Food faves - Fish and Chips and snippets of childhood

Ahh the British chippy.  It's such an institution and has been written about so many times there's probably not much more to say about it.  I don't tend to go out for fish and chips much anymore because I'm so picky about what I eat; where it comes from, how it's sourced, if it's fresh...yadda yadda yadda.  But when I was younger I used to eat fish and chips all the time.  Actually, I've come to the realisation that I can pretty much map out my life through the prism of fish and chip shops.

Some of my most vivid memories have taken place around my local chippy.  This might seem unsurprising for someone who is completely obsessed with food and has probably frequented the chip shop more often than the average Brit, but they've essentially formed the core of my existence, with all of my life's occurrences hovering around them, like planets, orbiting the sun.  You are going to think I've lost the plot, but hear me out as I explain my life through the medium of chippy...

Chip Shop 1 - Chaplin's Fish Bar

The chip shop of my formative years, in Tonteg, near Pontypridd.  It was part of a small shopping area near my house which I went to almost everyday after school and on weekends.  Barratt's the Newsagents was across the way - I used to go there to buy sweets and once even tried to buy 27 pence worth of strawberry chews with only a third of the cash, so a stranger (remember how we all used to be afraid of strangers) had to lend me the money and my mum went mental on me.  Next door was the Happy Shopper, the scene of my first Curly Wurly, Chomp and Hubba Bubba, and also where I lost my Barbie's shoe on my birthday forcing my Dad to search all over looking for it.

I digress...Yes, the fish 'n' chip shop was named after Charlie Chaplin.  Portraits of the eponymous actor and clapperboards adorned the walls, creating its black and white theme.  I remember going there after gymnastics/swimming/ballet classes and staring at the battered fish, hoping that one day I would be big enough to order it.  Until then, it was half a bag of chips and a fish cake, served in newspaper.  If I was very lucky I might have got a pie.

Chip Shop 2 - Top Fry Fish Bar

This originally named chippy graced the second half of my childhood on Gwaunmiskin Road in Beddau (Welsh for 'graves', yes, it is a shit hole).  It was part of another soulless row of shops, next to the chemist and a pet shop where I bought my first hamster, a Spar, where I spent many an hour buying banana milkshake, dairylea lunchables and apple and cinnamon cookies, and in my later years bottles of vodka and cans of fosters.  Next door to that was Fulgoni's newsagents, where my Nan used to take us for two chocolate bars every Friday (I always chose a walnut whip, Fry's chocolate cream, white crunch bars or a caramac) and we were always eyed beadily by the owner in case we stole 1p sweets.

The chip shop was bare and drab, unlike the luxury of Chaplin's which had seats and a bit of decor.  All top fry had was a signed, framed picture of a Welsh Darts Champion (who apparently my Nan was well acquainted with) and faded posters of deep fried rissoles and Clark's Pies.  But what it lacked in looks, it made up for in taste.  The chips were delicious, and by this stage I could have fish, or battered sausage AND mushy pies or whatever I wanted.

Chip Shop 3 - Family Fish Bar

By number 3 I was in university in Cardiff, and Family Fish was THE place to go for chips if you were a student, well, at least if you lived part of Cathays (aka studentville).   Over a period 5 years I must have frequented this place hundreds of times.  If I wasn't going inside, I was either walking past on the way to the pub, stumbling past on a night home, or walking back from the Salisbury Store after buying cheese for my sausage and cheese burgers, mars bars for ice cream with mars bar sauce and pitta breads for stuffing my super noodles in.

To be honest, I can't remember exact details, as most of the time I went there it was 3 o'clock in the morning.  But I could vouch for it even when I wasn't under the influence 2 bottles of lambrini and 3 vodka-lemonades.  The batter on the fish was always crispy, the chips always fat and soggy from being doused in vinegar (I prefer fat chips to crispy chips), the mushy peas were a wonderful hue of toxic green and the Clark's Pies - if you've never eaten one, make sure you do on your next trip to Wales - were as gorgeous as always, with pastry to die for.  Luckily I managed to avoid the battered burgers.

If I couldn't wait the 10 minute walk home to Family Fish, then there was always Cardiff's infamous Chippy Lane, although I think that's another story.

Chip Shop 4 - George's Fish Bar

The latest instalment in my chippy saga.  Unfortunately the closest China got to a fish n chip shop was the filet-o-fish meal from McDonald's, so I was devoid of the chippy for that portion of my life. George's is just round the corner from where I live and I always use it as a backstop for Dave's dinner if I get in too late to cook. Most of the time I'm walking past it with bags full of vegetables bought from the Turkish grocers on Green Lanes.

George's unfortunately doesn't rank among my favourites. I'm not sure whether it's because my taste buds have evolved since Chaplin's or whether it's just not very good, but the fact that it doubles up as a fried chicken joint as well as a chip shop just demonstrates that they're not concentrating on what's important.  The fish batter is soggy, and I'm sure the fish is neither fresh nor ethically sourced. It would do in an absolute emergency for chips alone, which are just dry and disappointing, but for a good fish supper I have to delve into London proper, or better still, the seaside.



I'm not sure what exactly I'm trying to get at here, apart from egotistically wittering on about mundane moments of my life and how chip shops are occasionally involved or nearby.  I suppose what I'm trying to illustrate is how a dish so simple and commonplace as fish and chips can mean so much.

Just mention the words 'fish and chips', and a hundred smells, tastes and memories come to life. Leaning against the hot glass and staring through the brightly lit warmers in anticipation; clutching the paper parcel on the way back home and breathing in the wafts of vinegar and grease; biting into the light crispy batter to find the warm, smooth slithers of white fish inside; finding the perfect fat chip - soggy on the outside and fluffy on the inside.  This all spells perfection.

Ooh, and below (and above) are my own versions, with mushy peas and Heston’s triple cooked chips to boot.