Life – Its Just Space Between Chippy Teas

There is nothing so great a the Friday night chippy tea, a sign that the working week has ended and the weekend starts now.

This assumes that most people still work a standard 9-5, Monday to Friday week. Oh and that you know that tea is the evening meal in this instance, not the drink.

Breakfast, dinner, tea – that is how it goes, with supper being a post bed snack. You can throw in elevenses if you wish.

Breakfast, lunch, dinner – that is how some others refer to it but these are the type of people that probably order “lightly- battered” fish and they deserve to never be indulged.

Fun fact, the more batter the healthier the fish is as the less oil that gets to it, so if you don’t want too much batter in your diet just eat less of it.  Don’t order it with less and then became a bit distressed that you have to wait while 5 normal people are served before you because “we’re still waiting on your fish.”

I’m blessed with an inordinate amount of chip outlets near me, even all the Chinese takeaways do a fairly good stab at it and whereas the chips and peas are good, the fish is pants but that is OK because I’m a pie, pudding and/or sausage person at this time of the week.

I’m not going to bore you with a load of local slang terms for the food you can get a chip shops, it serves no one in the long run and it just cultural appropriation.

The closest chippy to me did the most wondrous thing recently and decided to open in the evenings every day (except Sundays), I’ve yet to have chippy every day yet but I will build up to that.  I’ve not attempted it yet, not because of some health reason but because the Friday night chippy tea is still a special event for me.

The amount of cars parked outside the chip shop is a usually a fair indication of the queuing status.  As is watching people parking up, leaving and walking.  Each act done with an misplaced, increased level of stress that chips should not really cause as each character tries desperately to get into the chip shop, get home to eat, or beat the other foot soldiers who also valiantly increase their walking pace to get higher up in the queue.

One thing I’ve never learnt, how you wrap up left over chips they way they were presented to you originally.  The wrapping style associated with chip shop paper is like unfolded origami, it makes little sense with just a creased, 2-D piece of slightly fatty paper looking back at you.

The good thing is its now the weekend, which means dinner time chippy.

 

Thanks for reading.

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Street Food, with added Chlorinated Chicken

It is quite understandable, the faux hysteria that surrounds Liam Fox and his chlorinated chickens.

The Tory and Trump’s America are the big bads of the world, the EU super state the glorious saviour of civilisation as we know it.  Well it is if your world is filled only with the BBC, Guardian, Independent, Buzzfeed and Twitter.

We know this truth to be self-evident: chlorine on chickens = bad; chlorine washed pre-packed salads and veg = oh, we forgot about that.

Anecdotally and to compliment my recent straw man pieces I have recently started doing always done I seem to recall a piece of news about what counted as organic eggs.  So long as they reached you covered in feathers and shit they could be classed as organic (among an obvious litany of other regulations they must meet).  However if one were to wash that shit off them, then they couldn’t be classed as such. Meh, who cares an egg is an egg.

The Co-Operative food store you to love to say how all the egg containing products contained free-range eggs.  It’s great to pick up a pre-packed Chicken Mayonnaise sandwich to find that the chickens laying the eggs were free range.  The chickens that provided the meat however, no mention of their freedom. Meh, who cares a chicken is a chicken.

Which brings me on to Street Food. Or rather the culturally appropriated and probably whole-heartedly racist version that the UK gets treated to.

We all love a bit of street food; small, start-up businesses selling good quality, wholesome products using local ingredients to produce a wide range of cuisines from around the world. It’s all so wonderfully inclusive.

If you are one of those that can afford street food at restaurant prices.  We’re going to charge you the earth but not even have the good grace to give you a seat.  Still I suppose if you can afford to fly to and holiday in the Far East and have real and cheap and proper street food there, then I suppose it all evens out.

In all this clamour for street food one thing I have noticed that has got lost is the origin of all the ingredients.  In a country where regulations have put a greater emphasis on what allergens foodstuffs contain, former buzz words like organic, and free-range have fallen by the wayside.

I suppose if you’re paying top whack for a triple bacon, double burger with 3 types of cheese and harissa mayo you’d just assume everything ticked all the clear conscience boxes. I mean, why would anyone wish to increase their profit margin by using cheaper products to bring you a more expensive item.

But it’s OK, this burger is the best burger you’ve ever had.

Now all we need is to find meat replacements and we can leave all the sheep, cows, pigs and chickens to roam freely in peace and to become extinct naturally with no one to tend and care for them.

Thanks for reading.