| Covering the | Ivy Knight Knows, Fish'n'Chips, Toronto: May 2006, Gremolata Number 75. |
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  | Fried Ivy Knight
My first kitchen job was at a greasy fish and chips joint called Cockney Kings in New Westminster, B.C. I was nineteen and was hired as the dishwasher. Weighing in at ninety-five pounds and a towering five foot three, I could barely lift the racks of plates and glasses out of the machine and, once out, couldn’t reach most of the areas where they had to be stored. I was soon promoted to fry cook which had me standing over a huge deep fryer dunking cod, halibut and prawns into beer batter and tossing them into the rendered beef fat until they were a “crispy, golden brown”. It was not a great job. My arms were pocked with little burns from the spitting fryer and I was inhaling grease daily, but I got to eat a tonne of fish and chips and met the second love of my life, Steve Coleman, that summer so it was worth it. I grew up in P.E.I. where the best deep-fried seafood came from Sailor Boy in Montague. This is where I first discovered what lemons were for, what tartar sauce was and the amazing difference between white and malt vinegar. Have you ever heard of a Big Eric? Sailor Boy was famous for its Big Eric sandwich, a battered and deep-fried cod filet slathered with tartar sauce, topped with a processed cheese slice and sandwiched between two pieces of bread. My hippy mother loved it, which was odd because it embraced so many of the things she was against, like processed cheese and white bread - two things never allowed in her house. The restaurant with the best Big Eric on Spud Island closed it’s doors by the time I started going to the high school that was across the street from it. With Sailor Boy closed we graduated to the Seatreat in Charlottetown, a dark wood-panelled spot with a large rendering of the province done entirely in sea shells. The Rashed family ran this wonderful institution and they introduced me to deep-fried clams to which I quickly became addicted. There is no better piece of flesh to batter and fry, dunk in tartar sauce, and squirt with lemon, than a sweet little clam. So in B.C. there was Cockney Kings and in Texas there is Long John Silver’s, a one-time experience I’d love to forget, like a one-night stand with a horribly disfigured, disease-ridden hobo. This purveyor of frozen fish mush shaped into somewhat convincing filet shapes is as much a blight as any other fast food chain, but it seems so much worse. Hamburgers were being grossly mass produced before I was born, so I was used to seeing what stupid white men had done to the once beautiful burger. I was in my twenties before I discovered what perversions they would visit upon my beloved fish and chips, and it was absolutely shameless. Chewy on the outside, soggy and grey on the inside, this merde de mer comes with ‘hush puppies’, which are basically savoury Timbits and can be really good when made properly. Don’t go near the tartar sauce; it wouldn’t look out of place on a porn set. A vile, loathsome chain like that sucks business away from the really good spots, like the place I ate at recently. Chippy’s, (893 Queen West) across from Trinity-Bellwoods Park, has been around for a few years but I hadn’t checked it out, having heard severely mixed reviews. Some people passionately hate it, while others love it – a lot like “The Big Lebowski”. Well, I hated that insipid movie but I love Chippy’s. They keep it simple in décor and logo right through to the menu. The heavy metal is blaring and a hot punky stud takes your order. Pick your fish or shellfish. They deep fry it and serve it up with an insane amount of fries and a wedge of lemon. Get some tartar sauce (made in house – no bottled crap at this shanty), malt vinegar and a Coke and head across the street to the park. I went with my gorgeous husband, Kerry (“the third time’s the charm” ultimate love of my life), last week and ordered cod and halibut. The halibut is superior as it is the only fish they get in that’s fresh. The previously frozen cod came in second in this head-to-head tasting but I’m sure it would have been a winner if eaten on it’s own. They don’t use a thick beer batter at Chippy’s, which is what I’m used to; they use a tempura batter instead. The end result is light and shatteringly crisp, no sogginess or thick bread bits. Kerry and I couldn’t finish one order of fries between us. It would be great if Chippy’s offered a snack pack; one piece of fish with a quarter of the fries would be perfect for a solo lunch in the park. My editor asked me to check out Harbord Fish & Chips (147 Harbord) next, so I headed there with my friend Todd. Todd hates fish, he doesn’t even like lobster. I told him that he had to at least try it and if he didn’t like it he could eat all the fries. They serve fresh halibut and pollack at this charmingly tiny restaurant. We got an order of each to eat at one of the Lilliputian picnic tables outside. We received huge, Flintstone-size pieces of fish. Neither Todd nor I loved the pollack – too fishy- but the halibut, Todd ate a whole piece of halibut! He loved it! Todd is 32 and this is the first time in his entire life that he’s enjoyed fish. Wow. After that, I didn’t feel the need to embark on a search for better. Better fell into my lap though when David Chrystian put fish and chips on the new spring menu at Joy Bistro, where I work. He’s serving tiny, silvery smelts in a tempura beer batter. They are adorable and delicious and you can have a glass of fine wine with your order while you sit on the patio talking about RRSP’s or something. To sum it up, while in Toronto if you want casual fish and chips go to Chippy’s or Harbord Fish & Chips, and if you want a sexy, expense-account version, go to Joy Bistro. I’m not saying that because I work there, if anything I’d prefer you to stay away. We are busy enough and you’re not making my job any easier or me any richer, but come by anyway you snooty-snoots. |
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Ivy Knight is a Toronto-based writer and chef. She is currently Tournand at Joy Bistro with Chef David Chrystian. READ MORE IVY AT GREMOLATA: Anthony Walsh, You’re My Hero: Ivy profiles her favourite chef Email Ivy at ladyslenderlegs@gmail.com | ||
