I HAVE a theory. Admittedly, it’s not much of a theory, and not the sort of theory that would stand up to much scrutiny.

The evidence base is, to say the least, somewhat flimsy.

Any half-decent undergraduate would tear it to shreds having subjected the central tenet to the most cursory of academic analysis.

Darlington and Stockton Times:

But hey, since when has this column been based anything other than the purest subjectivity, sullied only by the crudest prejudice and the need to spin 700 words out of that most fundamental of bodily functions – taking on fuel.

The theory is this: fish and chips improve the furthest one travels from the sea.

Surely, this must be wrong, you say. The man must be bonkers. The fish must be fresher, straight from the quayside, pausing only momentarily on the wholesaler’s slab before being dipped in the finest batter and plonked on your plate.

The trouble with that scenario is that it just isn’t true anymore. Go to Whitby, or almost any other salty seadog of a seaside town these days, and it’s extremely unlikely you’ll eat fish caught there. Britain’s decimated fishing fleet can barely catch a crab, let alone land a decent piece of cod.

And frankly, from Seahouses to Scarborough, from Staithes to Seaton Carew, I’ve eaten some bloody awful fish and chips in seafront cafes looking out over a grey North Sea under leaden skies. Overcooked, flaccid fish enveloped in soggy batter saturated with fat, accompanied by greasy chips that would be useful as insulation and not much else. There are, of course, some honourable exceptions (most recently Whitby’s Quayside restaurant) but they are just that.

I used to think the finest fish and chips I had ever eaten was in Helmsley, more than 30 miles from the sea.

Makins set a new standard for top-drawer fish and chips served in modern restaurant surroundings. I think it’s now called Scotts.

Before that, the Drum and Monkey at Harrogate (more than 60 miles from the sea) took some beating.

And then last Monday lunchtime we walked into Bells in Durham’s Market Place (12 miles from the sea).

Although Bells serves all kinds of fish (seabass, sole, plaice, scampi, salmon and mussels), we stuck with tradition.

Sylvia had cod. I had haddock. Neither could be faulted in any way.

Starting with the beef dripping batter, it was light and crisp all the way round with no hint of sogginess, even on the underside, and a beautiful golden colour.

But what really impressed was the quality of the fish. It was perfectly white, firmfleshed but moist, qualities which lasted unto the very last mouthful. The chips were just the right size – chunky-ish but not fat, and crisp and dry. There were a lot of them. The tartare sauce was creamily sharp and the pots of tea we had with our meals were fresh and strong, despite being made with only bag of Ringtons tea.

There you have it, perfect fish and chips and not a seagull in sight.

Apart from what was on our fish-shaped plates, there were other contributions to a thoroughly decent eating experience.

Firstly, Bells has two dining rooms, one upstairs, one down, which share great views over the Market Place.

Probably a table by a window upstairs provides the finest vantage point in the city for observing who is heading where, and with whom, if you are that way inclined.

The decor is generally a cut above for a fish and chip restaurant. Smartly contemporary, the fish motifs are everywhere, and downstairs there’s a tank of exotic fish on one wall just in case you momentarily forget where you are. Upstairs, the loos are dead posh.

Although it would seem kind of bizarre to eat anything other than fish here, the menu has other dishes, including steak and ale pie, chicken, ham hock and leek pie, chicken goujons, and corned beef patty with mash for between £5-7. Bells is also licenced.

Service was busy but superefficient and it needed to be such was the stream of customers.

We arrived just before noon and it was clear many diners had arrived not long after opening at 11.15am.

Our meal cost just under £22 made up of £9.50 for the haddock, £8.95 for the cod and £1.70 for the pots of tea. You’ll go a long way to find finer fishy fare.

11 Market Place, Durham DH1 3NE
Telephone: 0191-384-8974
Website: bellsfishshop.co.uk
Email: bells@bellsfishshop.co.uk
Open: Mon-Sat 11.15am-20.30pm, Sun: noon-4pm
Disabled access

RATINGS
Food quality 10
Service 9
Surroundings 9
Value 9