Tuesday 31 January 2012

Adventures during the Age Of Aquarius - Part III


Part I and Part II


Fish 'n' Chips is one of Great Britain's towering successes; 'chippies' are everywhere, not only in the UK but, by virtue of empire and tourism, in far-flung places all over the globe. The first fish-and-chip shop in London was opened in 1860. Nowadays there are chippies who sell you a curry or a 'Chinese', and always saveloys, a highly spiced, reddish brown sausage;  the fried fish shop will probably be the last kind of eatery to go out of business. Fish has become expensive, the seas around the British Isles are overfished and supplies are shrinking, but if you want a cheap and nutritious meal, and lots of it, you can hardly do better than visit the chippy.  The fish comes wrapped in a thick coating of batter, adding weight and a lot of calories to the dish. When it leaves its bath of sizzling oil the portions glisten with grease, the batter now mid-brown, crinkly and blistery. When you break the crust with your fork it comes away with a chunk of hard baked batter, while the fish inside remains pallid and soft. If you eat it quickly enough, before your portion cools, it's edible, even tasty, but once the batter has gone cold and soggy, each mouthful tastes of congealed grease. You need a lot of beer to neutralise the taste of cold fish-and-chips. The true aficionado adds  a side of pickled onion or a 'wally' (a pickled gherkin), and always a generous sprinkling of salt and brown vinegar. Although I have not mentioned chips separately (a thicker kind of French fries), they are an integral part of the dish. The only vegetable allowed in the vicinity of fish-and-chips is a lump of mushy peas, bright green and squashed to a thick pulp, a kind of edible glue.

Take-away fish-and-chips were wrapped in a small sheet of greaseproof white paper and then newspaper. I believe, because I was told by knowledgeable and enthusiastic worshippers of the institution, that fried fish simply never tasted the same once white paper replaced plain newspaper. Apparently, newsprint on oil added the final, indispensable piquancy. These days newspaper has been done away with altogether.

I first came into contact with a fish-and-chip shop by working in one. When I was sacked from the laundry I urgently needed another job. My situation in England remained precarious, I only had permission to stay if I worked in one of the menial jobs foreigners were allowed to take away from the indigenous workers, who didn't want them. I even needed a permit to work in the laundry. My student status had expired and the immigration authorities were always on the look-out for those of us who outstayed our welcome. We made no contribution to the economy and paid no taxes. People were as paranoid about the menace of the foreign worker taking jobs away from the honest British labourer as they are now. Except that the fear of said foreigner scrounging off the Benefits System didn't exist then, because 'illegals' were not registered and therefore unable to make claims.

The laundry was situated off the Holloway Road in North London. The chippy was in Moorgate, in a dingy side street near the famous Moorfield's Eye Hospital in the City of London.  It was owned by a Greek Cypriot couple. I had met their nephew, Lucas, in one of the many coffee bars in Soho; you could sit over coffee or a coke for an hour or more, talking to friends and listening to the music provided by some half-starved young man with a guitar. Lucas fancied me; I didn't particularly like him, but I was willing to consider the job he was offering with his uncle and aunt. He was helping them out himself, but keen to leave again. He'd squared it with them, he said; they weren't bothered about my illegal alien status and just wanted a waitress. "Start on Friday", they said, "that's when we are busiest. Come at 11 am and we'll show you the ropes". Apart from waitressing there were a few light duties like cleaning the tables and helping with the washing up.

I presented myself at 11 am. The place was a narrow rectangle, with three stainless steel  deep fryers ranged along part of the wall  opposite the entrance door, and three rows of  tables, a dozen altogether, each table seating four. It was very basic, it had no washroom other than a little cubbyhole for the staff, the tables were formica topped and the chairs plain, a job lot from the cheapest catering furnishers."Nothing to it", I thought. I had never done any waitressing, but how difficult can it be to take an order, have it filled and carry the plate back to the customer.

Lucas, who spoke good English, explained the menu. Cod and chips, haddock and chips, plaice and chips, saveloys and chips or plain chips. Wallies and onions. Vinegar, salt and pepper stood on each table. No  fancy extras like mushy peas, no tartare sauce, no ketchup; this was before the regular British palate went adventurous and began to trust such luxuries as beer batter or parsley garnishes. "You have to be quick", Lucas said, our customers work shifts and they have a thirty minute dinner break. Take their order as they come in, pass it on to me and uncle; we'll be ready with the first portions by the time they sit down."

"I can do that," I said; I knew that I was naturally quick on my feet and a fast learner to boot. "No problem."

