Lil Chippy takes its name from British slang for a bare-bones fish and chip shop, then does the opposite of bare-bones. The hake and haddock come out breaded and genuinely crisp, the kind of fry job that holds up under its own claim of being both casual and classy. Order the fries salt-and-vinegar'd, and get the Old Bayoli sauce on the side — it's the difference between good fried fish and fried fish worth returning for.
The room backs up the ambition without overplaying it: minimal, a little playful with its fish-pun prints, nothing trying too hard. The sandwiches, called "buddies" here, run on homemade buns, which is the kind of detail that separates a place actually cooking from a place just frying.
This is a lunch counter concept executed with real technique, and it reads that way on the plate. National recognition and a spot on the local paper's radar confirm what the food already argues — pull off the classic well enough, and nobody minds that it's not really a chip shop at all.
