Fish and Chips: A British Staple
I’ve spent more than four decades teaching modern British history at the University of Leeds, but my fascination with our cultural heritage began not in the classroom—but in the kitchen. Or, more precisely, in the corner shop on Kirkgate Market, where I queued as a lad with a shilling in hand for the best Friday night fish and chips in town. To many, fish and chips is just a dish. To me—and to much of Britain—it’s history on a plate.
A History Drenched in Vinegar and Wrapped in Newspaper
The origin of fish and chips isn’t entirely straightforward, though it is thoroughly British. The dish is the culinary marriage of two immigrant foods: fried fish, introduced by Jewish refugees from Spain and Portugal in the 17th century, and fried potato chips, likely brought to England by way of France or Belgium. It was the Industrial Revolution, however, that truly made them a pair.
In the north of England—Leeds, Manchester, and the like—chips were cheap, filling, and could be cooked in bulk. In the south, particularly in London’s East End, fried fish had already found a stronghold. But somewhere in the mid-19th century, possibly in Lancashire or East London (the debate continues), someone put the two together in one parcel. A nation rejoiced.
By the 1870s, “chippies” had spread across Britain. In 1910, there were over 25,000 fish and chip shops in the country. Even during the darkest days of the Second World War, fish and chips were not rationed. Churchill called them "the good companions." For many families like mine, they were Friday-night tradition and payday comfort food rolled into one.
Why Fish and Chips Endures
There’s something deeply egalitarian about fish and chips. Whether enjoyed on a seaside bench, wrapped in newspaper with greasy fingers, or plated crisply in a gastropub with minted peas and artisanal tartar sauce—it’s always recognizable, familiar, satisfying.
In Leeds, my local chippy still serves it the way my mother remembered it: thick-cut Maris Piper chips, golden and soft inside; a fillet of haddock encased in a crackling shell of batter, fried in beef dripping, and sprinkled liberally with salt and Sarson’s malt vinegar. No pretension. Just warmth.
I often tell my students: to study history is to understand the ordinary as much as the extraordinary. And few dishes embody the texture of everyday British life quite like fish and chips.
How to Make Traditional British Fish and Chips at Home
If you're inclined to experience it yourself (and I hope you are), here's a recipe I’ve refined over the years. I’ve taught it to my grandchildren, to American visiting scholars, and even to a curious neighbor from Sri Lanka who now swears by it. there is wonderful step by step recipe here in myplanetfood
Ingredients (Serves 4)
For the Fish:
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4 boneless white fish fillets (traditionally cod or haddock)
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Salt and pepper
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½ cup plain flour (for dusting)
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Beef dripping or vegetable oil (for deep frying)
For the Batter:
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1 cup plain flour
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1 tsp baking powder
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½ tsp salt
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1 cup cold sparkling water (or cold beer, for extra crispiness)
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Optional: a dash of vinegar for flavor
For the Chips:
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4 large floury potatoes (Maris Piper or King Edward)
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Salt
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Oil for frying (separate from beef dripping if preferred)
Method
Step 1: Prepare the Chips
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Peel and cut the potatoes into thick chips (around 1 cm width).
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Rinse under cold water to remove excess starch.
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Parboil in boiling water for 4–5 minutes until just tender. Drain well.
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Let them cool and dry completely. This prevents splatter and ensures crispness.
Step 2: Make the Batter
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In a large bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt.
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Gradually pour in the cold sparkling water (or beer), whisking until smooth.
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Set aside and keep cold. A cold batter hitting hot oil is the key to puff and crunch.
Step 3: Fry the Chips (First Fry)
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Heat oil to 140°C (285°F).
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Fry the chips in batches for 5–6 minutes until pale and soft but not colored.
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Drain and set aside on kitchen paper.
Step 4: Fry the Fish
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Pat the fish fillets dry. Lightly season with salt and pepper.
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Dust each fillet with plain flour—this helps the batter stick.
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Heat beef dripping (or oil) to 180°C (355°F).
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Dip each fish fillet into the batter and allow the excess to drip off.
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Fry one or two at a time, depending on fryer size, until golden and crisp (about 6–8 minutes).
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Drain on paper and keep warm.
Step 5: Finish the Chips (Second Fry)
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Raise oil temperature to 180°C (355°F).
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Re-fry the chips for 3–4 minutes until golden and crispy.
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Drain and toss in salt.
Serving Suggestions
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Serve the fish and chips with a wedge of lemon, tartar sauce, and mushy peas if you’re feeling classic.
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Malt vinegar is not optional in my house—it’s a requirement.
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For the authentic experience, eat it wrapped in paper and listen to the radio.
Regional Variations: A Footnote for the Curious
In Yorkshire (my home), haddock is preferred over cod and is often skinned before frying. In London, cod reigns supreme. In Scotland, fish suppers are often accompanied by “chippy sauce,” a tangy brown vinegar-sauce hybrid. Meanwhile, in Northern Ireland, you'll often find a battered sausage or pastie sneaking onto the plate.
And though the dish is now global—from Australia to Canada—it’s here, in the drizzle-dusted towns of England, where fish and chips feels most at home.
Final Reflections
There’s a rhythm to life in Leeds that hasn’t changed much. The chime of the town hall clock, the rattle of the number 36 bus, and the unmistakable scent of frying fish wafting through the alley near Briggate.
As I grow older, I find comfort in such constants. Fish and chips is no mere meal. It’s continuity. It’s heritage. It’s the taste of Friday evenings when my father, fresh from the textile mill, handed me a wrapped parcel still warm in my hands.
And though I’ve studied revolutions and read volumes on imperial trade routes, I’ll tell you this: if you want to understand Britain, start with its food. Begin with fish and chips.
Because in that golden crust lies a story worth telling.
By Prof James . N. Austin
(Guest Post)
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