At exactly four minutes past twelve the shop door sprang open and a tsunami of bodies swept into the cafe. "cod and chips, plaice and chips, chips twice, cod and chips . . . . . . . " Each of these bodies shouted at me on the way in, rushed past me to a table and sat down. A blur of men in grey or blue overalls, indistinguishable from each other. I stood by the counter, pad and pencil at the ready, and stared, my welcome smile a frozen grimace. Behind me, the counter was filling up with plates, Lucas and his uncle were shovelling fish and chips as fast as they could.The aunt was filling mugs with tea, several trays of them, and shouting at me too. "Come on, come on," she screeched. Her command of English was limited. I came out of my trance and moved.

Tea trays first, at least they had all demanded tea, there was no problem sorting out who wanted a mug. I simply plonked four of them on each table. The plates of food presented a problem; there was no chance that I'd serve the men in the order in which they had arrived or that they'd get what they wanted.  I dithered for a second and then grabbed two plates at random, slapping them down on the nearest table. Back to the counter and the same again. And again. There was one chance in four or five that at least one customer at each table would be satisfied.  "I ordered cod and chips and you've given me . . ". "Hey, we were first and you've already served that table . . . . ."  "I want a double portion of chips.. " The plates on the counter were piling up and needed shifting. I had no time to worry about correct service etiquette. "Terribly sorry", I said, continuing to work my way back and forth along the two rows between the tables. "Sort it out, can't you." Some of them did, hindering my progress by handing plates to other tables, others switched them round at their own. Lucas came out from behind the counter to placate those most aggrieved. "She's new", he said, unnecessarily. The men settled down to eat fast and furiously, having to make up for the valuable minutes' eating time which my inefficiency had cost them.

Just before twelve thirty the first workers left and were quickly replaced by the next shift, equally undistinguished. We replayed the first sitting, except that Lucas stayed out with me to serve and auntie helped with the frying and shovelling. Had I thought at all what the job might entail, I would have expected concentrated work, a lot of grease and the smell of burning oil, steamed up windows and the odd linguistic misunderstanding; I would also have expected good-natured banter, maybe a flirtatious remark, and, above all, a tip.  I got none of the latter but all of the former. By two o'clock "dinner time" was over, all the men were back at work and the cafe closed.

Lucas was counting the takings.  "You would get used to it",  he said, a question mark in his voice. "Do you feel like coming back on Tuesday? We could go and have a coffee when I'm finished here. Talk it over." He peeled off a couple of pound notes from the wad of cash in his hand. "Here you are, your pay for today," he said. "Enough to buy a fish dinner." He thought it was funny.

This job was worse than ironing shirts. At least there had been music-while-you-work at the laundry and I didn't reek of stale grease at the end of the day. The pay was lousy and Lucas might become a problem. Even if I learned to tell the robots who came to the cafe apart, would serving them fish and chips for half an hour several times a week enhance my knowledge of literary English? Hardly. No, this job was a dead end. But waitressing itself could be fun, couldn't it? Perhaps in one of the coffee bars I spent so much time in? I could always ask.





59 comments:

  1. I look forward to hearing whether you ever went back...

    I worked many waitress jobs. Several decades later when I was working in "development" it seemed to me pretty much the same thing. My boss was surprised when I said it was really just like being a waitress, but to me that moment when you opened the envelope, answered the phone call, or looked across the table, was much the same thing: you had done your best and you waited to see what was left behind.

    I have always thought that was what made it bearable -- waitress or a fundraiser. I worked other awful jobs, but at least when I was a waitress there was that moment when I went to clear the table. There was the chance and the promise, and if there was nothing, there was always the next table.

    ReplyDelete
  2. What an ordeal! Glad you survived, and would be surprised if you still enjoy fish and chips.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Sounds awful. All that grease! It does not seem that there has been much improvement in the lot of the lowly worker.

    ReplyDelete
  4. I do believe your job at fish and chips sounds like my first waitress job. It was a little place that served steaks. I had never eaten a steak much less know the difference between a T Bone and a shortcut steak. Luckily the customers were willing to be patient. My husband love gerkins; can't wait to ask him if he wants some wallies.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Friko, I bet your head was spinning trying to sort out all those orders.

    ReplyDelete
  6. I've been a waitress in a coule of truck stops. Always overwhelming when you first start, but I grew to love it. Pay was dreadful, tips were poor, work was hard...but I love people and enjoyed it on the whole. Retail was better, though.

