For the love of chips

I've just done the most British thing you can do. I queued up for almost an hour to eat chips.
That's pretty British. That's pretty committed. Is it committable?

Backing this up slightly. Let me explain.

My local chippy had been closed down for a couple of months while the new owners put their own touches to the place. To celebrate the grand opening, everything was half price for one day only. How can you possibly say no to half priced chips?

I don't think I've ever been to a fish and chip restaurant which had a queue. It's quite a dying sector of the food industry as kebabs hoover up most of the night trade. This new one is no exception. It's gone through two owners already, with the previous one lasting less than a year.

I queued. I queued and wondered if I was crazy. My fellow salivating denizens were in mostly good spirits, each on the phone to their loved ones keeping them up-to-date on the dinner-time rush.

As we got closer to the door, yeah I wasn't even near the counter at this point, gleeful customers came rushing out with their orders.

"It's an hour's wait for your order!" A helpful lady shouted out to the queue.

A couple left. Lightweights. I was in this for the long haul. You don't stand in line unless you're committed. I've spent 14 hours waiting in line. I'm no rookie.

"It's really nice. Worth the wait." A guy who had sat down with his family informed us.

That's all the convincing most needed.

Young ladies walked by astonished. One asked if we were waiting for a new iPhone.

No lady. It's better than that. It's not an Apple. It's potatoes we crave.

Eventually I got to order but the team were feeling the heat. Six people were churning out orders without a breath. With a 30 minute wait for my portion of chips I took refuge down the road.

All I could think about was the bottle of vinegar I was going to drown my chips in. People were talking to me but their faces turned crispy in front of my eyes.

Arriving back and the team were still beavering away, elbows deep in the fryer. Mothers with children dancing around them came away disappointed the place had run out of most well known fish.

"I don't care what it is. Just give me four of them!" One pleaded.

I bumped into my neighbours who were just about to place their order. Mid conversation my order was called and without missing a beat I ignored them to pick up the gold at the end of the rainbow.

The chips were perfect. The right ration of thick cut chips to crispy crunchy bits.

As I digest I wonder, was I crazy? Who waits for well over an hour for chips? We do. British people do. The Japanese have sushi the, the French (claim to) have everything else. We have this. A humble spud.

There's something beyond basic want which compels us to wait it out in subzero conditions to get our tongues around the food we love.

Us queuers all chuckled at what we were doing. Those who had little staying power looked on in disgust.

"It's just chips!" One muttered as they passed by.

But it's not. This was a micro event which pulled together a community. OK. That's sort of overstating it, but that night we all did come together for a singular purpose.

Will we return to maintain this local business? Who knows. Maybe a half priced deal gives the owners a flash-in-the-pan success which peters out. It could be a third owner in less than two years.

It would be a shame because every town needs a reliable chippy which does just that. They don't worry about anything fancy like sliders, or anything as grotesque as kebabs. They do the basics, and they do them well.

All we want, nay, need, is a chip shop at the heart of our communities.