Tollington’s, N4: Forget Comfort, this Place is All About the Food
Fish and chip shops are a British institution. There is a proud oxymoronic fug around these fried, fishy eateries; they’re good, because they’re so bad. Greasy, floppy batter, soggy chips, luminous mushy peas and thick coagulated gravy? Gross. And delicious.
It could be tempting to call Tollington’s the perfect recipe for gentrification; located in Finsbury Park, it streams white middle class diners. No menu is available online, and walk-ins are heavily encouraged. On paper, it’s just another quirk of the London effect, taking a typically working class treasure and pumping it with just enough organic wine and 100% cotton napkins for it to be a cash cow for big spenders with small appetites.
Yet neither organic wine or cotton napkins grace the metallic bar stools in Tollington’s. The walls are painted a grease hiding yellow, hunks of raw meat hang from refrigerators and the golden shine of a -now empty- chip heater floods the room with a nostalgic glow. Glam this place is not.
The essence of its original fish and chip house remains fully in tact, without gimmick. Unlike other cavalier restaurants, which give so little you’re surprised you haven’t been asked to cook the food yourself, the minimal, practical set up of the restaurant goes hand in hand with the food they serve. It is pinxtos, designed with intent.
The booze is cheap and the service is quick. Sure, the prices don’t quite compare to the stomach-rumbling low costs of pinxtos in Spain, but this is London. £6 for one scallop is justified if the scallop is plump, juicy and dripping in a buttery, chorizo sauce. The fact I’m eating it on a bar stool, and not some Soho Home knock-off, does not subtract from the eating experience. Independence comes at a cost.
Plates pile quickly on our small, metallic table. Scallops first, followed by rings of squid flashed on the grill, soft and buttery. Next arrives a bifina, one of the only meat based items on the menu. Rich in fat, each bite brings a soaked crust and soft, tender pork. Mussels, stewed in their juices, are precariously pushed on the table: one false dip and I fear the plate may topple off. Cod cheeks arrive. These cheeks remind me of my own: plumped and puffed. They’re served alongside a mellow and sweet red pepper peperonata, delicately seasoned so as not to overwhelm the cheeks.
The essence of an old school fish and chippie is completed in Tollington’s chips. Similarities between the chips we’re used to, and the chips Tollington’s serves, can only be associated by name. Grace Dent’s claim of being the ‘best chips’ she’d eaten was not unfounded. Such a statement would be outrageous - from any other mouth. However, Dent’s prestige as a critic means I trust her opinion as gospel. Pillowy, crisp fat chips bedded a scoop of homemade mayo and a reduced tomato sauce. The sheer square radius of these chips (in no world can they be considered fries) added a gravity defying skill to their crispness. Each one soared into the planetary sized well of mayo and sauce with gluttonous vigour.
Tollingtons is, without doubt, one of those rare treasures in London only locals North of the river know about. I would say it should be on everyone’s radar, but considering it’s already a squeeze to grab a table midweek, let’s keep the gatekeeping to the true foodies. Arrive willing to sit on an uncomfortably wobbly table. If that’s too much of a sacrifice, there are many a-shareholder who will welcome you into their snare.
