Chui Yuen Chinese & Fish N Chips

You haven’t truly lived until you’ve stood in a queue outside Chui Yuen Chinese & Fish N Chips in suburban London on a Friday night, wondering if the person in front of you is ordering for a small army or just really, really hungry. This place is a glorious, greasy-fingered paradox: a half-and-half shop that serves salt-and-pepper squid and a battered sausage the size of a toddler’s forearm under the same buzzing fluorescent lights.

The First Rule: There Are No Rules

Your order here requires a PhD in chaotic decision-making. Do you get the chips from the Chinese side (thin, crispy, dusted with MSG that kisses your soul) or the fish-and-chips side (fat, fluffy, and capable of absorbing a pint of vinegar)? The answer is both, obviously. You then smuggle them into one cardboard box, creating a carbohydrate fusion that would make a Michelin-star chef weep and a cardiologist weep harder.

I once saw a man order a curry sauce with his cod, then dip a spring roll into it. He was a genius. No one corrected him. You don’t correct at Chui Yuen; you admire.

The Legend of the Prawn Cracker

Surprising fact: the prawn crackers here are not just a snack. They are a tax you pay for the right to queue for twenty minutes. You grab a handful from the plastic tub by the counter, and suddenly you’ve eaten 400 calories before you’ve even ordered. I swear they’re seasoned with crack cocaine and optimism, because you cannot stop at one.

Also, the menu board is a work of art that has not been updated since 1992. You’ll see “Special Fried Rice” listed next to “Jumbo Cod,” and it’s written in a font that screams, “I was installed by a man who owns a leather jacket and a VCR.” Don’t question it. Order it.

Chui Yuen, Newton Longville | Our favourite Chinese & chippy… | Flickr

Wait, Is That a Chicken Ball?

Here’s where it gets truly weird: if you squint, a chicken ball with sweet-and-sour sauce looks exactly like a scampi with tartare sauce. The Chinese side uses a batter so light it floats, while the British side uses a batter so heavy it could anchor a fishing trawler. One is a delicate cloud of fried poultry; the other is a brutalist concrete block of fish. Both are perfection.

I once asked the owner, Mr. Chui, why he added fish and chips to a Chinese takeaway. He laughed and said, “Because English people eat it. And I can fry anything.” He wasn’t bragging. He was stating a universal law of physics.

Chui Yuen Chinese & Fish n Chips, Emerson Valley - Restaurant menu

The Surprising Fact That’ll Win You a Pub Argument

Did you know that Chui Yuen’s is one of the last remaining “double shops” in London? In the 1970s, over 200 existed; now there are fewer than a dozen. These places were born when Chinese immigrants realized that British folks worshipped fried fish but didn’t trust noodles. So they set up a griddle on one side, a wok on the other, and invented a culinary peace treaty.

Today, the queue is a beautiful mess of accountants in suits and teenagers in tracksuits, all united by a craving for the weirdest, most wonderful takeaway on Earth. You will leave smelling of grease for three days. You will not care. And you will definitely go back.

(Pro tip: Bring cash. And a second stomach.)