Salty Onion Vinegar-ed Chips

And The Lady With The Hooped Earrings

We walked rapidly down the steep hill of Highbury Park after primary school days in North London. My younger brother charging ahead, my mother speeding after him. We were so hungry, my brother and me, there was just never enough food. Never enough to fill our appetites. I loved fish fingers and mash served during school dinners. I loved the tinned (unknown) meat ravioli covered in synthetic delicious tomato sauce, spam fritters and apple, cheese cubes and celery salad. The best were the desserts: rice pudding, jelly, shortbread, condensed milk toffee tart with hundreds and thousands and steamed golden syrup sponge with custard, skin and all. But there was never enough. I was a quiet child but by the time school ended, my belly would speak on my behalf, roaring, vexed with anger.

My mum ushered us quickly into the Arsenal Fish And Chip Bar owned by a Chinese family who also did Chinese food to takeaway from there (which we could never have).

For 20p my mum bought us a bag of chips, some fat, some skinny, some broken, some long, some short. The young lady who served us every other day was expecting us. She had a big smile and cropped thick black hair below her ears and wore large hooped earrings and sporty red and white clothes.

She expertly grabbed a few sheets of unbleached paper and folded it into a cone. I think she always gave us a little bit more. She had friendly inquisitive eyes because she found us familiar as we found her familiar. We had a three way language barrier but she understood us and she was kind.

She was always trying to chat to my mum, both in broken English, thick in their accents, neither understanding the words, just the kindness, both nodding and shouting at each other in hope that volume could decipher what the other was trying to say.

When I was a little older and went to and from school on my own, escorting my little brother, we skipped with my friends Fatima and Johnny. We ran happily as fast as we could, as if we were rolling downhill on haystacks to the chippy. We could buy a bigger bag for 25p now and the young smiley lady offered me a bottle of onion vinegar and a plastic bottle of fine salt because she knew how I liked to dress the chips myself. “I think we’re alone now,” sang Tiffany from their radio, my brother danced while he waited.

I shook the onion vinegar vigorously, only a little squirt came out at a time, I gave extreme attention to detail to cover every chip. Then I shook the salt finely over the bag. She taught me over the years to shake the entire bag, covering the top with the excess paper so I wouldn’t lose any to the floor. I seasoned the chips again with another layer of onion vinegar and salt, then shook it. At this point, the lady with the hooped earrings had ready another sheet of paper. She handed it over to me because the paper cone bag is now too soggy and even hotter for my young hands.

While she served my friends, my brother and I eagerly grabbed a chip each, too hot for our little fingers, our mouths impatiently blowing at the the sweltering steamy heat, bit a bit and burnt our tongues. The sour vinegar was evaporating with the steam, rising to our noses, filling the air with its acidic synthetic scent. The fried chips were slightly soggy and fluffy on the inside, the little loose bits crispy and salty. They were utterly delicious and savoury with a good punch of oniony tartness. We slowly walked quietly out of the shop in a chippy oblivion, “bye, bye,” said the lady who immediately went towards the kitchen and spoke Chinese to her chef who was clanging wok and spatula. “Bye,” we all said knowing she was too far gone to see our gratitude. We filled ourselves, waved away the hunger.

It was our ritual, something we shared with a lovely lady at the Chinese takeaway. I don’t forget her. I think her name was Susan. I hope she is somewhere today, putting her feet up.

Its not the same in a box - Olive with her fish & chips

---

How I Make Chips

I have always taken my fish and chips very seriously. This is how I make chips, similar to how I make roast potatoes. I used to fry them, which were great too but I can never justify using up a bottle of oil just for chips, I never deep fry at home. They do not taste like the chippy chips, they are different but also delicious.

Preheat the oven to 200c fan. 

Peel and slice (red) potatoes into chip shaped sizes. Par boil from cold water and add a good generous pinch of Maldon salt to boil for about 17 mins or until potatoes are soft but still have shape and are not falling apart. Drain, shake to get broken bits and a fluffy coating (for crunch) and leave in the colander to steam off for as long as you can bear it. Heat a good amount of olive/ rapeseed oil or goose fat in a tray big enough to hold all the chips (or have 2 trays) in the oven for about 10 mins. Remove the hot tray from the oven then spread the potatoes sticks evenly onto the tray, they should sizzle and hiss as they land. Very satisfying. Spread unpeeled garlic cloves (as many as you like) around the tray and sprinkle with Maldon sea salt and cracked black pepper. Use a fork and poke around the bodies of chips to randomly and purposely break them (as small crispy bits are the best). Bake for 45 mins until golden, turning half way through. Don’t forget to shake it about, it feels good when you do that.

Also great with rosemary, I add some at the start (because the smell fills your house with happiness) and some last 5 mins because it flavours it more. There isn’t usually any left for a chip butty. Always make more than you think you will have. They will be eaten.

Serve with onion vinegar (you can buy them at the chippy) and plenty of Maldon salt. Make sure you crush the larger salt grains. Shake it all in or use a spatula to mix it up.

Read my piece about A Chip Butty With Rosie on A Lot On Her Plate - A Substack by Rosie Birkett here.

There is a lovely recipe for homemade fish and chips in my cookbook Vietnamese. The fried version is written in my first book My Vietnamese Kitchen served with raw tuna. You can add chips to Chinese inspired sweet and sour cauliflower in Vietnamese Vegetarian

I love the book and highly recommend TakeAway: Stories From A Childhood Behind The Counter by Angela Hui

Brilliant book by Angela Hui