Mmm… chips
Fish and chips: a very British affair. Slightly mischievous though. And not just because the food police condemn its deep-fried ways.
No sir. My whole experience of buying fish & chips (it looks so much better with an ampersand, don’t you think?) is fraught with peculiar choices and strangely consistent rituals.
Firstly, there’s choosing a chip shop. I go the nearest one - it’s always better to walk. You will find that everyone you ever meet will know where “the best fish and chip shop in the world” is. They might even know one with a cracking name.
When you arrive at your chip shop of choice, there’s the awkward who’s in the queue moment. People are scattered everywhere. Some have ordered and are waiting. Some are waiting to order. You have to guess who’s who. Don’t push in.
Once you’ve ordered, contemplate the optional extras: pickled eggs (these are my garlic bread; who the fuck eats pickled eggs?), overpriced fizzy drinks (the cans will be arranged in a 3-2-1 pyramid - it’s chip shop law), and extortionately priced condiments (presumably they’d dust that sole bottle of ketchup if you happened to purchase it).
Then there’s the open or wrapped dilemma. I’d go wrapped. It’s a salt & vinegar thing (that looks better with an ampersand too). You see, salt & vinegar added to an open bag of chips leaves the top layer heavily doused, and the bottom of the bag gasping for flavour. By selecting wrapped, the salt & vinegar achieves better coverage. Sure, you don’t get to eat them immediately, but good things come to those who wait.
Of course, if you’re at the seaside, you must choose open. If they give a choice at all.
After you’ve taken your wrapped bag of chips and begun your walk home, soak up the moment. The excitement; the anticipation; oh yes - it’s good to live in Blighty. You might even press the warm bag of chips up against your face and feel the warmth. Don’t feel ashamed, everybody does it.
You’re home. It’s time to eat. Sadly, the decisions are still coming thick and fast.
Plate or no plate? If you’re dining with your new girlfriend’s parents, take the plate. Otherwise, put the plate away and eat those chips like you mean it.
But wait. What about the sauce?
Mayonnaise. Salad cream. Tomato ketchup. Barbecue sauce. Burger sauce. All staring at you. All begging for an opportunity. An opportunity to make these chips the greatest fucking bag of chips ever.
Be brave. Choose well. Reap the rewards.