fish'n'chips

The humble milk bar is dying, but the fish’n’chippery lives. McDonalds has all but destroyed the real hamburger, replacing it with the soggy bun, a patty a third the size it ought be, and glossy pictures that seem to engender self-delusion in 99 per cent of the population, but the fish’n’chippery lives.

I don’t care about the death of the hamburger because I don’t eat meat. I did eat meat once and no better hamburger could be had than a Lucky burger from Lucky’s on Nepean Highway. Some proper burgers are attempting to find a place in the market—Healthy burgers, and Huxtaburgers in Collingwood.

But fish’n’chipperies survive almost unchanged from the day I was born right down to the jar of pickled onions on the counter and the contents of the menu board above the blue smoke rising off the vats of seething beef tallow.

Run almost exclusively for decades by Greek and Italian refugees, like the Demetrious of West Coburg, fish’n’chipperies are managed by Asian families now, Chinese in particular. Lyttleton Terrace fish’n’chippery in Bendigo is my favourite of recent times. Sometimes the entire family, eight Chinese of all ages, hold fort behind the formica. Dad takes the orders and the money.

Before I leave Croydon for Bendigo, the Grey Shark at East Ringwood is my preferred fish’n’chippery. A young Chinese couple, he as large as a Chinese can be, she tiny as a sly smile, produce the best chips around. They have no English but none is needed. They move on. It’s still the Grey Shark but the shop is painted orange now.

One shop in Croydon attracts couples: it was John and Loula’s, now it’s Monica and Eddie’s. The shop further down Main Street is run by two young Chinese blokes. It amuses me that so British a concept as fish and chips has always been dispensed in this country by anyone but.

For a while I frequent the Lincoln Road fish’n’chippery, seriously good greasies, but they stuff up my order so many times I have to ditch them. Nothing’s worse than finding a fried dim sim substituting for the potato cake you’re expecting and contaminating all the chips nearby.

I still see kids squatting in corners eating chips out of the bag. They taste better than unwrapped chips. How is this possible? What arcane chemistry takes place inside the butcher’s paper?

And here’s another mystery. Piled on a plate, one chip always looks better than the rest, must be eaten next, and when it’s in the mouth, the next best chip presents itself. How do they do that?

Rock on.