Give me fish-n-chips or give me fish-n-chips

21 May

Originally written: August 2007


I don’t want death.  I just want fish-n-chips.

I never thought the day when I’d miss British cuisine would actually come.  I never thought it’d ever happen.  Yet it has.  Today’s the day. 

Are pigs flying outside, perchance?

I’ve taken a break from my research to wax nostalgia about my former culinary nemesis, the British cuisine.  I remember my first introduction.  I found it wretched.  I found it dull.  I found it tasteless.

Now I’m singing a different tune.  It’s called reminiscence. 

There’s a fish-n-chips joint near my campus.  Who am I kidding?  There are several fish-and-chips joint near my campus.  But the one I’m talking about is west of UCL which is located either on Fitzroy St or Charlotte St.  For the life of me, I can’t remember.  I only passed it every time I walked to our department building on Riding House Street. 


Because my memory is currently uncooperative, let’s forget the name. 

The establishment just doesn’t serve fish-n-chips, they also have Greek dishes on the menu.  I’ve had their taramosalata which I use as a dip for my fish-n-chips.  Result: very fishy fish.  But I like the contrast in texture between the tangy creamy dip and the salty crunchy fish.  This place is also quite generous with the fish sizes.  This isn’t the palm-sized fish cuts that I’m used to.  We’re talking about two huge man-hands in this joint.  And for £5, that’s excellent!  (Many establishments around the campus have dishes on their lunch menu generously priced at £5+.)

Floundering in a state of wistfulness over a dish of deep fried fish and spuds, I know of only one way to rid myself of this malady. (Yes, pun intended.)  You know it.  I know it. 

Only authentic British fish-n-chips will do. 

Alas, I’m on the wrong side of the pond.