The Fryer's Delight

Some of you may have gathered by now that I’m a shopkeeper by trade and have been for the past 15 years. Prior to that I was rendering my services to another shop in the West End as a salesman helping customers achieve their dreams of an orchestra or Jimi Hendrix becoming alive in their living rooms by means of two channel stereo systems. Since leaving college I’ve never been conventionally salaried or let alone handle a payslip in my hands; my hard-nosed tenacity wouldn’t allow me to work under someone else except myself. It’s my prerogative to remain so until I tumble into an abyss of doom. Jabberwocky facts aside, my shop sells record players and amplifiers with glowing tubes (we call ‘em valve amps in the industry) and this kind of niche attracts a certain lot of pilgrims from all over the world. Now for some strange reasons the majority of these visitors who descend upon the shop are Scandinavians or to be exact, Norwegians and Swedes. The anoraks (blokes mainly) drag their families along to view the wares I have on show, but they never buy anything and they just want to complete the pilgrimage by snapping photos of the shop and me, as for the latter I always decline for good reasons! In order to break up the usual tedium I unavoidably drum up the usual conversation-

‘Do you like London?’

Gasp (the Danes, Swedes and Norwegians all do this when conversing!)- ‘Oh yes we love your great city’

‘Do you find our city expensive?’

Gasp- ‘Oh no, London is cheap as lingonberries nuts compared to Oslo!’ (But then they would say that, as the Norwegians are the richest Europeans).

‘So where have you been and what have you done in London?’

Gasp- ‘Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, Madame Tussauds, your shop and…fish and chips (with a wretched sigh!)’ (The Norwegians verge on warm monotones whereas the Swedes are tonally lah-dee-dah)

‘What’s wrong with our fish n chips?’ (I often bark hereby!)

Gasp- ‘Oh not much really (now because that they’re not buying anything from me they always end up polite) but please tell us where to go for your true British national dish, chicken tikka masala.’ (Followed by a final but almighty gasp…)

As their first taste of fish and chips will also be the last, the tourists’ expectations are inexorably exceeded. The various answers I’ve been so accustomed to hearing have simply reasserted the fact that our national dish sucks! When it comes to cocking up this humble dish on an immense scale then there’s no other place worse than London. Fish and chips is found on the menus at pubs, eating concessions within popular tourist attractions and department stores, greasy spoons, kebab shops, chicken shops, etc- a win-win inclusion to trap the unwitting diners craving for a bite of the great British institution. The dearth of traditional chippies in the capital is partly to blame for this sad misrepresentation. For a major city with an urban population of more than 8 million people it’s also pathetic to know that one can only count London’s decent chippies on one hand or perhaps at a push, an additional finger on the other. I remembered an old pilgrim to my shop a couple of year’s back, Leif of Stavanger, he muttered about his first cod and chips lunch at an Italian run caff in Russell Square- 'we salt our cod because it’s a noble fish so that we can enjoy eating bit by bit but why the injustice of deep-frying it with tasteless batter and serving it with fat sloppy wet fries!' His smiling face hid the most obvious kick in my teeth and validly call forth there's no accounting for taste.


The Fryer's Delight is a well-regarded fish and chip shop in Holborn.

The place does at least resemble an authentic chippy-

deep-fryers by the front counter, Formica tables, false ceilings, white-coated cooks, pungent cooking fumes and sharp intrusive vinegar tones wafting all over the booths. It has been around for ages and it’s now run by some South American folks- spoken English was thus rudimentary but the service courtesy of the lone waitress was consistently abiding and smiling.

This place is also a favourite of the London cabbies, as the photo shows- one eating and another just walked in.

Now unlike Leif of Stavanger I wasn’t going to be put off by my first and failed fish dinner at a place of supposedly good repute so I went back three times to confirm my findings about The Fryer's Delight. As somber as things are allowed to be, the place was plainly inadequate when it came to fish and chips. It lacked the attributes so vital for any real chippy- passion about the fish, a know-how about concocting a great batter mix, how not to make the chips taste like anything except potatoes and of course the fat chosen to fry the food.

The menu

Haddock and Chips
Looks all right and all but I can assure you that it was anything but.

Now let’s briefly rant about how fresh is ‘fresh’. I accept the fact that most and if not all fish when caught are immediately flash frozen on the boats for at least a week before it reaches the market like Billingsgate. But what happens when the fillets have been further refrigerated for another week or two (the thought of a double thawing process shudders me no end!). It then reeks of fishiness; disconcerting and repelling enough to put even the most determined fish-eater off for a considerable amount of time. The haddock I had above was precisely that kind of ‘fresh’ misnomer - yuck! The batter, although not soaking with fat was woefully under-seasoned. The chips tasted entirely synthetic and soggy. And what of the myth surrounding beef dripping used as the de facto fat at The Fryer's Delight?
A load of codswallop is the plain and simple answer I could muster with confidence.

Now there’s very little any fish shop can screw up with the next two items-

Cod’s Roe-
now if I can relish in stuff like this then I’m au fait with this.

Oy Oy Savaloy!
Ok not quite the bright red thing but much the same thing- a battered jumbo sausage. Now what’s there not to like about a log of intensely processed nose to tail bits from farmed animals (dare I say usually made collectively).

The hand-written bill was undoubtedly sweet-natured and a redeeming feature of the place. (Although my accountant would balk at the omission of a date-entry!)

Cod and Chips

Alas the tiny piece of cod was as ‘fresh’ as the haddock above. It was reminiscent of poorly thawed mush.

And thank goodness for lashings of malt vinegar, a perfect ploy to obliterate any imperfections that come with any dishes served here.

The Fryer's Delight will continue to exist and flourish because of the following-

OAPs who live in the estates nearby (the ones who have been patronising the place for years but lacking the mobility to travel further afield for a better fish dinner).

Cabbies who come here in droves (by a word-of-mouth convention it seems and besides cab drivers are probably the least fussy eaters in the capital).

And of course the shop’s close proximity to the cheap hotels in and around Bloomsbury and Holborn is more than an ideal to lure the naive tourists.

The recurrence of the good reputation The Fryer's Delight has been clinging on to is hopelessly out of date; unfortunately the current owners have lost the plot and they’ll probably never understand why they’ve made a diabolical embarrassment out of England’s national dish. One to avoid.

For real fish and chips in the West End you’re better off here or here.



19 Theobald’s Road
Holborn
London
WC1X 8SL

Web
Scores on the doors