Although we had had chips the night before we had them again that night. Our appetites had got the better of us so the oven worked its magic on our sliced potatoes. Is there anything better than chips? The smell was golden as they sizzled quietly from the heat before falling in sturdy disorder onto our not quite big enough plates. We sat down, we ate them with dry, spicy roast chicken and freezing, fizzy-natured fine white wine from Portugal. Over and over again we groaned at the fabulous flavours, over and over again we noted how well the wine went with the chicken, over and over again we thought how good it was to be eating chips: Hot, salty, crispy, crunchy, sturdy, golden chips.