I met Joel through a brilliant mutual friend, Carissa. They met in Rwanda, I met her in Canada, and she linked us up when we were both living in Lebanon. A sweet friendship has grown since then, involving Canadian Thanksgiving in London, sharing fondue in France, raiding his kitchen in Amman on work trips, even having him officiate my wedding in Sicily. Having him a part of this passion project is beyond humbling, and writing this piece with him was incredibly special.

Joel’s story is a celebration of those casual routines that, very naturally, build some of our most special relationships and fondest memories. The often-unspoken comfort they bring with their cosy familiarity, and the solace they provide during challenging times. The ones we nostalgically long for when our soul needs a hug, or, when we just need a to re-ground ourselves.  

It was just a few days after his mother had moved out. Joel’s parents were getting divorced, and his childhood home at the end of the Bakerloo line went from a party of four to a party of three. Papa B was sitting at the dining room table, typing away on their desktop computer. Big letters adorned the top of the page – Dad’s Menu. It was composed of ten items, staples that seemed feasible enough for Papa B going through his own morphing into a homemaker, taking over the tasks usually led by Joel’s mum such as cooking. Out of the list, Joel distinctly remembers three items– ‘chunky chicken’ (a tin of chicken in sauce on toast or pasta), wok (which for Papa B was anything cooked in a wok, usually comprised of veg, chicken and rice), and the very last item on the list, the only one that didn’t require cooking – fish and chips. A ubiquitous British take away meal of battered, deep-fried fish (typically a heartier white fish such as cod or haddock), served alongside (an equally hearty portion) of thick cut fried potatoes.

 Joel and his twin brother were 16 when all this came about. They had just finished writing their high school exams when their parents sat them down to tell them the news. For the next five years, things were, well, as easy as they could be for any adolescents going through a challenging family situation, in particular during such formative years. A true balance of the best of times in one sense, the worst of times in the other. In the first couple of years, Brother B was usually away at boarding school, mainly leaving the home to Joel and Papa B, who settled into their own Friday night routine. Papa B would come home from his job as a family solicitor, tie pulled down, that end of the week combination of exhaustion and relief on his face. They’d look at each other and in that subtle British way ask, “fish and chips?”. A five-minute drive away wasn’t just any chippy, it was (and still is) one of London’s top-rated take-aways, Barracuda. While Joel admits to be rubbish at names, he still remembers the owner, Yanis. A Cypriot restauranteur in his mid-thirties who was kind, charismatic, and ever attentive to his customers. Yanis didn’t just remember your order, he would remember your mother’s hip replacement surgery and ask how she was doing next time you were in. When Joel and Papa B walked through the door, it was like going to a second home, greeted by a smiling Yanis, who would already be preparing their order – two large cod and chips, tartar sauce, sometimes a cheeky battered sausage and on special occasions mushy peas. At the time, tangy tart vinegar and salt for the chips, but these days Joel prefers them without. Even though the shop had a seating area, the guys always took their order back home. Flung on the couch, the best of British sitcoms on the telly, and their Friday night fish and chips.

 This routine was one of comfort, one of ease. For any bullshit that happened during the week, for those few hours there was no stress, no worries. And while fish and chips is not what one would call nourishing in the sense of nutrition (though maybe there’s an argument to be made there, who am I to say), to this day that same feeling of calm and cosiness happens when Joel relives this meal - large cod and chips, but now no vinegar, no salt. All these years later, a near obsession has led Joel to search far and wide for it during his time living abroad, which for much of the last ten years was in the Middle East. While the number of chippies has been limited, and often near existent on his travels, the incessant enthusiasm to get his cod fix left him to question – is he chasing the memory of the connections made during that time (understandably with Papa B, but also to Yanis), is it about (re)creating those moments of peace/lightness/joy and tranquillity, or, is it simply about the food itself? I say, why can’t it be all three?

The original Dad’s Menu has since been framed, a gift from the boys a few years back when it resurfaced. The fact that this single sheet of paper managed to make it through all the various moving of homes shows the sentiment of what that time meant for all the family – the pain, the changes, the new roles, and in some respects, new relationships. Gifting the menu was a way of showing their gratitude for what Papa B had done to try and make that period of turbulence feel more normal. Something they admit took many more years to fully appreciate.

 The fish and chips ritual still takes place, though albeit not as frequently. However, the pillars of its tradition still hold - the exchanged looks, the subtle British way to ask ‘fish and chips?’, a large cod and chips (hold the vinegar) and those few moments of relief from trials and tribulations that weigh us down.

Friday Night Fish and Chips

Step by Step Instruction 

• End the work/school day, could be the end of the week if you are lucky.

• Recruit some good company, can be family, friends or even be your own.

• Head to your favourite/local chippy, and place your usual order, though don’t restrict yourself – it is the weekend, after all;

o   Cod/Haddock/Veggie Alternative

o   Chips, doused in salt and vinegar or plain

o   Tartar sauce and/or curry sauce if that’s your jam

o   Mushy peas, for a bit of colour

o   Pickled egg, batter sausage, or soft rolls should you need an extra

• Head home. Changing into your loungewear (or better yet, pajamas) highly recommended.

• Crash on your couch, just be sure the remote control is close by so as to avoid getting up again.

• Treat yourself to a few hours off life.