The Scilly Isles: Adam’s Fish and Chips

In my eyes, there can be no better holiday destination than the Scilly Isles. To celebrate finishing the MA and the hand-in of the dissertation, Roger and I travelled by taxi, train, ferry and then by smaller boat to spend a few weeks on our favourite islands off the coast of Cornwall. A weird coincidence with Roger is that when we first started going out, he once wistfully described a book he used to read as a child that had a tiny little picture of Tresco Island in it, and told me that he’d dreamed his whole life about going there one day. This heart-rending tale set me off on an epic account of family holidays and idyllic childhood memories, which made him rather jealous (most things do), but it also drove my mum to the internet, where she immediately sourced a free space on Bryher campsite for two weeks for me and Roger to live out his dream. And so a summer holiday tradition was born.

This year, there was one exception to the rule; on our last camping trip on St Martin’s, the rain set for our final few days and made life a little miserable. Most miserable of all though was the influx of SPIDERS into the safety of our warm little tent. No thanks. The thud of that spider falling from my favourite jumper onto the airbed is a sound that still echoes in my ears to this day. So in a fit of January blues this year, I found us an eco-cabin! We’d get a roof over our heads, be protected from spiders (this turned out to be a lie) and more importantly, there’d be a little kitchen!

With high spirits, the day after I handed in my dissertation, we made the very, very long journey from York to Penzance and arrived on the Scillies! In the end, we had decided to stay on St Agnes, the roughest, toughest island for a few days camping before heading over to our eco cabin. We were instantly sunburnt and I think I got minor heat stroke putting up the tent- but we were on holiday! And it was glorious. Until the food poisoning. Now, you can pile the blame on the scallops eaten in the Ruin café on Tresco if you wish, but to my mind the culprit was the BORE HOLE. That’s right, with no source of water available on the islands, we had to make do with water collected in wells. And I’ve got to say, the St Agnes bore hole water was light brown. Not so brown you wouldn’t drink it, but brown enough for you to curse it to hell when you were wrestling your body out of a sleeping bag, unzipping a thousand zips and shoving wellies on in order to run across a field in a torrential gale to get to communal toilets. But perhaps I’ve said too much.

Either way, after a night of hell and a weepy morning, we packed up the tent and crossed a blessedly calm sea in the sunshine to get to our eco cabin. I nearly wept with joy at the sight of an actual bed, which Roger duly made up for me to crawl into. I bagsied that bed as my reading spot for the remaining week of the holiday and it was bliss. Roger wasn’t allowed.

For three evenings on St Martin’s we rubbed our hands gleefully together at ten to seven and walked the few paces down a dirt track to reach Adam’s Fish and Chips. Built by the man himself, this restaurant has an armful of awards, which might explain why it’s been a highlight of our trips for two years running now. Right next to the beach, the little wooden surf shack is protected from storms by high sand dunes, which we always clamber over to get to the beach for a constitutional after another epic meal. The ethos of the place, much like the whole of the Little Arthur Farm complex and the Scilly Isles in general (minus Tresco), is to keep things simple. For every evening that the restaurant opens, during the day, Adam will go out in the boat he made himself to catch the fish, while the potatoes are grown by his family on the neighbouring farm. His wife Fiona peels ALL the potatoes and chips them, as well as waiting tables, while Adam’s in the back frying up. It’s amazing. The menu is simple: fish and chips, local lobster scampi and chips, or a Cornish pasty. Desserts are a choice between ice cream made on St Agnes or a crumble made by Fiona.

For our first night, we got a takeaway, but the other two (Adam’s only opens three nights a week in September- believe me, we would have been there every night if it had been possible) were spent in the restaurant. With a bit too much of a chill in the air to sit on the benches, Roger and I went for the more comfortable option and sat inside, where there was an excited buzz in the air, fuelled mainly by the British passion for fish and chips. A team of archaeologists mingled with a group of divers, who were squeezed in between a gaggle of local ladies on a night out and us. A motley crew we made.

Roger and I couldn’t resist telling Fiona how excited we were about the food when she brought us our cutlery. She calmed our nerves with an “I can assure you, it’s on its way”, before a moment later bringing out two beasts of platefuls, which we fell upon in an equally beastly manner. So delicious! I honestly can’t describe this one. Just imagine the best fish and chips you’ve ever had. Then replace it with this, because everything you thought you knew before was wrong. Soft, chewy batter made with brown flour for a hint of nutty sweetness had formed a protective shell around the beautifully poached fish. No oil, no greasiness, just sweet mouthfuls of fresh fish. I can’t believe how light the meal was; the chips weren’t weighed down with fat, rather, they were a slightly waxy variety that didn’t soak up more oil than they needed to make a crispy outer layer around a perfectly fluffy inside. I know it sounds weird, but they had an amazing potato flavour. Like the best baked potato; rich and creamy, with a slightly nutty and sweet flavour. Peas on the other hand, are just peas, but I shovelled them in with as much gusto.

On our last night, I’m not sure whether we were more upset to be leaving the Scillies or the fish and chips behind us. As usual, we’ve vowed to go back, and to stay on St Martin’s so as to be in reach of our chipper. It’s a little sad that our favourite restaurant is so far away, but then I suppose we’re being saved from ourselves. It can’t be that good to eat fish and chips every day, can it?