If one watches enough Coronation Street, you understand that a Chippy is the local Fish and Chip joint. In Ellesmere on the return trip we decided to go truly local. Knowing the local Tesco would be open late after we moored up, we headed instead of to the Black Lion Hotel Pub, we went a few extra blocks to the local chippy, with a warm up stop at a local pub that did not serve food.
A quick pint and a gab with a couple of locals “Ahh you’re Canadian then, we were worried you would be Yanks…” was not an uncommon comment that we heard more than once. After our pints, we stepped next door for actual solid food.
What we call French Fries in Canada do not exist by that moniker in the UK: Chips thanks and they have nothing to do with anything from McCain frozen, or from the Golden Arches drive-thru. Chips start out as potatoes, cut into lengths then deep fried.
Since nowhere in England is more than 76 miles from the sea, fish is plentiful and almost always wonderfully fresh. Again, battered then deep fried, a chippy trip is not for those without atorvastatin readily to hand. You can also get things like fried chicken or curry, but there had to be at least one meal of fish and chips from a real chippy. With mushy peas, if only to keep to the stereotype.
Was it good? Certainly it was. We both ordered a small and the portion size would have fed a family of four, but the fish tasted like fish and the chips tasted like potatoes. The mushy peas were the expected radioactive green and tasted somewhat like garden peas. A perfectly satisfying dinner after a day of hard work fighting the rain.