Jojo: A broasted jojo can be a perfect thing—a wedge of potato that has been dredged in buttermilk and spiced breading, pressure-fried to elegant crispness on the outside with roasted potato within. Is the breading thick? Does the steam billow out on the first bite? Congratulations! You’re eating a jojo.
Little John: The Little John is like a jojo—breaded, spiced and broasted—but square, instead of wedged, and only sold at Fryer Tuck in Multnomah Village. There’s a secret ingredient, they say, that makes their Little Johns taste distinctive, but it’s secret.
Greek Fry: Sure, this is a skin-on potato wedge, breaded, broasted and spiced with “sprinkles.” But they insist it’s a “Greek Fry,” not a jojo. What makes it different? “The potatoes are flown in from Greece daily!” says Mad Greek manager Nicole Hoff. Does she actually believe that? “No,” she says. “But that’s what the old Greeks liked to say.”
Fried Potato Wedge: This cut-rate cousin to the jojo isn’t breaded or cooked in a pressure fryer. Instead, it’s just a too-thick french fry cooked in a drop fryer, with the sad mealy texture of an abused potato. It’s the burnt-rubber hot-plate wedge of gas stations everywhere.
Baked Potato Wedge: The baked potato wedge, the long-necked cousin to the home fry, is dad food. It’s like a baked potato in smaller, crisper parts—sometimes juiced up with meat drippings and sometimes covered in rosemary. Baked potato wedges are literally homely, the stuff of Midwest family dinners.
Skin-on, Thick-Cut Steak Fry: This is like a square potato wedge, and is best known for devolving into a sort of mealy potato porridge as it cools. This is, perhaps, the lowest form of potato.
Mojo: Invented by Shakey’s Pizza, it’s pretty much a scalloped, breaded potato pretending to be a jojo.
Wedge-Cut Fry: Not quite a potato wedge, not quite a french fry, Hopworks’ three locations in Portland and Vancouver serve up something called a wedge-cut fry, which they also make into poutine. “They’re not breaded. There’s a seasoning mix, they’re pretty thick,” says Francesca, a host at the restaurant. “They’re smaller than the average jojo, bigger than your average french fry.” It is, as it turns out, a quite acceptable compromise.