The Best Fish and Chips

Porthkerris is a small fishing town in Cornwall, with a harbor, a few hundred houses and two chip shops on the same street. For thirty years, the owners of those shops have not spoken to each other.

Bill Penrose runs The Golden Fish. He fries his fish in beef fat, the old way, and he thinks anyone who doesn't is a criminal. Across the road, Sally Tremayne runs Sally's Plaice. She uses vegetable oil and makes her own mushy peas, and she says Bill's chips are too greasy to eat. Every summer the town holds a competition for the best fish and chips, and every summer one of them wins. The other one doesn't speak for a month, which isn't very different from normal.

This year something changed. In March, a Peruvian chef called Rosa Huaman arrived in Porthkerris with her teenage son. She had worked in restaurants in Lima and London, and she wanted a quieter life by the sea. She rented the tiny empty shop between The Golden Fish and Sally's Plaice and painted it bright yellow.

At first, Bill and Sally agreed on something for the first time in thirty years: they were both worried. But Rosa's shop didn't sell fish and chips. It sold ceviche, empanadas and sweet potato fries with a spicy yellow sauce. The locals tried it, and soon there was a queue outside every lunchtime.

In June, Rosa entered the competition. "You can't win with ceviche," Bill told her. "It has to be fish and chips." "I know," Rosa said with a smile.

On the day of the competition, the judges tried Bill's cod first. "Plenty of flavor," one wrote, "but a little too much salt." Sally's haddock was light and crispy, but the chips weren't hot enough. Then they tried Rosa's: fresh fish from the harbor that morning, in a batter made with a little Peruvian beer, chips fried twice, and a few drops of her yellow sauce on the side. The judges were silent for a long time.

Rosa won. Bill went red, and Sally went white. Then Rosa did something nobody expected. "I couldn't have done it without these two," she said into the microphone. "I learned how to fry the fish from watching Bill, and I learned how to make the batter from Sally. They're the best teachers in town. They just don't talk to each other."

Everybody laughed, even Bill. Afterwards, Rosa invited them both to her shop for a coffee. Nobody knows exactly what they said, but there were enough witnesses to confirm that they sat at the same table for more than an hour.

Next summer, the three shops are planning a fish and chips festival together. Bill still thinks vegetable oil is a crime, and Sally still thinks his chips are too greasy. But at least now they say it to each other's faces.