Gammon, Egg and Chips

Some evenings call for something that doesn't ask to be admired. A meal that just gets on with it. The kind where the plate lands on the table and nobody says much for a few minutes because they're too busy eating. Gammon, egg and chips is that meal.

I grew up with this on the table more Fridays than not. A thick gammon steak that sizzled and spat in the pan, the fat crisping at the edges, an egg fried in the same pan so it picked up all those salty, savoury juices, and chips cooked twice because that's how you get a chip that crunches under your teeth and goes soft in the middle. Peas. Always peas. Rolled through butter in a small pan. It's not a complicated plate of food. It's not trying to be.

The chip is the thing that separates a good version from a forgettable one. You have to fry them twice. The first time cooks them through, pale and soft. The second time, in hotter oil, turns them gold and crisp. It takes a bit of patience, but it's the only way. A single fry gives you something limp and apologetic, and this isn't a limp and apologetic kind of dinner.

I wrote it down in the notebook years ago. "Gammon. Egg. Proper chips. Friday. Everything right." I still agree with myself.