Robot Claw

We’d be driving home from shopping or a movie or Nan’s house, mum and dad in the front, Bernard and I in the back. The two of us would conspire quietly and then bellow: “Let’s get fish and chips!“. Very rarely would such a request be denied, for in those days this was a meal beloved by the entire family, and indeed by a nation.

Fish & Chip shops in those days seemed to be everywhere, and though they were never franchises, they had a familiar similarity to them: posters and advertising everywhere outside, a few tatty chairs and tables scattered around, neon lights and the smell of grease. You knew what you were going to get even before stepping inside, and it was always great.

In those days menus were simple: you’d choose fish fillet or cocktail, as well as an amount of chips by the $1. Maybe a potato scallop or six as well. Our family order was usually something like “Two fillets, six cocktails, six scallops and $3 of chips.” Your order would be taken and a time would be barked: “Five minutes” and then you’d wait. Of course some shops also sold burgers and even sandwiches, but very rarely did we order any of those.

The interiors of these food palaces were even more enticing than the outsides. Against a dirty wall there’d be two or three coolers filled with soft drinks (and other stuff of no interest to kids) and next to them would be chest freezer full of ice creams. A glass counter would display boxes and tubs full of lollies and there’d be shelves full of potato chips and other snacks. The walls held flyers advertising the latest ice blocks, a sexy chiko roll poster, a few scribbled notes listing new menu items, a Coca Cola clock and the occasional postcard. Grime covered every surface, and the stink of grease and smoke was everywhere. The floors were usually treacherous as well: broken and dirty tiles covered with dirt or sand since half the customers seemed to be barefooted. As a child I’d just soak all this in, gazing at the lollies, and wondering how much time was left before our food was ready.

And then after what seemed like forever you’d be handed a big, heavy, hot parcel wrapped in newspaper. It was an act of superhuman self-control to not open it in the back seat of the car on the way home (sneaking a fry or two didn’t count), and then you’d arrive and open the bundle and reveal this:

Our family would descend on the bounty like a pack of rabid wolves, and very rarely was there anything left on the paper when our plates were filled. In particular Bernard and I competed to see who could eat the most chips, and many terrible battles were fought in an effort to claim more than the other. I think mum and dad were content to let us devour uncontrollably: we were growing boys after all.

‘Fish and chips’ was a kings meal, and always a favourite of mine. This love was born after traditions such as described above, and as I aged I grew to love the meal even more. Fish & Chip shops were always an oasis for me, and even as an independent teenager I often gravitated towards them.

Of course in the 1980s they gained further appeal since they were very often the home of video games and pinballs! I remember frequenting the one in Valentine when I’d go visit Sue, and playing the pinball machines while we waited. I remember playing Rygar at a particular shop on Hunter Street, and Street Fighter 2 at one in Sydney with Kristin when she first visited. The first video game I ever saw was at a Fish & Chip shop!

When I left Australia I left many things behind, and some I didn’t think twice about. Little did I know how much I’d miss the taste of classic fish and chips, and be hard pressed to find a replacement.

I’ve had it in the USA – many times – but at best it’s a pale reflection. I’ve had fish and chips in England, Ireland and Scotland. They were good, but not anywhere near as good as a classic Aussie version. I’ve always looked forward to the familiar taste of fish and chips every time I visit Oz, and try to enjoy it at least once every trip. I still have fond memories of fish and chips eaten at shops that no longer exist, such as Sea King in Manly, or Salt & Lemon in Randwick, or Steel Street in Markettown.

I read last year that the humble Australia Fish & Chip shop is declining (too!) quickly. A mixture of the pandemic, delivery services, and the rising cost of seafood have dealt them a blow from which they may not survive. The one I used to eat at every Oz visit is now gone with none replacing it, and the same is happening all over Australia.

As with many things from our youth, it seems these wonderful stores are fast becoming memories. I wonder what has replaced them in the lives of the next generation?