In praise of slap chips

Abigail George can’t get enough.

All through my childhood, fish and chips was eaten a few times a month in our house. My family’s go-to place in Port Elizabeth was Seaflight Fisheries. We would stand in front of the counter and watch the ladies, with what looked like posh shower caps covering their hair, fry hake or calamari soaked in batter. The chips would be fried in hot oil until both fish and chips were mouth-wateringly golden and deliciously crisp.

For us, in our community, fish and chips was a miracle food. It was divine. A sacred food for the angels.

We also made our own chips. Chefs will a potato. My mother would cut her chips into wedges like Nando’s did when we still had a Nando’s in our area. Those were the days.