffice it to say the state boasts a Rocky Mountain range that rivals the Tetons in terms of its grandeur, with a network of rivers and lakes so clear you can see the freckles on your toes.

Not to mention, you can experience the surface of the moon without having to give a single cent to Elon Musk (X…really, dude?). The undulating lava fields at Craters of the Moon resemble the lunar landscape—so much so that Apollo astronauts visited in 1969 in preparation for going into space—and are completely otherworldly.

Ok, I’ll stop there. (I can sense my Idaho relatives’ seething from 1,500 miles away.2) Besides, I know you’re here for the food, not the nature.

And what of the food?

Sure, everyone knows about Idaho potatoes, but reducing the entire state to its most famous crop is like saying all there is to eat in Florida is oranges.

Potatoes do appear on a lot of menus—I ate spuds in some form at least once if not twice daily on my recent trip—but there’s so much more: the culinary mecca of Stanley (population 116); the best Basque food this side of the Atlantic; huckleberry milkshakes at old-fashioned ice cream parlors. The list goes on and on.

But on this last trip, I had my sights set on finger steaks.

What on earth is a finger steak, you ask?

According to the Idaho Beef Council:

Beef is cut into finger-length strips, then breaded or battered, and quickly fried until golden and crispy. Cuts of beef used vary as do the recipes for the batter – recipes that tend to be guarded with the seriousness of a national secret or the Hope diamond. Often an order of finger steaks is delivered in a parchment-lined plastic basket (thus dispelling any lingering pretense) with a mound of French fries and some form of mandatory dipping sauce. For some locals, these are a near-addiction.

I’d had finger steaks on the brain ever since I flew out of the Boise airport last year and saw this banner:

I love chicken fingers. I love steak. I needed finger steaks.

—

As we drove down the main drag in Hagerman and saw this sign outside the River Boat Restaurant, we felt confident we had found the place.

As I sidled up to the bar and placed my order for finger steaks, the server cautioned, “they’re really good, but just so you know, they’re not breaded.”
Record scratch.
“Wait, what?” I uttered.
“Yeah, it’s just really high-quality, well-seasoned beef cut into slices.”
I was utterly perplexed. I turned to my boyfriend, “Isn’t that just sliced steak? What the f*ck?”

There was no way in hell I was going to be suckered into some ersatz, cheffed-up version of the Idaho classic. I wanted the real deal.

Sensing my disappointment, the server steered me to the Idaho Fish-n-Chips.

It was so dark inside the bar (aka the Angler’s Lounge), that I pulled this image down from Yelp. These are the curly fries (a $3 surcharge) that this diner subbed in for the outstanding hand-sliced fries that accompanied our order. L to R: fry sauce, ketchup, homemade tartar sauce.

This was not your run-of-the-mill frozen cod, caked in beer batter and oozing with grease. This was the most succulent, locally-sourced trout fillet dusted in a delicate cornmeal-flour coating.

I can’t stop thinking about the textural interplay of the crunchy shell and moist, freshwater flesh.

And then there was the sauce.

The plate arrived with three plastic cups: ketchup, tartar sauce and a pink emulsion that resembled the Caladryl lotion I had just slathered on my freshly bug-bitten legs.

I’m usually all about the tartar sauce when it comes to fish and chips, but I could not keep myself from dipping every last morsel of food into that pink cream. It was reminiscent of Russian dressing, but somehow different.

As we walked out to the car, I asked my boyfriend what our server had called that peach-hued goodness.

“Did I hear her say fry sauce? What on earth is fry sauce?”

I assumed it was a River Boat Restaurant-specific thing, just like the unbreaded, so-called “finger steaks.” It wasn’t until the next day when I had my daily dose of french fries up the road in Hailey that I was disabused of this idea.

The server handed me a commercial package of that same Cabbage Patch skin-colored preparation, clearly labeled “fry sauce.”

I felt giddy. It was less than 24 hours later and here was another opportunity to drag my bratwurst and fries through the addiction-inducing concoction.

We asked our hosts about fry sauce and they said, yeah it’s an Idaho thing. Wow, Idaho just keeps getting better and better, I thought.

—-

I woke up the next morning to

Danny Palumbo

’s excellent write-up Fast Food and Fry Sauce in Utah in my inbox.

It turns out that (gasp!) fry sauce isn’t an Idaho thing but rather a Utah thing.

You can learn all about the history of fry sauce in this Eater piece so I won’t go into that here, but I will say that my relatives were in a downright tizzy over the claim that fry sauce was created by their neighbor to the south.

They refused to read Danny’s article or do a simple Google search, instead making several calls to Boise natives to reinforce their mistaken belief.

It was only when we asked the owner of Grumpy’s where fry sauce originated and he answered Arctic Circle in Utah that the argument was put to rest. (Whatever that guy says is fact. Plain and simple.)

To be honest, I don’t really care where it originated, as long as it continues to be a ubiquitous menu staple in south-central Idaho.3

—-

I’m embarrassed to say that I didn’t end up having an opportunity to sample finger steaks on this trip. We had a lot of family obligations and after six days of overeating (I mean Nathan’s hot dog eating contest-level overeating), I just couldn’t bring myself to indulge in tempura-battered hunks of red meat.

But rest assured, I’ll be back in Idaho soon and I plan to eat all the finger steaks I can get my hands on (bad pun, sorry).

Until then, I’ll take comfort in the Arctic Circle fry sauce I just ordered off of Amazon.

All photos by Whitney Moeller unless otherwise noted.

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