Chips and sauce with everything

Brady's is a posh chippy. The ketchup comes in a dish on a tray with tartare sauce, tarragon, tomato and basil, and dill mayonnaises. Instead of tea, you buy a bottle of better-than-average plonk, in our case a Clifford Bay Riesling.

The queue on the Friday night we visited extended onto the rainy street. Punters crossed the social divides; not-quite-Sloanes seemed to dominate.

There was a jolly school dining-room din. Everyone seemed relaxed, doing what comes naturally, scoffing fish and chips. Good stuff.

Our starters were great. Some soft, not-too-vinegary whelks - can you imagine saying, "And I'll have the whelks please," on a first date? - well-spiced potted shrimps with plenty of the taste of the sea in them; half a pint of large, perky and dead fresh (as in freshly dead) prawns, and a delicious fishcake (crispy, well-flavoured with chilli and mace).

Mains lagged behind: the batter could have been crispier on two pieces of slightly lacklustre cod; smoked haddock had a genuine smoky flavour but was a little dry; lemon sole was very good. The mushy peas were not the acid green you expect, but a (probably more honest) slightly brownish colour and too salty.

Greedy grunters, we powered into the puddings - a bad treacle tart, and an ordinary treacle sponge, both sitting in a pool of too-strong Bird's custard.

All of this I can forgive, as I'd rather live round the corner from Brady's than Nobu any day. The service was sweet and adorably polite. The owner looked natty in his white suit and MCC tie. It was great value for money.

But if you are going to be a posh chippy, your chips have to be Miss World standard. Brady's would barely qualify for Miss Wales. Slightly soft, a little pallid, not hot enough, certainly not hand-cut.

I'd crawl across broken glass for proper British chips, so it's annoying to find chips not up to scratch - especially when your knees are like red rags. If you are purporting to do the job properly, they have to be golden, twice-fried, hot and firm inside.

My friends, one of whom possesses genuine culinary knowledge, sat in Brady's trying to make me see reason: "Kate, it's only chips." But if I am expecting proper chips and they don't turn up, I can't be consoled.