Ben isn’t a chef. He’s not a Michelin-starred foodie with a nose so high it could snort clouds. Nope. Ben is a bloke with a phone and a borderline religious commitment to mushy peas. He rates every chippy on a scale that includes “crispness of batter” and “how much grease drips off after two seconds.”
His reviews read like diary entries from a man who has seen things. Things like a chip that was “soggy enough to cry over” and a fish so fresh it “practically high-fived him.” You don’t read Ben; you experience him.
One of his most famous reviews starts with: “The batter was golden, but the texture was like a forgotten biscuit at the bottom of a handbag.” I chuckled. I also winced, because I knew exactly what he meant.
