One Man's Fish . . .

THE CULINARY ORIGINS OF fish and chips are obscure. The fish part is probably British. The chips part is probably French. How and when they got together in hot oil we can only guess.

Certainly they were more commonplace as a street food in Great Britain long before they appeared on the American scene. And in Seattle, the first appearance of a quality fish and chips stand undoubtedly had British origins.

Spud Fish & Chips, with three locations in the Seattle area (Alki Beach, Green Lake and Juanita Beach), was started at Alki by Jack Alger, a transplanted Briton, in 1935.

Jack was not Horatio's brother, but he might have been. That singular Spud (commonly called Spud's) soon acquired a lock on local deep-fried seafood fanciers.

The original price for the dish was a dime; five cents for the fish, another nickel for the fries. Alger's fish of choice was ling cod - and remained so for decades. The decreasing availability of that fish in recent years forced a switch to regular or Pacific or "Arctic" cod.

Spud's customers didn't seem to notice - or at least not to mind. The lineup of regulars, especially, on sunny summer afternoons, when nearby beaches and playfields are in use, remained undiminished.

I thought the ling cod was a much tastier fillet. I'd like to see renewed effort to try to find a supply, even if only on occasion. Nevertheless, at a recent visit to the Green Lake store, the lines were as long as ever, the smells of sizzling fish and fries as enticing as ever. The drama of eating there is now perhaps enhanced by the scores of precarious roller-bladed skaters who have not yet discovered how to skate and scarf simultaneously.

I once thought that Spud provided a choice - and cheap - repast. It is now not quite either. The price for a normal serving is now up to about $5 for two pieces of fish, with a cardboard box of rather limp fries and a small container of tartar sauce (for which you pay extra). There is also an additional tariff for ketchup. Vinegar (malt or garlic) is still free.

In general, the seafood quality at Spud remains high. Each piece is cooked to order. A light cornmeal batter is cooked to a pale golden yellow, and the fillets are rarely overcooked or browned.

Recent visits to the Green Lake Spud found some of the fries sodden and limp.

Other area fish-and-chip stands, I believe, have now matched or exceeded the various Spuds.

Most notably:

Sunfish Seafood (with two West Seattle locations: 4417 Fauntleroy Way S.W. and 2800 Alki Ave. S.W.) is owned and run by Michael and Peter Vassiliou. The beach location, about a year old, has lines: 15 to 20 waiting customers are common at midday.

You have a choice of cod or halibut, priced from $1.50 to just under $6, depending upon fillets chosen. Three good-sized pieces of halibut, for example, with excellent chips and a portion of tartar sauce (included), cost $5.65.

The help appears to be almost entirely immigrant Greek and literally trot between the prep kitchen and the deep-fryers. The Sunfish also offers fried oysters year round, and a sumptuous "Sunfish Special,": a whopping seafood kabob of grilled halibut, prawns, green peppers and onions, with fries, for $5.75.

Although I consider halibut a superior cut of fish, the cod fillets at the Sunfish actually make better fish and chips. Deep-fried halibut tends to dry out unless cut thick, and the mild flavor of the fish somehow gets lost. Incidentally, the Fish Inn in Astoria, Ore., right down on the Columbia River waterfront, makes a superb halibut and chips from very large slices of the fish. For dedicated fish and chippers, this is worth the trip.

The Sunfish is open daily from 11 a.m. to 10 p.m. They accept phone orders to go: 938-4112 for the Alki branch, and 935-3878 for the Fauntleroy outlet.

Zesto's Burger and Fish House, 6416 15th Ave. N.W., a Ballard bastion of seafood snackery since the 1950s, features a 1957 Chevrolet on the roof and some excellent preparations of fish (pollack) and chips (three kinds) at ground level.

The potatoes come in a snow-shoe cross-grid, curly fries or regular. It may be that the extra surface of the first two cuts provides added surface for fats and salt to cling to, but they are outstanding.

The fish fillets are encased in an ultralight, tempura-style batter that is quite ungreasy. Zesto's has for years purchased its fish from one particular processing ship, the Northern Glacier. They know what they are cooking. Quality is superb.

Zesto's was started by John Pattok in 1952. His son, Charlie Pattok, now runs it. Charlie put the restored Chevy on the roof two years ago.

"The way things are going," he said, "that thing will be worth more than I am by the time I retire."

Prices at Zesto (other than for the '57 Chevy) are reasonable: from $2.45 for two pieces of fish (without fries), to $3.95 for three fillets with fries, to $6.25 for a complete dinner, including four or five fillets, a green or potato salad, or slaw. 783-3350. The Chevy's not for sale.

Little Chinook's is a take-out and sit-down adjunct to Chinook's Restaurant at Fisherman's Terminal. It's serves primarily fish and chips, along with two kinds of clam chowder, "Boston" and "Manhattan" ($1.19 for a large cup of either), referred to by the staff more succinctly as white and red.

The white's quite good; I haven't yet tried the red.

The fish used at Little Chinook's are select fillets of ling cod and halibut, along with a heaping basket of Long Beachy Fries. Prices are modest. Four chunky cuts of ling cod, for example, cost $3.89, fries, tartar sauce, ketchup and a small tub of slaw included with all orders. Extra cod is available for 89 cents.

The textural quality of Little Chinook's fish and chips was best expressed by a waiting regular to a skeptical, diet-conscious friend: "They're a little greasy. But isn't that what fish and chips are supposed to be?"

Maybe. The batter used is similar to a fritter or honey-glazed doughnut. It puffs up, bites off with a delightful crunch and complements the fish nicely. But the telltale slick of fat on your lips (or chin) reminds you afterward of what you've ingested.

The Fish Bowl Restaurant, 14040 Aurora Ave. N., is another old-time fish-fry house. It was started in 1946 by two ex-Navy cooks, Al Bryant and Gary Oldenberg.

Alaskan true cod fillets, cut on the premises to between 1 1/2 and 2 ounces, have been used at the Fish Bowl since the beginning. What's somewhat unusual about the product is the batter, which is quite substantial and suggestive of a cross between a crepe and a pancake batter.

"It's a secret," said manager Amy Lanser, "and I understand some chain owners have been trying to get a hold of it. We call it an English batter, and we make it here.

"We have customers," she added, "who have been coming here - some of them from as far away as Mount Vernon - for more than 40 years."

The results are impressive. You get three substantial fillets (with fries) for $3.50. Tartar sauce is not included.

I haven't included references to any of the national or regional chains here. Ivar's, Skipper's, and others are another story and we'll tell it some other time. JOHN HINTERBERGER'S FOOD COLUMNS AND RESTAURANT REVIEWS APPEAR SUNDAYS IN PACIFIC AND FRIDAYS IN TEMPO. HE ALSO WRITES A WEDNESDAY COLUMN FOR THE SCENE SECTION OF THE SEATTLE TIMES. KEN KWOK IS A TIMES STAFF PHOTOGRAPHER.