Agnes stood behind the counter of “Agnes’s Plaice,” her own face a picture of utter bewilderment. The chipped Formica surface usually saw arguments about mushy peas versus curry sauce, a cultural divide she understood. But this… this was something else entirely.
Before her stood a pair as mismatched as the batter on a soggy cod. On the left, Helga, a formidable German woman with a voice that could shatter glass and a handbag that looked like it could hold a small family. On the right, Jean-Pierre, a Frenchman with a scarf, a perpetual air of indignation, and an opinion on everything.
“Nein, Jean-Pierre! Ze proper way to enjoy zis… zis… Anglish delicacy is vit vinegar! Zere is no question!” Helga boomed, her voice echoing in the small shop.
Jean-Pierre, flicking his scarf dramatically, retorted, “Vinegar? Sacre bleu! That is barbaric! One needs the subtle sweetness of ketchup to truly appreciate the… the… rustic flavors!”
Agnes, a teenager whose usual clientele were more interested in the latest TikTok trends than haute cuisine, blinked. She’d never considered ketchup subtle.
“Subtle? Ketchup? Zis is insanity! Zis is culinary blasphemy!” Helga’s hand flew to her ample bosom, as if protecting herself from the very idea of ketchup on fish and chips. “Vinegar is ze traditional way! It cuts through ze grease!”
“Grease? Mon Dieu! If your fish is greasy, you go to the wrong establishment! A proper friture is light, airy, a symphony of flavors! Ketchup enhances this symphony, vinegar murders it!” Jean-Pierre gesticulated wildly, nearly knocking over a container of pickled onions.
Agnes watched, mesmerized. She’d once seen a seagull steal a whole sausage roll from a toddler, but this was far more entertaining.
“Enhances? It drowns it in sugar! You are like a child, Jean-Pierre! You need everything to be sweet!” Helga accused, pointing a sausage-like finger at him.
“And you, Helga, are like a Prussian drill sergeant! Everything must be… efficient! Where is the joy, the joie de vivre, in efficiency?” Jean-Pierre shot back, his voice rising an octave.
Agnes cleared her throat. “So… two fish and chips then?”
Helga and Jean-Pierre turned to face her, their argument momentarily forgotten.
“Yes!” Helga declared. “Vit vinegar. On both.”
Jean-Pierre’s face crumpled. “No! I will have mine with ketchup! And I will eat it outside, where I don’t have to witness this… this… desecration!“
He stormed out, slamming the door behind him, leaving Agnes staring at Helga.
Helga sighed dramatically. “He is hopeless. Always with ze ketchup. But… give me two. One vit vinegar, and… and one vit a small, tiny amount of ketchup. For research purposes, you understand.” She winked, a terrifying gesture that involved a substantial portion of her face.
Agnes, completely defeated, started scooping the chips. Maybe she’d write a TikTok about it later. #FishAndChipsDrama #GermanVsFrench #KetchupOrVinegar. At least it was more interesting than another ASMR video.
Leave a Reply