Part of Sandhaven history since the 1920s.
( .uk) Colmans, South Shields, Tyne & Wear Best accompanied with a pint of Adnams Ghost Ship and splash out on their pineapple fritter (50p) for dessert This chippy on the High Street has reigned supreme since 1967. Spuds are Lancashire grown and it’s all served in biodegradable boxes
Just off Morecambe’s prom, a vast portion of sustainably sourced haddock and chips comes in at under a tenner. Adam’s Fish and Chips, St Martin’s, Isles of ScillyĪdam catches the pollack brother James grows the potatoes wife Fiona is in charge of the café that Adam also found time to build Mersea Island Fish Bar, EssexĬross the causeway for top fish ’n’ chips, rollmops and jellied eels alongside a shop selling Mersea’s famed oysters Just off the harbour, this chippy with a small restaurant attached is regularly garlanded with awards, both for food and service Bardsley’s, Brighton, East SussexĪ walk from the seafront, but Brighton’s cognoscenti come for chips and sustainably caught cod all fish can be grilled and poached as well Holding firm to chippy tradition even as Deal gentrifies around it big portions and mugs of tea, but the back room has had a lick of paint recently Housed in the old net stores, Maggie’s gets fish straight from the boats, the original café has been joined by adjacent Maggie’s at the Boat with fishy street-food options Thoroughly Margate in its creative ways with battered pickles and banana blossom and tofu crab-loaded fries and squid ink mayo live happily alongside classic cod and chips Coastline, Blyth, NorthumberlandĪ sign tells you what spud varieties are being fried, alongside properly northern portions of mushy peas, gravy and curry sauce Set in a pretty Cornish fishing harbour on the Lizard Peninsula, you can enjoy your freshly battered fish perched on the harbour wall with a breathtaking view over the lifeboat slipway across the bay and beyond
Jay Rayner The Lifeboat House, Coverack, Cornwall And the very best place to eat it is down by the sea. It’s a matter of morale, of comfort, of identity. It was never just a dish a clever combination of deep-fried battered fish and deep-fried chipped potatoes. There are good reasons why fish and chips was not rationed during both world wars. Or at least that’s what you can tell yourself, as you expend even more energy fighting off stroppy gulls, determined that you should tithe to them a chip. Eaten by the sea, however, where the winds roar and the sands give way beneath your feet, there is no room for words like indulgence. Certainly, a fish supper taken on the couch at home can feel like a lovely indulgence that will ease you into a food coma’s sweet embrace.
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At times there have been concerns that fish and chips was a seriously hefty dish engineered for a time when more of us were engaged in calorie-burning manual labour, even though with its combination of protein, carbs and fats it is nutritionally balanced. It simply makes your fish and chips taste betterĪnd there’s something else. The smell of salt on the air down by the beach gives you all the sensory cues you need. It simply makes your fish and chips taste better.
The smell of salt on the air down by the beach, along with the occasional burst of freshly stocked fishing boat, gives you all the sensory cues you need. Hilariously, mother nature, has long had this one covered. Some chefs working at the very cutting edge of gastronomy have experimented with complex air sprays to augment the experience of their dishes: a spritz of something smelling of pine and juniper to conjure the waft of the forest for a venison dish, say, or a burst of artificial bonfire, to boost a slab of barbecue. Then there’s the sweet dance of your food with the honking air here by the waters. The very warmth of it feels like a reassuring challenge to the chill winds coming off the sea. You unwrap and immediately receive a gust of hot, captured air that smells of all the good things in life. You need to be on the beach itself or, at a push, perched on a sea wall, with a view out over British waters the colour of a day-old bruise, rippling away to the horizon under gunmetal skies.
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