Quick: Name five awesome places for fish tacos in L.A. That was easy peasy. Now, how about fish and chips? Eh, er, hmm…drat.

Strange, innit? The city is swimming with fabuloso fish, but finding a decent pesco-party with malt vinegar and house-made tartar sauce can be a real biznatch. Sure, authentic Baja tacos have a much shorter way to travel up the peninsula, but how hard is it to slap a couple filets-o-fish on a pile of slab-chipped potatoes?

As with all foodie forays, the hunt for the perfect catch can take on epic fixations. Is it haddock, pollock or the overfished cod? What kind of beer is in the batter? Does it come wrapped in yesterday’s paper? Are the chips thick? ’Cuz those skinny french things are an abomination. And so it goes.

Ye Olde King’s Head looks nothing like a chip shop, but the stately flag-waving British pub by the beach has been the go-to spot for awhile. (Querying two expats recently, we were directed there on both occasions.) First things first: The piece of fish is huge! It bears the imposing shape and size of a brick. The batter is thickly coated to a half-inch layer, yet it’s still somehow light and crispy—kind of like a spun web of malty batter. And the chips: Well, they’re properly hefty, but lack potato-y flavor (no, that’s not meant to be an oxymoron). At least the bar makes a mean Black and Tan.

We’ve tried the very fresh, literally caught-that-day version at Malibu Seafood Shack, but what’s fish and chips without a cold pint of draft beer? BYOB doesn’t cut it either. No booze is no good for solid contenders like John O’Groats or the new outpost from Santa Monica Seafood Company on 10th Street, although we’re willing to see if a beer license will come with the huge remodel this year. The chips at The York are actually chips…like, Frito-Lays chips. And though Robin Hood in the Valley has the British pub vibe down pat, and the plank of fish is a less intimidating version than at the ol’ King’s Head, we really don’t want mushy peas on our plate (even if it is tradition).

So what are we left with? Well, there is H. Salt. No, seriously: The trick is to get in good with the main fry-person. The fish may not be the freshest, but the fry job on both protein and tubers can be pretty satisfying. And you can buy yourself a case of MGD with the extra pocket change.

But if snobbism gets the better of you, let us direct your attention to The Village Idiot, where the cod is Alaskan and succulent (albeit in an odd square shape), the batter is light and crispy, and the fries—oh, we mean chips—are probably the best compromise between British and French standards. Our favorite bartender pours a pint of the 1903 Lager, and we think we could pretend that we’ve found perfection. That is, until some bloke gets the idea to wrap up an order in an issue of Metromix—now, that would be brilliant.

Jiyeon Yoo is Restaurants editor for Metromix Los Angeles.

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