    I am loving hearing about your jobs and life experiences. Oh the things we do when we are young! ;)

    ReplyDelete
  7. Oh my goodness, Friko, you poor dear. It must have been an hour and a half of hell.
    If I'd ever had to earn my way as a waitress, I'd have starved, because I've always been clumsy. I could never, even in my healthiest years, carry two cups of coffee across a room without spilling some.
    Good for you for thinking you could try waitressing somewhere else. Looking forward to Part IV.
    K

    ReplyDelete
  8. Friko a stunning glimpse of a time passed and the life of an immigrant. I pat you on the back for taking me on a well-written journey. I was a waitress once a long time ago and now you have given me an idea of how one should approach a memory such as this. Thank you!

    ReplyDelete
  9. Here in the "colonies" (Australia and NZ) Fish and Chips have been and still are a very popular take-away dish. It is still a Friday evening ritual with many people, going down to the Fish and Chippery to get Friday night's dinner. Personally, I don;t like take away food at all, but occasionally will have a "Fish-and-chip-dinner" at the local pub. It is always served with a nice fresh salad and is not as greasy as down at the fish and chippery.

    Your adventures may seem amusing now, but I am sure that at the time must have caused you considerable heartache...

    ReplyDelete
  10. Used to live just round the corner from Holloway Road in St John's Way.

    I was a care assistant on those days, just down the road from Marx's grave.

    ReplyDelete
  11. Oh, you make me want to write about my own early jobs. Different tasks than yours, but that deer-in-the-headlights feeling must be universal.

    ReplyDelete
  12. I've done the waitress thing, too. It's tough on a good day; this shift sounds impossible! I'm betting you went back, but maybe not for long? Do tell!

    ReplyDelete
  13. Never waitressed myself, but I'm really enjoying your story.

    ReplyDelete
  14. Dear Friko: Chippy! I would love some right now~! Takes me back! We had Arthur Treachers in Canada in the 70's. This sounds more like a mom n pop shop. Nothing tastes quite like British chips I here. Did the waitress "thing" back in the day as well. Memories indeed~!

    ReplyDelete
  15. i worked as a waiter between jobs a couple times...you def wont get rich there but it kept food on the table...enough to buy a plate...yeah not too funny...smiles.

    ReplyDelete
  16. I was exhausted just reading your post! I enjoyed eating fish n chips while in England – fresh fish and inexpensive. In San Francisco there were several good places for it but here the last 3 good places went out of business and we only have a fast food place that does some fish, but it’s not the same. You tell this story so well. I enjoy reading about your various jobs.

    ReplyDelete
  17. Oh wow. Way too clumsy even at my best. I did however work for a while selling bras and knickers in a small retail store (which has since been swallowed up by its bigger brothers). Hard work and tiring but I met some amazing people - staff and customers both.
    I am really looking forward to your next installment. Thank you.

    ReplyDelete
  18. It's certainly not silver service !
    I'd definitely have looked for a coffee bar job .... ANY coffee bar job ... immediately , too .

    ReplyDelete
  19. Sounds hectic but, speaking as a one time 'robot', I know that long shifts on the factory floor make any free time, sacrosanct.

    ReplyDelete
  20. I bought and ate fish and chips for the first time in San Francisco in 1968 and, yes, these were wrapped in newspaper.

    I was a part-time waitress at the Reef Hotel in Waikiki in 1968 and was fired after 2 weeks because I was too slow. Hard, hard work!

    You write so beautifully, Friko! More!

    BTW, it is your word verification box that prevents me from listing my website. Get rid of it and my problem will be solved. LOL.

    ReplyDelete
  21. Sounds awful ... but it did make me hungry Friko!

    ReplyDelete
  22. In North-East Scotland, fishing and farming were the main productive occupations centuries before North Sea oil. When I was a child, fish and chips provided cheap but nutritious food even for the poorest families in the village. Nowadays the best F&C restaurants in the North East are famous for quality and generosity. My birthday treat is always fried haddock and chips, maybe with a couple of glasses of champagne.

    ReplyDelete
  23. friko - wow what an insight into "the other side" of serving up fast food!!! steven

    ReplyDelete
  24. The things we tolerate when we're young; can you even imagine replicating that first day now?

    We live at the beach and, in high school, my son took a part-time job at a popular local fish house on a pier. His friend Richie got him the job. When Marc came home from his shift, he'd strip down in the garage and put his grease-stinking clothes in a garbage bag and seal it. Next day I'd fill the washer with deodorizing soapsuds and unseal that bag only long enough to get those clothes into the water and slam the lid.

    My son developed an odd allergy to cooked fish and I won't touch the fried stuff. Can you eat it?

