Across Britain today, hundreds of thousands of us will tuck into one of the world’s most perfect dishes. Crispy batter encasing flaky fish; a steaming pile of chips, some soft, some crunchy, some large, some merely a scrap; acidic condiments and sides to balance the salt and fat.
Yet the Michelin-starred chef Dominic Chapman, of eponymous restaurant in Henley-on-Thames, Oxfordshire, caused a stir last week by claiming in an interview with Restaurant magazine that fish and chips – specifically “from a fish and chip shop” – was his most overrated food. Chapman didn’t provide a reason, but the dish is by no means ubiquitously loved. Writing in the Guardian a few years back, the journalist Alexi Duggins called it “a dreadful, dreadful” meal and a “conceptual disaster”. To many it’s a grease-on-grease, mush-on-mush assault on our digestion.
I beg to differ. Fish and chips is a marvel. It’s Britain’s one truly globally renowned dish – one which does not elicit a conceited smirk abroad like a full English breakfast. Half-Brazilian, I visit South America regularly, and people will always ask about fish and chips as if it were a mythical being, often incredulous (even though Brazilians eat a hell of a lot of fried fish and chips), but mostly intrigued. When they – and visitors from all over – visit Britain, there’s one dish they want to try.
Britain is frequently accused of having a basic, childish cuisine – often with justification. But simplicity isn’t something to deride. Yes, the chips can be stodgy and soggy, the batter far too thick. All too often, the fish doesn’t taste fresh. But when you find yourself somewhere that does it right, as I have recently at Magpie Cafe in Whitby, North Yorkshire, Mrs T’s in Southwold, Suffolk, or the takeaway option at the beautiful Applecross Inn in Wester Ross, in the Highlands of Scotland, you’re in heaven.
A recent YouGov poll found that 86% of Britons view the meal favourably, more than any dish except roast chicken. We eat around 167m portions from chippies a year. Yet, like pubs and greasy spoons, chip shops are in decline. In the 1930s there were around 35,000, and in George Orwell’s The Road to Wigan Pier, fish and chips is described as a “home comfort” that sustained the working class and “averted revolution”. Perhaps understandably, they escaped rationing in the second world war.
In the latter half of the 1900s chip shop numbers plummeted, as people grew health conscious and a wider array of fast food became available. Today, there are just 10,500 chippies, with thousands facing closure. The current climate is “extremely challenging”, says Andrew Crook, president of the National Federation of Fish Friers, with costs of everything from potatoes to oil skyrocketing. “It’s looking like this year is going to be more expensive than last, which was the worst since 1976.”
Admittedly, I don’t eat fish and chips very often, perhaps twice a year. Partly that’s because it’s not the healthiest, but also due to concerns over fish stocks – it’s a treat, not a staple. I’ll usually have it by the seaside, although the trope of it tasting better there is exaggerated – I’ve had great fish and chips miles inland, and it’s not as if your average chip shop owner is plucking a haddock from the local coastline.
Where I do think it’s overrated, at least misplaced, is at pubs and restaurants – fish and chips should never be eaten from china, which doesn’t soak up grease and vinegar like a bed of soggy chips and paper.
But I love the dish. I love its regional differences: curry sauce in the north; beef dripping, also in the north; “chip spice”, a peculiar blend of salt, paprika and tomato powder, found in Hull. In Scotland I once ordered deep-fried haggis on the side: excessive but undeniably delicious. At my local chip shop growing up in north London, you could request fish fried in matzo meal.
The accusations of a mushy, greasy overload are fair, but that’s where the sides and sauces come in: a gherkin or pickled egg, vinegar or just ketchup to cut through the fat.
Its history is a tale of immigration, of successful foreign-run businesses. What started with Portuguese-Jewish immigrants frying fish in the East End of London in the early Victorian era later became a way for Italians, Chinese, Greek Cypriots and more to gain a financial foothold in the UK.
Last month, Briton John Tinniswood became the world’s oldest man. The 111-year-old cited a weekly fish supper as the key to his longevity. If it’s good enough for him, then it’s good enough for me.
So, yes, fish and chips can be badly made. But what dish can’t? It is greasy, but also an occasional treat. As for the Chapman interview? He cited his favourite fast food joint as Five Guys. Now, each to their own, but talk about overrated…
