Before last week, it had been years since I’d had a chip omelette, because it’s been years since I lived anywhere near a fish and chip shop. And having leftover chips from the chippy you passed on the way home the night before is the reason for, and the defining feature of, chip omelette.
It’s patchy and no doubt unreliable, but I have a memory of the first one I ever made. I was living in north-west London, in a narrow room in a small flat rented from an actor who was quite well known at the time, which was exciting and, along with the sanded floors, the reason we rented it in the first place. If I could remember the pub we’d been drinking and smoking at – The Fiddlers Elbow? The Enterprise? The Dublin Castle? – I could probably guess which chippy counter we stood at. What I do remember, though, is walking up the steep communal stairs still eating chips from the paper. Also, the bundle of leftovers on the table with funny iron legs the next morning.
I imagine there was no bread, otherwise I would have made a sandwich. It’s also strange that I didn’t fry an egg, which for as far back as I can remember has been my fallback. Instead, I broke, whisked, poured and tilted the eggs around my flatmate’s Danish frying pan. Then, while the eggs were still wet enough for sticking, threw in the chips. Chips which, a few minutes before, I had brought back to life in the brown and cream microwave, an unrivalled way to reheat fish-and-chip-shop-chips because the thing most complained about (“it makes them soggy”) is exactly what you are after – ping!
I wish I could remember eating that first chip omelette, because I am sure it made me happy at a time when I rarely was. It was certainly good enough to make me want to make it again, and again; to wrap up the last few chips, rather than throwing them in the bin on Camden High Street, and having a handbag that smelled of vinegar.
Over the past week, I have made chip omelette three times. Each time, the kitchen timer has blinked away and I have delighted at the speed of it all: 40, 42, 58 seconds for liquid eggs to transform into a puffy pouch, and the way the chips look like bad herringbone in the egg. Of course, you don’t really need a recipe for this, but here is one anyway.
I don’t live near a fish and chip shop any more, and, to be honest, even if one were to open in Rome, I am not sure the chips would be right. That is: thick rods of potato with the occasional hollow and crisp end, but mostly floppy, which is different from soft. So I make them at home as best I can. The difficulty is saving a handful for the next day. I won’t upset anyone by comparing it to tortilla or frittata, and anyway, a chip omelette is very much its own thing. It won’t be years before I have another.
Chip omelette
Serves 1
2 large or 3 medium eggs
Salt and pepper
A handful of leftover chips, ideally fat ones
Butter
A handful of any grated or chopped cheese (optional)
In a small bowl, beat the eggs with a fork, adding salt and pepper.
Put a nonstick or cast-iron pan on a medium-low heat, add the chips and shake for a minute or two. If the chips seem a bit dry, wet your hand under the cold tap and shake it over the pan, so drops of water go on the chips, then cover while you shake – this will help them plump up, and will then evaporate. Tip the hot chips on to a plate.
Back in the pan, melt some butter on a medium heat until it foams, pour in the egg and tilt the pan so it spreads. Scatter over the chips over and cheese, too, if using. Shake the pan to loosen the omelette, cook for 20 seconds, then fold the omelette and cook for a final few seconds, or until you are happy.
