Hook

The only time I’ve ever really felt in the mood for fish and chips is at a seaside town, like Cornwall or Blackpool, where it’s the obvious dish of choice. Ultimate comfort food in the form of battered cod and mushy peas on the beach, straight out of a greasy paper bag. Apart from that, it’s something that I never really crave – if you’re not right by the sea then it’s a meal that’s easy to get wrong; when I think of ‘urban’ fish and chips I picture an over lit, slightly run down looking shop with a depressing selection of unenthusiastic customers picking at soggy batter and stodgy chips doused in too much vinegar.

So when I heard about Hook, this supposedly fantastic fish and chip restaurant in the heart of London (where the only nearby water is the murky Thames) my curiosity got the better of me and I arranged a visit. The main restaurant is in Camden, but there’s also a mini version nestled on the balcony of POP Brixton – the edgy new space set up on Brixton station road to support local enterprises. There’s nothing flashy whatsoever about the set up – the restaurant is built in keeping with the eco-friendly architecture of POP inside a converted iron shipping container, glass doors flung open to welcome guests into the appropriately nautical themed interior, with two friendly male waiters at the counter. Visually, Hook doesn’t promise anything particularly spectacular, but I was soon to discover that this is the place that will redefine fish and chips forever.

How so, you ask? The traditional charm of the meal is still there – the basic components of the menu and the fact that it’s served on paper (I once had an argument with my ex in Brighton when I refused to eat my fish and chips from a plate – call me stubborn but it’s just not the same), but there’s an un-traditional twist in that the fish is marinated and served in exotic herbs and spices and cooked in a way that your local chippy could only dream.

It gets better. Hook’s produce is entirely fresh and delivered daily from Cornwall, and they also ensure that the fish is sustainable, using only what is available to catch from the boat that day. Everything is made from scratch – the spices that they marinate the fish in have been roasted and grinded together and the sauces on offer have been originally created. As if gourmet fish and chips weren’t enough, we’re now talking about ethical gourmet fish and chips.

The POP menu remains pretty minimalist in comparison to its Camden cousin, with just 4 types of fish to choose from (small menus work in my favour thanks to my uncontrollable indecisiveness) : classic cod, cajun-style hake, Jamaican jerk hake, and lemon & basil tempura of black seabream.

I went for the latter because of its poetic description, and my friend Fred went for the jerk, because he is one.

I jest – he’s actually very nice.

Our meal arrived in a classy wooden box lined with branded paper, containing a bed of crispy, deliciously charred looking wedges and a fillet of fish in a glistening coat of golden batter – no grease, no soggy grey flesh, just a seriously excellent looking meal. Very seaside chic. A little pot of garlic truffle mayo came with mine, and Fred’s was accompanied by chipotle sauce.

(NB: apologies for my lack of photos – it’s a testament to the food that I was enjoying it too much to remember to take any more!)

Visual admiration complete, it was time to dig in.

The batter passed the test with flying colours – a perfect crispy texture, with a satisfying crunch and a zesty kick as I eagerly bit into it. The fish itself was also of A* quality – white and flaky but not at all undercooked, a juicy flesh that also carried the fragrant flavours of the lemon and basil. The chips, unsurprisingly, proved to be top notch – described on the menu as ‘twice cooked seaweed salted’ these little babies were salty, herby wedges of potato joy. Fred’s choice was just as much of a hit – more heat for the spice enthusiasts among you, and coated in a thicker crunchy layer that was sprinkled with dark flecks of seasoning. There were sides on the menu that I would’ve loved to try – I’ve heard great things about the minty mushy peas – but alas, my non-existent income cannot afford such additional luxuries. (Yes, squashed peas are a luxury for me these days.)

The menu isn’t cheap – I paid £12 for my sea bream – but you get what you pay for, and I couldn’t find any reason to complain…except maybe for the fact that I won’t be able to enjoy fish and chips from anywhere else ever again. Congratulations Hook – you’ve caught me.