The full version of this feature can be seen in the first issue of Bitten magazine, out across the Northwest now.
Want to know where the hottest spot in Liverpool is, at 2am on a Sunday morning? Photographer Jane MacNeil spent a night in the best chippy in town. And a week trying to get rid of the smell.
Backstage, Harry Haralambous’ two city centre fried-food joints run like the boiler rooms of some mid-Atlantic steam packet: all gleaming chrome, plumes of steam and broiling sumps of golden oil keep the good ship Lobster Pot on course for another voyage from Saturday night to Sunday morning.
As the queue snakes out of the door of the original Lobbie, the banter and badinage of the best cabaret show in town hits its stride. Gaggles of hen parties refuel for the long walk home to the Travelodge, newly-acquainted best mates hug and wobble their way to the counter, a pair of skittish lads bump chests over the affections of a girl currently gnawing her way through a battered haggis, oblivious to their overtures.
“We were here before the first McDonalds came to town,” Haralambous says, opening the 12th 56lb bag of spuds. With chips this good, they’ll be here long after Ronald throws in the towel.