    ReplyDelete
  25. Here on the Baltic Sea we have wonderful fish restaurants with freshly caught and prepared Zander and Dorsch and Schnäpel - I actually never had fish `n chips out of a newspaper, but then I never was in England. On the British Days in Hamburg where they show all sorts of GB peculiarities (like throwing wellies and trees and working with falcons and sheep dogs), the queue was so long that I did not get a chance to try. But really, I don`t have much longing after your description, tehee.

    ReplyDelete
  26. Friko, your excellent writing has taken us right back to that chippy with you.

    Many comments have referred to doing certain kinds of work while young. Let me say that many folks who are no longer young still do very hard work for not very much pay.

    When we are interviewing applicants for positions where I work, and I see that someone has worked in a restaurant, I always give them a chance to tell some tales about how they did handle all that such a job required.

    I've often thought that we would benefit from seeing the other side of various commercial/service situations in which we are usually the one making the request/order.

    Looking forward to the next episode, but also wondering if you'd consider writing up a screenplay for a film or television series? xo

    ReplyDelete
  27. Oh my!! That is awful!! I can just imagine nightmares. Ha
    Hugs
    SueAnn

    ReplyDelete
  28. Blogging is so interesting. I saw your name mentioned by Dee Ready on another blog, I had no idea who you were. Then you left a comment on my blog, thank you. And now I'm here, reading about coffee houses in Soho and being a young woman in London, trying to make a living. I lived there from fall of 1959 to 1962. I went to all the coffee houses, one on Dean Street stands out, the clubs in the cellars. I worked as an au pair, then I cleaned houses for a living, I was also serious and studied, went to all the museums and cultural events. I loved my time in London and reading your wonderfully descriptive post has brought it all back. I will follow you blog and hope to read more about the age of Aquarius in London.

    ReplyDelete
  29. I hanker after cod and chips maybe twice a year -- as the years go by the harder and harder it seems to be to find a good 'chippie' though. I've never been a waitress -- I was always afraid I'd spill the coffee!

    ReplyDelete
  30. Hello:
    We have always thought that serving tables was far from easy and have always admired those waiters and waitresses who seem able to remember one's order without recourse to pencil or paper and present it all with a flourish on a tray. And, as far being on one's feet for hours on end....!!!

    Still, your jobs have certainly provided a grounding in aspects of British life, all at first hand and close quarters. What will your next adventure be?

    ReplyDelete
  31. I thought the oily, doughy fish and chips I got when in London was because I chose a bad Chippy or because I was a Yank. Glad to hear that wasn't the case but sad to hear they're all so bad. No better than the fast food versions across the pond I fear.
    I have been blessed with avoiding two things in my life, war and food service. Thank you God.

    ReplyDelete
  32. My sister worked in an establishment in Lowestoft in the 1960s, She told us she spilled mint sauce all over some guy. I don't know if she was greasy at the end of the day or not.

    All my kids have worked in food service and now three of my grandkids have that experience too.

    The youngest girl is working on a farm and gets to shovel sh... I suppose chips would have looked good to her.

    Isn't it amazing how many of us were grey blurs who passed through someone else's life? Dianne

    PS looking for the next engrossing installment of 'Friko goes to the big city.'

    ReplyDelete
  33. Somehow I escaped waitressing. People comment that varnishing must be "such hard work", but I'll take boatwork over the life of a server any day!

    I wonder if I'm confusing our fried fish with your fish and chips. I like it so much - but I think perhaps our batter is lighter, and flakier. In any event, now I'm hungry, and may have to have fried fish for my dinner.

    I think putting a little space between you and that Lucas will be a good thing.

    ReplyDelete
  34. I used to love waitressing. I always met the most amazing people :0)

    ReplyDelete
  35. Dear Friko,
    You write so well. It's clear that you hold the story firmly in your mind and then let the words come that invite your readers into the scene with all its smells, sights, sounds, and tastes. Thank you.

    Peace.

    ReplyDelete
  36. Loved the story. You made the right choice when you walked away from that job. I would prefer ironing also.

    I've worked a few waitress jobs when I was younger, but none were as stressful as you describe here.

    ReplyDelete
  37. Hilarious! I especially loved this line: "This was before the regular British palate went adventurous and began to trust such luxuries as beer batter or parsley garnishes." I waitressed my way through college. That made me decide that a degree was essential so I'd never have to work that hard again!

    ReplyDelete
  38. (Trying again, as my comment didn’t seem to take.) Holy mackerel, what a post! Oops, wrong choice of words perhaps. Hard to know what to add, I come so late, but I did have this question: what fish-and-chip shop worth its name did NOT serve mushy peas? I thought they were an essential element of the experience! I remember my first time, in the days of newspaper, no less. “this was before the regular British palate went adventurous and began to trust such luxuries as beer batter or parsley garnishes.” Gawd, yes. Wonderful post!

