The ChipShop

Beneath Anglomaniacal memorabilia like a 1984 calendar featuring images of the countryside, we snacked on battered shrimp and scallops, as well as stubby fries doused in vinegar, at this small restaurant in Park Slope. The bathroom walls were covered with cutouts from British papers, some sober (“Goodbye, Queen Mum”), some ridiculous (“Why Women Can’t Handle Roundabouts”).

The danger with batter, aside from its contributions toward heart disease, is that it will somehow overshadow whatever it’s covering. Not so here (God save the cook). Next time we’ll try the veggie English breakfast (“double of everything minus the bacon”), washing it down with a can of fiery ginger ale or Tango apple soda and finishing up with a Curly Wurly, the greatest candy bar ever invented.