Quite obnoxious. Sorry. If you don't like it, you can always just fuck off!
Dunno what's real anymore, I don't believe a fuckin' thing!
Swear-words are words!
Chips fried in beef dripping were a different object to what passes for a chip today.
Walk into a Whitby chippy in 1978. The fryer has been on since 11am. The fat in it is beef dripping, held at 180 degrees by a man in a white apron who has been frying chips since he was fifteen. There are no seed oils in the building. The idea would not occur to anyone.
Thick-cut Maris Pipers, ninety seconds in the dripping. Dark gold at the edges, fluffy inside, crisp in a way that sets your teeth against them. Salt. Vinegar. Paper. Two bob.
You eat them walking home along the harbour wall. The chip tastes of the chip and also of something underneath the chip, something deeper, something you don't have a name for because you are nine and nobody names it, it is just what chips taste like.
That taste was beef dripping.
By 2002, 90% of British chippies had switched to rapeseed, palm, or sunflower oil, on the advice of public health officials citing research since quietly retracted. A stable saturated fat used for ten thousand years, swapped for an industrial oil invented in 1911, oxidised at fryer temperatures for twelve hours a day.
A seed-oil chip is lighter, flatter. The crust doesn't hold. The flavour stops at the potato. No deeper note. No roast beef on a Friday.
Ask a British person under thirty what chips are supposed to taste like and they will describe, with complete sincerity, the chip they have always eaten. A chip their great-grandfather would have considered a practical joke. They cannot miss it, because the reference point was removed from the national palate before they were born.
A handful of chippies still fry in dripping. The Magpie in Whitby. A few survivors in Yorkshire, Lancashire, the Black Country.
Go. Drive. Queue. Eat them standing up, out of the paper.
You will understand, in one bite, what was taken.
The cow is still in the field. The suet is still at the butcher. The fryer could be switched back tomorrow.
A whole country forgot what a chip was.
'This is just the start of it. The fuel prices is the tipping point'
'You had it and you had it good you just couldn't f*cking leave us alone'
'Tyrants are running the country now its time to overturn them'
People everywhere seem to have had enough of being dictated to by career spastics.
"This is Ted he is a 96 year old WW2 veteran. He came into my pub today for his lunch. I couldn't help but notice his medals I just had to go and ask him about his life and say thank you for his service to our country. He became really overwhelmed and cried. He said 'thank you young man no one cares about what I have to say anymore.'
I told him that I'm sure there are so many people that do. Can we all please like and share this post and show him just how many of do care about our veterans and prove to Ted he's not forgotten. I will show him this post when he comes back for his dinner next week."
Credit - animal discovery