Why homemade Fish and Chips can beat takeaway – and cost less than $40 for two

Fish and chips used to be the great democratic treat. Paper-wrapped, vinegary, eaten with fingers and zero self-respect. It was what you had when you didn’t want to cook and didn’t want to think. Now, however, fish and chips has developed ideas above its station.

Twenty dollars. For one serve.

By the time you add a couple of potato scallops, maybe calamari “because we’re already here”, and a small tub of tartar sauce that looks like it was pipetted out by a scientist, you’re staring down the barrel of forty dollars for two people – and that’s before you’ve driven home with the chips steaming themselves into soggy regret.

At which point, a question naturally arises: can you do better at home?

The answer is not just yes. The answer is yes, and with a faint air of moral superiority.

Fish and chips is such a treat precisely because it’s simple. Fish. Potatoes. Oil. Salt. Everything else is theatre. When takeaway gets it wrong – greasy batter, fish that tastes of nothing, chips that have given up – it feels like a betrayal of something sacred.

So let’s take it back.

First: the fish (this matters)

In Australia, we are spoiled for choice. We do not need imported cod that’s travelled further than you have this year.

Good options:

• Flathead – the gold standard. Sweet, firm, forgiving.

• Blue grenadier (hoki) – affordable and widely available.

• Gummy shark (flake) – traditional, though a bit meatier.

• Whiting – excellent if you can get it fresh.

What you want is a white, firm fish that flakes cleanly and doesn’t taste like the ocean punched you in the face.

Buy fillets. Skin off. About 200g per person. Already you’re ahead of the shop, which often relies on fillets of mysterious provenance.

Chips: the unsung hero

Chips are where most places fail.

Use floury potatoes — Sebago, King Edward, anything that wants to be fried. Cut them chunky. None of this shoestring nonsense. Fish and chips is not a diet.

Parboil them first. Five minutes in salted water. Drain. Steam dry. This step is what separates the amateurs from the people who mutter smugly while frying.

Batter: keep it light, for heaven’s sake

You do not want batter that could be used to insulate a roof.

Simple beer batter:

• 1 cup plain flour

• 1 teaspoon baking powder

• Pinch of salt

• About 1 cup icy cold beer (or soda water)

Whisk lightly. Lumpy is fine. Overmixing is the enemy.

Cold batter + hot oil = crisp, not greasy. This is physics, not opinion.

Do you need a deep fryer?

No. Absolutely not.

A deep fryer is useful, yes, but it’s another appliance to clean and store and feel faintly ashamed of. A heavy-based saucepan or deep frying pan works perfectly.

You need enough oil so the fish can float freely. Vegetable or peanut oil. Heat it to about 180°C. If you don’t have a thermometer, drop in a cube of bread – it should sizzle enthusiastically and turn golden in about 30 seconds.

Cooking order (important)

1. Fry the chips first, at a slightly lower heat, until pale and soft. Remove and rest.

2. Turn the heat up.

3. Fry the fish – a few pieces at a time – until golden and crisp (about 4–5 minutes).

4. Finish the chips with a second fry until deeply golden and irresistible.

Salt everything immediately. Do not be shy.

Add-ons: essential or optional?

Tartar sauce is non-negotiable.

Make it yourself:

• Mayonnaise

• Finely chopped gherkins or capers

• Lemon juice

• Parsley
  Done. Five minutes. Better than anything in a plastic tub.

Mushy peas?
Yes. Always yes. They’re the emotional support vegetable of fish and chips. Frozen peas, boiled, mashed with butter, salt and a little mint. No need to overthink it.

Lemon wedges and malt vinegar
Absolutely. This is not fancy food; acidity is part of the deal.

The cost (and the victory)

Fish: ~$12–15
Potatoes: $4
Oil (reusable): a few dollars
Beer (some for batter, some for you): essential

You’re comfortably under $40 – and what lands on the plate is hotter, crisper, fresher, and frankly more generous than most takeaway.

More importantly, it tastes like a treat again.

Because fish and chips isn’t about novelty or reinvention. It’s about sitting down with someone you like, eating something outrageously comforting, and wondering – briefly – why you ever paid $20 for someone else to do it badly.

And if there are crumbs on the table and salt on your fingers at the end?

Congratulations. You’ve done it properly.