The classic Fish & Chips shop. 

The day had been long and I felt like I’d been driving for hours. I’d skipped lunch, a decision I was now regretting as night took hold. So, I decided to have a classic Kiwi takeaway for dinner, fish and chips. With my mind made up as I twisted and turned my way home through the darkened suburban streets, I called in at the local chippy. So quintessential Kiwi, it practically wrote itself into local folklore as a Friday night staple of the community. It had everything you’d want to find in a local chippy. A scooter laying on the footpath outside, the smell of hot oil, the sound of a wok, a randomly placed poster from the 1990’s, the disused arcade game, the awkwardly placed fridge and best of all-the menu written in faded pen sitting above the deep fryer. Yes, this place was so authentically kiwi it practically apologised. I ordered without speaking much and before I could waste $2 in the grabber machine, my greasy parcel of treasure was delivered with a smile and a “have a nice day!”