Cod, ex Atlantic is the most popular, but not really by conscious request, its more a supply and demand thing. Most people just ask for "fish and chips" and get cod. Other types available commonly are haddock and hake, but to be honest, after its been fried in batter (The usual way of a Brit chippy), I for one probably couldn't tell the difference.
My personal favourite from the Chippy is to ask for fish cakes, because they usually have those ready cooked whereas fish is cooked to order and for me, and my tummy, we neither the both of us have enough time nor energy to wait, including a lack of patience brought on by the stress of waiting while hungry.
Talking of stress, OMG some chip shops can really take it out of you. You arrive and already there is a line of people stood there, with nothing to stare at except any newcomers, or the poor staff behind the counter. So they all look at you as you walk in, and you feel like the new girl on the block, awaiting some kind of acceptance from the veterans already stood in line. You know at this point that as pecking orders go, you are the very weanerest of all.
You take your place in line and wait for something to happen, not knowing whether this particular chippy is one where they expect you to order without invite as you enter, or one of the other sort where the staff will allow you to wait long enough for you to feel utterly stupid and worthless, before feigning interest in you and asking for your order.
So with this dilemma uppermost in your mind, it is quite impossible to remember what you wanted in the first place, or study the menu board with any kind of efficiency and it comes to pass that eventually, after not being brave or loud enough to demand attention as you enter, someone asks in a bored monotone "oos next" without even making it sound like a question.
At this point, you dally a while out of deference to anyone in the line in front of you, who might also be waiting, and then, as the silence lengthens, you pluck mightily at your courage and start to speak, not actually knowing what you are going to say. This is when a late comer who arrived after you, pipes up with a clear and distinct order, completely blanking your own feeble attempt at same, and leaving you thinking of ways to not only mug them when they leave, but also to kill them with some chance of fair treatment in the law courts.
As all of this develops, orders prior to your arrival begin to materialise, and happy veterans lift aromatic packages with a smugness that irritates further still the stimulus to kill indiscriminately. I swear that fish and chips by themselves are completely odourless, but by some black art applied at the point of salt and vinegar addition, this fabulous scent of hunger personified, is added to the package. Your stomach rumbles on a par with your cowardice.
You then decide that you will adopt an outright assertive stance as soon as the serving person opens their mouth next time, so that your order can be taken. This assertive attitude over rides common sense and you shout overly loud when you see lips parted on the serving side of the counter, only to have your order half drowned by an operatives sneeze, which is subsequently wiped on the sleeve of their protective garment. The whole queue turns to look at you.
As a defence mechanism, you turn and stare at the person behind you, in order to deflect the shame now being heaped upon you.
Finally, after having at last worked out which end of the queue is relevant to your needs, you again attempt an order, which by now is so far removed from your original intention that it bears scant resemblance to anything that prompted you to visit the chippy in the first place. You say lamely "fish and chips twice please" You have to repeat because the girl serving you says "pardon" again, without so much as a passing nod to a question mark.
You play with the notion of teasing her by saying something else entirely, but your nerve departs with a reproachful look over its shoulder. You are told in a bland disinterested voice that there is only cod left. Like at this point you care. It could be electric eel for all you care now, you would take it anyway.
"that will be five minutes to cook luv" you are told. Sighing inwardly, you say cheerfully, "Thats Ok" Inside, you seethe and add the serving girl to your list of people to kill.
Satisfied now that you have at last attained veteran status, you settle in to a fifteen minute wait whilst the five minute cod is cooked, all the time staring at the menu you could have used, but were too traumatised to read, the pony tail flicking dandruff into the deep fat fryer, and any unsuspecting newcomer who wanders in. You glare at these people as if they are the lowest of the low, and satisfy yourself that you rank inestimably higher than they will ever achieve, at least, while you are still in front of them in the queue.
The serving girl begins to apply the aroma magic, salt and vinegar to what you assume to be your order, based on the fact that it is two portions of cod and chips. You watch as it is inelegantly wrapped and liberally dosed with pony tail dandruff (Has she never heard of pantene?) and you move forward to receive your prize. And the last person to enter the shop takes it with a quick " Thanks Judy, see you tommorow" and departs. With your bloody chips.
Pretending that already you knew they hade phoned ahead, for wasn't it obvious without being informed, you revert to re reading the useless menu.
Thirty minutes later, and no longer with any kind of appetite, you take your soggy packet and begin the walk home that will with inevitabilty mean a cold supper when finally you reach home and open the damp gift.
Stress indeed.
Lizzie xx