Last week–or was it two weeks ago–on the Thursday after classes ended (the 16th) I met Kirk and James in Brooklyn to eat dinner before we got sloshy at Colin’s bar, Floyd. (Sorry for all this name dropping—but it’s ok to drop names when no one knows who you’re talking about.)
So Kirk recommended we go to “Chip Shop”–a bastion of British food near where he lives (and I think he lives in Williamsburg, but now that I think about it I think he lives in Park Slope. I’m what they call an unreliable narrator.)
Having lived in England for a summer, (I studied Shakespeare and British Theater at Oxford the summer after my junior year in college), the idea repulsed me. I HATE British food. Honestly, the food at Oxford was so bad I had to go to Starbucks (yes even then I was going to Starbucks) to buy sandwiches. SANDWICHES at Starbucks–that’s how bad.
But, then again, there was fish and chips. And that’s what Chip Shop serves–fish and chips and curries. So I ordered fish and chips: cod and fries, that came out thusly:
(Photos by James Felder. Fish by Chip Shop.)
The fish and chips were great. The malt vinegar on the table helped. James told a story of how he used to go to A Salt and Battery (which, James concluded, had inferior fish and chips to Chip Shop) and got headaches after using their malt vinegar. The staff there seemed to acknowledge a relationship between headaches and their malt vinegar. Chip Shop’s malt vinegar did not induce headaches, but it did induce labor. I had a little boy and his name is Rodolfo.
For dessert, the three of us shared treacle pudding:
James kvelled over this and I really enjoyed it. It was a warm cream vanilla sauce over a cakey puddingy mound. To quote the Barefoot Contessa: “How bad could that be?” (Actually, I hate it when the Barefoot Contessa says that, but I have a malt vinegar headache.)
And that, mates, was our meal at Chip Shop. Next time you’re in the neighborhood (whatever neighborhood it ends up being in) check it out. Chip S(hop) Ahoy!)