Fish and Chips

Do you ever find yourself looking anew at something so commonplace that you always took it for granted?  It happened to me recently.

“Let’s go for fish and chips” I said to Tom, my visiting brother from California.   We walked away from our village, strolled up a road by the church and on to a path that wound through a wood, opening onto a lane in sunshine, the buttercups and Queen Annes Lace standing honour guard on either side as we walked. 

Blackbirds and robins sang the tune, and jackdaws added the bass continuum.   We walked further and further from the village until we came to a crossroads, in a quiet residential area.  Empty of people.  The huge chestnut tree with its chandelier flowers, bent over us, giving shade.  No one was about.  We sat on a bench.  Waiting.    Then, from nowhere, a person joined us, then another from a different direction.  And another.  We chatted easily. 

At last, there was a distant rumbling sound of a vehicle getting louder, and the fish and chip van came in sight, stopping right in front of us.  Two aproned women emerged.  “Sorry we’re late –held up by so many orders down the road”.  They bustled around, opening the van’s side flap revealing a whole kitchen inside, and got to work. 

In front of our very eyes, orders of fish, chips, mushy peas, sausages, burgers, curry, kababs, chicken nuggets, and more were catered for while the women chatted amiably as they worked.  “Your usual, John?”  “salt and vinegar on your chips sir?” Banter, and teasing and laughter.  Our order was prepared in front of us piping hot.  Then, boxes in hand, we said goodby to our new acquaintances, and set out for home.

From the conversation on the way back, I realised that this normal-for-me occurrence was unusual for Tom, a great mystery.  Amazing?  Surprising? Out of the ordinary?  I had to look at it again. 

So, I dropped in at the owners’ hotel bar the other night, and over a sparkling elderflower gin and tonic, had a chat with Mark and Kay, proprietors.  As they talked, I was impressed by how well they knew, and understood their clients, and how much they cared for their staff.  We only saw them locally, and had no idea how far they spread. 

“How many servings do you sell a week from the van?” I asked.

“I’d say between 500 – 600,” he answered, “I’m counting the boxes we use.”

“You have a large menu.  What sells the fastest?”

“Fish and chips, definitely, about 70% of the customers.  It’s not cheap, and the price is subsidised anyway.  For most of our villages we visit every fortnight.  People like a twice-monthly treat”, he added. “And, there are cheaper options.  You could feed a family on Burgers, sausages and chips for less.” Mark talked about dealing with Russian tariffs, Ukraine’s rapeseed (canola) oil, fish from Iceland.  All these are needed to provide a truly British food favourite! 

Thinking back to last Christmas, when Mark and Kay put up a 6 metre high Christmas tree outside the pub, and offered mulled wine, small mince pies and carolling, I experienced their care for our community.  Now, learning more about the fish and chip van, it was even more evident.

“We go to 22 villages and some have more than one stop,” he said.  “At each stop the people gather together, waiting for the van to appear.  They start talking to each other easily.  For some, this is the only time they will speak to another person all week.  They get to know, feel at ease, with the group around the van.  Amanda knows the names of all the people she serves. One of our workers wanted to go on the fish and chip trip just to meet one person.  When she did, there were such warm greetings that as we left, the man cried.  These are the Fish and Chip Communities.”

“Besides your regular rounds, do you go anywhere else?”

“Yes.  Weddings.  Birthdays.  Charity events.  And in the summer, it’s even more popular.  Who wants to struggle in their own hot kitchens when they can get fish and chips from us?  One summer on a church charity event I must have lost 5 lbs, the van was so hot.

“I designed and built the van we have now,” he continued, “but even before that, we managed to provide a birthday event with burgers, sausages, and hot dogs served from a horse box I had re-designed.  The horsebox was part of the fun of the birthday celebration.”

Kay added:  “When we sold our fish and chip shop, we needed kitchen space to prepare the van, so we bought the pub.”

“You bought a pub for the fish and chip van?”

“Uh-huh” She looked up to see the overnight residents passing by.  “Good night!” she called, “did you have a good day?”  

“It’s a lot of hard work,” she told me.

I remembered going home with Tom, our order carefully stored. “You should write about this,” said Tom as we walked back home.  “If ever there was a perfect example of food that builds community, it’s the fish and chip van.”  He’s right.  So I did.

(More information? Check out Markays Fish and Chips online and Facebook.)

Moussaka

I enjoyed this dish twice – once, in the preparation for a special friend, and later on, at the meal itself.  Making it ahead of time gave the flavours a chance to mingle sumptuously.

Moussaka in Four steps.  If your kitchen is big enough, you can have all the steps running concurrently. Otherwise, space the steps out to convenient times.  Put on music, and have a glass of ‘juice’ to spur you on.

Step One. The aubergines (eggplants).

Ingredients:  2 large, three small aubergines. Salt. Oil.

Oven hot at 200C,  425F.

Sprinkle a tray with salt.   Lay sliced aubergines* in one layer on it.  Sprinkle the tops with more salt.  Leave for 20 – 30 minutes until beads of bitter juice emerge.  Rinse well, dry in a tea towel (dish towel) .

*Claudia doesn’t peel her aubergines, but my Persian friend says that the skin is bad for your liver.  Your choice.

Line a roasting pan with paper.  Brush with oil.  Lay the aubergines on top.  Brush tops with oil.  Pop into the oven.  Bake 20 – 30 minutes until soft.

Step Two The meat sauce

Ingredients: 2 onions, olive oil, 1 ½ lb minced lamb or beef, black pepper, ½ teaspoon allspice, 1 teaspoon cinnamon, 2 – 3 tablespoons tomato concentrate, ½ tin of chopped tomatoes, 2 – 3 tablespoons chopped parsley.

Thinly slice the onions, and fry in oil until pale golden.  Add the meat, allspice and cinnamon.  Season with salt and pepper.  Cook until meat is well browned.  Add parsley, tomato and concentrate, and a splash of water.  Simmer 15 minutes, or until water has evaporated.

Step Three. The White (Cheese) sauce

Ingredients:  4 tablespoons flour, 4 tablespoons butter, 1 pint milk (or less), a pinch of ground/grated nutmeg, 2 eggs.  Optional, 2-3 tablespoons grated cheese. Seasoning.

Melt butter, add flour and nutmeg. Stir well and add milk gradually.  Some cooks like to heat the milk first.   In a separate bowl, beat eggs.  Beat in some white sauce into the eggs, then return the mixture into the white sauce.  Don’t let it boil.  Remove from heat. Stir in optional cheese.  Season to taste.

Step Four  Building the Moussaka

Grease a deep casserole dish.  Put alternative layers of aubergine slices and meat and onion mixture in the dish.  Start and end with a layer of aubergines.  Pour the sauce over the dish evenly.  If possible, cover, chill and let it rest, at least overnight.

Time to bake it: uncovered in moderate oven (180C/350F/Mark 4) for 45 minutes until a brown crust forms, and layers have fused and blended.  Serve directly from the dish.