I like chips.

I like fries. I wouldn't put as much salt on them. given the choice, but I still like them. And I love that almost wherever I go, I can buy them. I don't get grumpy and refuse to eat chips just because slightly-salty fries are all that's on offer.

I like hand-cut, double-fried chips. Even though hand-cut doesn't always mean that a rosy-cheeked chef has lovingly knife-sliced them up in the back of the kitchen. A spud thrust through an industrial chip cutter is still cutting chips by hand, isn't it?

I like chip-shop chips. No other chips taste quite the same. Maybe because it's more than just the taste of the chips - it's the anticipation in the queue, the aroma in the shop, the warmth of the wrapping paper. Only chip-shop chips give you that feeling. You can buy frozen chips, to eat at home, marketed as 'just like the ones from the chip shop', but you know in your heart of hearts they won't taste quite the same.

I like home-made chips. Knowing that I'll never make them like anyone else does, I can experiment with seasonings. I'll make a batch for my friends; it's great to share something that your made yourself. Knowing if it all goes wrong, there's always something else in the freezer.

I like to read a little chip history - understanding that the profits made by selling dehydrated potato to the military during World War 2 allowed the J. R. Simplot Company to invest into research that led to the invention of frozen french fries. Which, by extension, allowed McDonalds to offer a consistent product throughout its franchise, so guys like me could have slightly-salty fries wherever in the world I end up.

I like thinking of how I warmed my hands with a cone of frites outside the Belfort in Brugge on a bitingly cold spring morning. Shared a bag of chips with my wife on her birthday, sat in Derby bus station, for reasons that neither of us can now remember. Chucked chips at seagulls whilst learning against the sea wall at Chapel St Leonards whilst my Gran was at bingo.

I don't like endless, pointless arguments over the best accompaniment for them*. Or at what temperature they should be fried. Or whether the frying should be double or treble. Or if there's an intrinsic difference between the kinds of cooking oil used. Or whether eating chips made by a global food giant is the equivalent of forcing a craft potato-frier's hand into the boiling vat of economic ruin.

I like chips.

Chippy chip-chips.

I like beer too.

But not as much as I like chips.



 * it should go without saying, however, that anyone who doesn't put 

- mayo onto frites 
- Henderson's Relish onto thick-cut chips with a burger 
- mushy peas onto chip-shop chips in a tray 

is an idiot and shouldn't be allowed to express an opinion on the internet. >