Chip Scoop Act 2010

The following article from Stuff means any one of the following:

a) the local council felt 3,578,356,825 bylaws just weren't enough, so they teamed with The Chip Group to add one more bylaw, while generating membership for the Group;
b) the anti-food brigade decided it would be more effective to control chip scoop sizes, rather than promote a user pays health care system where people would moderate their behaviour through personal choice; or
c) the chip eating market in Christchurch is too stupid to let the market dictate where they buy their good value, tasty chips from; or
d) it was a slow news night, and the events in Gaza are irrelevant when chip scoop sizes vary and the market is too dumb to buy their chips elsewhere.

Christchurch fish-and-chip shops have backed calls to standardise the size of a scoop.

The Chip Group, which comprises industry figures from potato growers to government agencies, has called for a standard scoop to weigh 330 grams before it is cooked.

The Chip Group chairwoman Glenda Gourley said portion sizes could vary wildly.

"When a consumer walks into a chip shop they don't know what quantity to expect," she said.

"Not only will consumers be better off, but chip-shop operators will also be able to better account for the finance side of their businesses if they know more accurately what they are serving."

In Christchurch, a random test of four shops found that scoops varied from 275g to 425g, while the cost varied from $2 to $2.20.

Lyttelton Fisheries served the 425g portion, while a scoop from City Fish and Chips weighed 275g.

Theo's Fisheries manager Yiannis Ioannou supported the standardised scoop.

The Riccarton Rd retailer does not have a standardised portion.

"That would be a good idea because when you have a set amount you can save a few sacks of spuds a week.

"It would keep it fair for customers," Ioannou said. "We try to keep it as fair as possible, but on a Friday night rush you just scoop it in quickly."

City Fish and Chips manager and co-owner Lou Donaggio also supported the standard scoop size.

"A standardised scoop size would be fairer on people, rather than having one place giving you four chips and another giving you 10."

Donaggio said customers wanted tasty chips, but also good value for money.

Lyttelton Fisheries manager Helen Lei said the shop had no standard scoop size.

But portions usually weighed about 350g before cooking.

Connoisseur Ellen Gray said she was happy with the two scoops of chips, pineapple ring and piece of fish she ordered from City Fish and Chips last night.

"We had a good amount.

"Maybe even too much, but we ate them," Gray said.

"They were good."

Gray said the outlet had been her "local" for about two years.

Gourley said a standard scoop size would be healthier for customers.

"In this day of increased dietary awareness by consumers, it makes sense that customers know exactly what they are getting," she said.

The organisation plans to inform chip shops of the recommended portion size.

It also intends to tell them where they can buy the standard scoop.

Food brutality

I've been very absent for the past three weeks. Not that I haven't been thinking about blogging. It just took a backseat to some personal upheavals, and I found, much to my surprise, that I get blogger's block when I'm feeling happy. And when I'm feeling anxious. And there haven't been any other emotions happening.

But today, I witnessed an outrage that finally put the blogger block to rest. In what feels like a past life, I travelled the world, and witnessed much public kindness and much public brutality. So much so that I feel pretty hardened now. But, there are two images that continue to haunt me. I like to think that it is merely coincidental that both were witnessed in New Zealand in the last 5 years.

My sons and I were standing in line at a bakery, behind a young mother who ordered a lovely, fat, pink finger bun for her toddler, its lush coat of icing spangled prettily with hundreds and thousands. The child reached up expectantly. My own cavities hummed with excitement.

It was then that the act of violence occurred. Ignoring the child's outstretched hand, the mother grabbed a napkin and vigorously scrubbed the icing off the bun. The poor child looked on bravely while I looked on horrified. He accepted the ruined treat humbly, and, I thought as I glanced down at my boys, with surprising grace. He was clearly used to this.

I still don't get it. Isn't the icing the whole point of a finger bun?

That mother would get on well with the group of parents I used to sometimes, despite my best efforts, bump into when I was walking my nannying charges through Central Park in New York City. These mothers banded together to oppose ice-cream trucks. One mother admitted:

I feel kind of bad. I want my three-year-old, Katherine, to have the full childhood experience and all. But it's really predatory for ice-cream vendors to be right inside the playground.

Is that really easier than just saying "no"? One mum insisted to her son that the ice-cream van was a "music truck". Perhaps sent as a public service for people with an uncontrollable craving for Greensleeves? She complained:

As a new mother, everyone advises you on toilet training, but the ice-cream truck, nobody ever mentions that.

In their ideal world, parents would discard the ice cream, and present their children with the stick.

I thought of these mothers when I witness the other brutal, haunting event that occurred when I was pregnant with my first child. Now, when reading this, bear in mind that I am not a clucky person, even when pregnant, even after having three children. When I meet other people's children, they generally have to work pretty hard to earn my friendship, let alone any smidgen of respect. The same ruthless approach tends to apply to parents. And I have no qualms admitting that, while I am undeniably supportive, I do judge other parents (to myself), and take smug pleasure when my judgements prove correct (which is often).

At a crowded food court at the policy-wonk end of Lambton Quay one busy lunch hour, a very large woman, with her very large husband and very large child (I guess he would have been around 4 years old), ambled into the food court and found a seat. Nothing significant in that, and I was so engrossed in selecting my sushi that I barely registered their presence, other than hearing the kid scream.

To this day, I do not know what made me look, but I glanced across and noticed the woman trying to breastfeed her child. Being pregnant with my first child, and still quite career-focused, I shuddered at this prospect and wondered if I would be this woman in 4 years time. The kid refused a feed, so, with evidence of much practice, the woman reached across to the next table, picked up the sugar bowl, dipped her nipple in it, and then offered a feed to her son again. Naturally, now that the item on offer was now sugar-coated, he accepted with less restraint this time.

One of the side effects of the personal upheaval of the last three weeks is that I seem to suffer from amnesia. I'm not sure why I share that last story with you, other than to suggest you never use sugar bowls in cafes.