(~5 minutes to read)

When an English-speaking person migrates across the Atlantic, he (or she) discovers that he (or she) [don’t labour the point…] has to re-learn the language.

Mrs. H discovered this only a few weeks after we moved to Canada. She was volunteering in our daughter’s grade two class and asked a child for a rubber. Yes, the kids—the grade two kids—picked up on this, and I’m pretty sure that Mrs H. has called it an eraser ever since.

Both sides of the language divide are totally convinced that their vocabulary is the correct one, and they’re both right: just as long as you don’t set foot in the other camp or speak to one of its inhabitants. And while the trans-Atlantic confusion with the word “chip” is not as potentially embarrassing as it is for “rubber” or fatal as it is for “pavement”, it continues to stir up old loyalties in discussions.

Better people than me have attempted to trace the origins of these conflicting terms. Michael Quinion’s World Wide Words website (sadly no longer being added to) provides a reasonably comprehensive account, and even Wikipedia makes a brave attempt. (here and here) But everything I’ve read is dry (much like oven chips/fries) and unengaging. That needed to be fixed, so here, folks, is my attempt at an entertaining explanation of the debate.

(There’s a possibility that I might show my prejudice regarding Americans’ version of… everything. I might even denigrate the British air of superiority in… everything, but as John Cleese observed, “All humour is critical. If you start to say we mustn’t criticize or offend them, then humour is gone.”)

Born in the USA?

The earliest mention of “French” and “potatoes” in the same phrase that I found is a story about Thomas Jefferson having had “potatoes served in the French manner” at the White House in 1802. Michael Quinion’s account downplays that story somewhat though, and, in my opinion, for good reason. If Americans are to be believed, pretty much everything originates from Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin, or George Washington, whereas Brits know full well that pretty much everything originated from Isaac Newton, William Shakespeare or Winston Churchill.

By the Book(s)

Back in the nineteenth century, potatoes were just potatoes. (Actually, for many Irish folk, they were the difference between eating and starving, but I digress already.) According to Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management (published in 1860), boiling, baking and steaming were the normal ways of cooking potatoes. Mind you, we are talking about English cooking—not the most imaginative cuisine in the world.

The same book includes instructions for a German method and a French fashion of cooking potatoes. No mention of “chips” of any kind though—not even buffalo or cow. The French recipe is for “Fried Potatoes (French Fashion)”, but what is described is closer to crisps/chips than chips/fries.

An 1856 cookery book (Cookery for Maids of All Work by Eliza Warren) uses the term “French fried potatoes”, but also appears to be describing crisps/chips rather than chips/fries.

In 1859, Charles Dickens referred to “chips of potatoes” in A Tale of Two Cities—although he doesn’t describe the chips beyond that. (No jokes about a “chip off the old block” in reference to the story’s ending, please.)

An 1882 American recipe for “French fried potatoes” describes deep-frying chunks of potato. Some might call these chunks “wedges” today.

A 1940s revision of Mrs. Beeton’s refers to “Potatoes, Fried. (pommes de terre frites)”, but is essentially the same recipe for crisps/chips as in the 1860 version. However, there’s a reference to this recipe from another page, under the heading “Potato Chips (Pommes de terre frites à l’Anglaise)”. So if you were a dedicated follower of foodie fashion à la Mrs. Beeton, you’d be cooking crisps/chips and calling them “Potato Chips”.

In the UK!

However, if you’d bought a “New World” cooker in the UK in 1935, you might have also got a companion recipe book, in which “Chip Potatoes” are described—quarter-inch-thick slices of potato—obviously not crisps/chips.

Clearly, there was turmoil in the terminology around this time, and the 1944 Shorter Oxford Dictionary wisely steered clear, presumably waiting for the dust to settle: there’s no mention of potatoes in the definitions of “chip”. The nearest is “anything worthless, without flavour, innutritious, or dried up.” I guess that’s why salt, vinegar, ketchup, poutine and gravy are all popular additions to chips/fries.

Likewise, there’ s no mention of potatoes in the definition of “crisp” or “French”. It does mention potato chips under “potato” though—“potatoes sliced and fried crisp.”

So far, it seems like those wascally ‘mericans got it right!

By 1961, the Pocket Oxford Dictionary was defining chip as “potatoes cut small and fried (fish & chips)”. But then, from personal memory, chips/fries were “chips” by then. The same dictionary’s only definition for “crisp” as a noun is as slang for banknotes, yet I clearly remember eating “crisps” in the early 1960s—the brand with a little blue twisted paper of salt in them.

Another UK/US Faux Ami

In many parts of the UK, the Fish and Chip shop is referred to colloquially as “The Chippy.” However, according to the Canadian Oxford Dictionary, a chippy is “a promiscuous or delinquent young woman…”

Note to self; never ever use the phrase “I’m going to the chippy” in western Atlantica. It’s on a par with, “I’ll knock you up in the morning.”

My Take (If You Care)

Based on what I’ve learned from my research for this piece, I’d say that if potatoes were cut into pieces (these days, we’d call them “wedges”) before deep-frying, then “chips” seems like a good name for them.

“Fries” seems to me to be lazy—“French Fried Potatoes” got shortened to “French Fries” and then to “Fries”—convenient, but ambiguous. Then again, there are other examples of laziness creating verbs-as-nouns-with-ambiguity-thrown-in-for-good-measure.

“Chip”, for example.

In a reversal of that contraction trend, Brits refer to those ridiculous, thin excuses for chips/fries as “shoestring fries”—presumably to differentiate them from the more manly “chips”.

So… accept the different terminology. Eat chips and be merry. Or eat fries and be ‘merican. There’s no right or wrong. There’s been no subversion or hijacking of the Queen’s English. Western Atlanticans are merely allowing their variety of English to evolve separately from Eastern Atlanticans.

Whatever we call them, we’re pretty sure we have the French to thank for them, although the Belgians might disagree. And to illustrate the point, the world’s only Fries Museum is located in Bruges.

I wonder if the people who give you your entrance ticket ask, “Would you like fries with that?”