Crispy Fish Sandwich with Chips: Classic Pub-Style Recipe

Fish and I have always shared a special bond.

Crispy fried fish is pure nostalgia for me. It brings back Friday nights in Boyne City, Michigan, when I would devour all-you-can-eat fried fish until I felt like I might burst. Doused in malt vinegar, that crunchy little swimmer—often fresh from the lake—always tasted better than any fish at a local fish fry, no matter how regrettable the aftermath.

After those fish feasts I would fall into a grease-induced sleep, waking the next morning to my dad making fluffy blueberry pancakes after returning from fly fishing in waders taller than I was.

Boys—my brothers—would spend hours on the rocks trying to catch a sunfish for fun, baiting with slimy worms that made me recoil. I teased them mercilessly, which left them more annoyed with me than they are now when I wake at 3am and steal the covers.

I haven’t had an uninterrupted night’s sleep since I got married in 2008. That’s been a while. But perhaps that lack of sleep just makes the memories of summers and fish sandwiches sweeter.

Maybe it’s the rarity of eating that particular delicacy that makes me chase a fish sandwich capable of transporting me back to hot days and cool nights: sandy beaches, sunscreen stinging my eyes, bubbly Vernors tickling my nose, and sunsets so pink they hurt. Or maybe I’m just a devoted food lover—that’s probably true too.

When my brother Will told me he’d eaten a piece of fish crusted in salt and vinegar potato chips, it consumed my thoughts. There was nothing else on my mind, save for a piece of bacon I dipped in salted caramel the day before. That was delicious, but the chip-crusted fish stayed with me.

Potato chips aren’t usually my thing—I’d pick tiramisu over chips most days—but salt and vinegar chips are an exception. They become my constant companion: loyal like a golden retriever, perfectly matched like peanut butter and jelly. I used to tuck a few chips into a sandwich with thin alpine Swiss cheese as a kid; the tang was unexpectedly delightful.

Last Monday I grabbed a bag of salt and vinegar kettle-cooked chips and some paper-thin alpine Swiss from the deli, but instead of making a chip-and-cheese snack I set to work on fresh cod. I crushed the chips into a tangy coating that made my eyes water, dipped the fillets in egg whites, pressed the crushed chips on, and baked them until golden and crisp. I placed the fish on a toasted whole wheat bun slathered with Old Bay mayo and bit into one of the best homemade fish sandwiches I’ve ever made. For a few bites I was back on an old wooden dock, wiping lake spray from my face—because food and memory are inseparable.

I can only imagine what memories the combination of bacon and salted caramel will evoke someday—just probably not beach and bikinis.