London, England
When we arrive at Maria’s Fish & Kebabs, a line of locals is waiting, which I think is a good sign. A counterman wearing a red checkerboard apron wraps my order in butcher paper.
“Oh, my heart is not going to like this,” Mims says, unwrapping his meal: Oil has turned the paper see-through.
The cod, still wearing its chewy skin under the battered crust, is white as snow and just as flavorful. The chips are a squashy mess of greasy spuds. I gamely eat half the fish and most of the fries. Mims, too, is unable to finish.
“Sometimes you just need to know when to give up,” he says.
This is interesting. I actually judge the quality of good pastries by how much grease extrudes onto the bag I purchase them in.
One of my close friends runs the Eclair bakery in my area and makes the BEST croissants I have ever tasted, even better than my home made ones, and I have realized that NO-ONE has the same “grease splotch” count as his product does, and for that matter; taste + texture.
But Casper – there’s a huge difference between a baked puff pastry with imbedded butter and something that’s been deep fat fried. Chips (french fries) that are squashy and greasy – that’s really, really bad frying technique – too low of a temp, not enough time, whatever. Good frying minimizes the amount of fat absorbed, and the result is almost always crispy and light. There are plenty of great fish and chips places along the south of England – Joshua just happened to find one that isn’t. Just goes to show you that even a line of locals doesn’t always mean good stuff – just stuff that the locals are used to.