When the chips are down…..
I somehow knew that taking home a roll and chips after a long shift would be a bit of a gamble. Infact, I knew that getting chips would be a bit of a gamble. For a city that prides itself on a poor diet of poor quality deep fried crap, I shouldn’t have been the least bit surprised that a let-down would be on the cards.
I stopped in to a well known Glasgow Italian chippy where I ordered 2 rolls n chips. “Sorry….We’ve no rolls” was the response. I replied with the obvious request of “just the chips then” when I really meant “Why and how the fuck are you even still in business if you can’t even get a fucking roll n chips right”? All in a Gordon Ramsay voice in my head with his look of bewilderment at the obvious culinary shortcoming. However, I was there for the chips, in the vain hope that they had been cooked long enough to retain a golden brown colour rather than the flimsy peely wally soggy mushes they would eventually wrap up. All a million miles away from what yer mammy would cook in a death trap chip pan when you were young.
A steady supply of buttered (not “spread”) rolls and an auld wire chip pan would be all that’s needed to take them on at their own game.
Ye wantin’ salt n vinegar?