Our good friend and food correspondent Cloyd Burke is always asking bartenders and servers around town WHAT’S DELICIOUS?

Well, it’s here again. January. That time of year when my diet takes a turn for the delicious. The only thing I’m resolving to do in the new year is eat more fried stuff.

Now, I’ve never been to Canada, but I consider myself a connoisseur of the culinary dish many of us consider the Great North’s finest contribution to the gastronomic world.

No, not Timmie Hortons. I’m talking poutine — the only thing from Canada I love more than John Candy.

If you’re looking for the grand master of fried stuff in a bowl, look no further than the starchy, cheesy goodness they’re slinging at H2 Public House. My buddy Allen ate so much of it a few years ago the doc tried to send him to a special camp, but don’t let that deter you.

H2, located in Jetton Village, has a bunch of tasty things on the menu and rotating specials that always hit the spot.

When I feel like gnawing on some bones, I order the pub sauce wings tossed on the grill so the sauce bakes into the skin. The dry-rub lemon pepper wings — ordered extra crispy — taste like how it must feel to ride on the wings of an eagle.

If I’m feeling a little guilty about my fried food consumption, I’ll eat a plate of veggies, but only if there’s bacon and bleu cheese dressing on it. You can never, ever go wrong with the H2 wedge salad.

But let’s get back to why we’re here. The poutine — pronounced “poo-teen,” but don’t let that scare you away.

The history of the dish is hotly debated. No one can agree on where it originated — other than Quebec — and no one agrees on what the word actually means.

It’s just made up, which is exactly how it should be.

At its core, poutine seems like something my ol’ Navy buddies and I would have concocted after coming home from a night of drinking, opening the fridge and finding containers of leftovers from three different meals.

French fries. Cheese curds. Gravy. That’s it. Three ingredients. But there’s a lot more that goes into making it memorable.

It starts, in my humble opinion, with H2’s perfectly salted fries that arrive — and remain — crispy despite the luxurious brown gravy slathered on top.

That gravy? Oh my. Chef’s kiss. I would drink it with a straw.

The pièce de résistance, as they say up in Quebec, is the spice on the cheese curds. Cheese curds are good. H2’s spicy cheese curds are next level.

Wash it down, as usual, with an ice-cold beer. Labatt’s, if the mood strikes you. H2 has some of the coldest beer in town, always served with a smile. You don’t see that as much as you used to.

Check them out sometime, and if you do, tell them ol’ Cloyd sent you, eh?