    ReplyDelete
  39. Cornish pasties were on the top of my food list when i was in the Midlands but fish and chips were a close second as long as they were, as you said, good and hot. I have been reading through all the posts you've written that I'd not had a chance to read - I wish you lived next door!

    ReplyDelete
  40. Friko the post is really awesome,thanks for sharing.

    ReplyDelete
  41. Wow. And I thought I had some rough jobs!

    I love the idea of you slapping the plates down and saying "sort it out yourselves, please". :-) No reason at all that the customer couldn't help out in such a situation. I certainly wouldn't have thought anything strange of that...

    You went back, though, didn't you? I think you pretty much had to. Such is life.

    Pearl

    ReplyDelete
  42. You bring it all to life, Friko, smells and all....... great storytelling, even if it was about hard times.

    ReplyDelete
  43. I could almost smell the chips as I read this, Friko. Lovely writing but also a clear insight into how people will exploit an illegal immigrant with slave wages. In 1965 I worked very hard in a coffee bar to earn money for my fare to Hamburg where I worked for a few months improving my German.

    ReplyDelete
  44. Oh my gosh - it reminds me of my first night working the coat room at a popular restaurant - it was mobbed, the coats were heavy and there was a huge long line! This did though, make me think of Dad bringing home fish and chips on Friday nights from a place called Ricky's in our town. Thanks so much - can't wait to read more!!

    ReplyDelete
  45. Hi Friko- So glad you stopped by earlier! This post resonated with me in so many ways. Fish and Chips, of me, conjures my school girl days when my siblings and I went to the fish & chip place at the corner of our street for lunch. We could leave school (just down the road) for lunch, and my mother gave us each, I think, about 50 cents for the fish fry. And it was always crazy busy in there. But it was only open on Fridays.

    I can't imagine working at one of those restaurants. I was always the worst waitress (at the few places I waited tables), and a hectic environment frazzled my nerves. You need to be a force to keep a job like that!

    Fun read, Friko. I'll be going the conversation here. :)

    ReplyDelete
  46. I've had my tea, but I'm quite fancying fish & chips now! Maybe tomorrow...

    I don't think I'd be much use in a job like that.

    ReplyDelete
  47. I cannot wait for the next installment.

    ReplyDelete
  48. I can smell the grease from here! Well told, Friko!

    ReplyDelete
  49. Oh Friko. I worked in a Jewish deli for 2 years; it was the hardest work I've ever done. Sometime I will write about it, but even now-many years later, the feelings are raw.

    ReplyDelete
  50. That post had me wanting to head for the shower - just the thought of all that grease. It's amazing what we'd do when we were young and really wanted something. I don't think there's that sort of experience available today!
    I worked as a cashier, right next to a popcorn stand. When I went home I had to leave my uniform outside, as the smell of the popcorn grease was so sickening and heavy. In those days girls weren't washing their hair every night, but I certainly did!

    ReplyDelete
  51. I so enjoyed this! I am looking forward to the next "chapter".

    ReplyDelete
  52. Awesome post. My sister worked during her teenage years at a fish n chip place on Queen Street in the Beaches. The place only had 4 tables. Take away was the biggest seller for the shop and she would be asked to bring us some every other week. She seemed very happy to have the position. I would never last as a server. I'm too slow!
    Buddy worked at a laundry in a senior home but after two years one day he walked in the door and said he had enough of the fluff from folding towels. He wanted to help in the dining area. They refused. He would be visible and that just wasn't right even17 years ago.

    ReplyDelete
  53. Keep 'em coming, you. I rather thought you were going to cotton to this job, after the tough learning curve, but you've left me feeling you're moving on, indeed. Where WILL you waitress, I wonder?

    Incidentally, this is a very effective description of a very specific cultural venue. I felt there with you. And glad not to be there with you.

    ReplyDelete
  54. This was very interesting post and have shared this with all my friends on FB!@bose
    Waitress Job Responsibilities

    ReplyDelete
  55. Hi Friko .. love your stories ..what happens next? Cheers - Hilary

    ReplyDelete
  56. ...Are you planning on writing more? or did I miss it?

    ReplyDelete
  57. Oh my gosh, that was hysterical! I could just picture the total chaos of that lunch rush! Smart girl to get out of that job as fast as you got into it!

    ReplyDelete

Comments are good, I like to know what you think of my posts. I know you'll keep it civil.