British expats spark ‘Fish and Chips Fridays’ controversy in Spanish villages « Euro Weekly News

Fish and Chips have been euphorically welcomed in many towns where hundreds and thousands of British expats live | Credit: Food magic/Shutterstock

In the sun-drenched villages dotting Spain’s Costa del Sol and Costa Blanca, a culinary revolution is frying up a storm. Local tapas bars, once steadfast purveyors of patatas bravas, croquetas, and gambas al ajillo, are flipping tradition on its head by embracing a quintessentially British institution: fish and chips. The debate and controversy are also cooking. 

Dubbed “Fish and Chips Fridays,” this unlikely trend has taken hold in expat-heavy towns, transforming sleepy village squares into bustling hubs of cross-cultural feasting. 

From Málaga to Alicante, restaurants are battering up cod and hake, serving golden chips with a side of sangría, and even inventing fusion dishes like paella-battered fish and chorizo-dusted fries. The result has been a heartwarming blend of British comfort food and Spanish flair that’s got everyone talking—and eating.

Most Read on Euro Weekly News

Where did this all begin?

The story began in El Rincón, a charming village near Málaga, where María González runs Taberna La Luna, a family-owned bar struggling to compete with the glitzy tourist restaurants along the coast. 

Last summer, María noticed her British customers—mostly retirees and remote workers who’d settled in the area post-Brexit—kept reminiscing about the fish and chips they missed from home. “They’d come in, order our calamares, and then tell stories about their local chippy back in Brighton or Blackpool,” María recalls with a laugh. “One day, I thought, why not give them what they want?” 

She enlisted the help of a British expat regular, retired chef Dave Thompson, to perfect a crispy batter recipe. The first “Fish and Chips Friday” was a gamble, but when María opened her doors, the response was overwhelming. “We sold out in two hours! Locals, expats, even tourists driving through—it was madness.”

It spread like wildfire

Word of La Luna’s crispy cod and thick-cut chips spread like wildfire. Soon, other bars in nearby villages like Torrox and Altea followed suit, launching their own Friday fish fests. Some added Spanish twists: Taberna El Sol in Alicante serves “hake à la Andalucía” with a garlicky alioli dip, while Bar Los Amigos in Denia offers “chorizo-chippified chips,” blending smoky Spanish sausage with Britain’s beloved spuds. 

In Nerja, a coastal town known for its caves, one enterprising chef created a “paella-battered cod” that’s become a social media sensation, racking up thousands of likes on Instagram with its golden crust flecked with saffron and paprika. 

Hashtags like “Fish Chips España” are trending on TikTok with over 46 million videos of expats and locals alike showing off their sunlit plates piled high with fried goodness, often paired with a chilled tinto de verano.

The economic impact is undeniable. For many small businesses, Fridays were once quiet, with locals sticking to evening tapas and tourists flocking to all-inclusive resorts. Now, “Fish and Chips Fridays” are a lifeline. “Before, we barely covered costs on Fridays,” says Javier Ruiz, owner of Bar El Puerto in Torrevieja. “Now, we’re booked solid. I even hired a British expat to teach us how to make proper mushy peas!” 

The influx of customers has also created jobs, with some bars training local staff to master the art of the perfect chippy batter. For British expats, who number over 250,000 in Spain (based on pre-2025 estimates), these events are a taste of home and a sign of belonging. “It’s not just about the food,” says Sarah Jenkins, a retiree from Manchester living in Benidorm. “It’s about feeling like we’re part of the community. The locals join in, and we’re all laughing together over a plate of chips.”

Some worry over anglicising Spain

But not everyone is raising a glass of sangría to this trend. Some traditionalists worry that fish and chips are “anglicising” Spain’s sacred tapas culture. “Tapas are our soul,” says Carmen López, a Granada-based food critic. “They’re about sharing, lingering, connecting. Fish and chips feel so… individual.” 

Others argue that the trend is less about cultural erosion and more about evolution. Younger Spaniards, accustomed to globalised dining trends, are embracing the novelty. “I never thought I’d love mushy peas with my Rioja,” admits Juan Morales, a 30-year-old fisherman from Almuñécar who now attends his local bar’s Friday chippy night. “It’s fun, and it brings people together.” The debate has sparked lively discussions on X, with posts ranging from playful memes about “chips invading Spain” to earnest pleas to preserve tapas traditions.

The trend’s success lies in its blend of nostalgia and innovation. For British expats, fish and chips evoke rainy seaside evenings back home, while for Spaniards, it’s a chance to experiment with their culinary heritage. In some villages, the phenomenon has grown into full-blown festivals, with live music, chip-eating contests, and even “batter-offs” where chefs compete for the crispiest crust. In Calpe, a recent Fish and Chips Festival drew hundreds, with expat and local kids playing together as parents swapped stories over plates of fried hake. “It’s like a little piece of Blackpool mixed with the Costa Blanca,” says Dave Thompson, the expat chef who helped start it all. “And honestly, the Spanish make better chips than we do!”

Raising deeper cultural concerns

Yet the rise of Fish and Chips Fridays raises more profound questions about cultural adaptation. Is this a heartwarming example of integration, or are Spain’s coastal towns at risk of becoming “little Britains”? For María González, the answer is simple: “Food brings people together. If fish and chips make my customers happy—British, Spanish, or anyone else—I’ll keep frying.” For others, the balance is trickier. Over-adaptation could alienate locals who cherish late-night tapas runs, while ignoring expat tastes risks losing a lucrative market. Some analysts point out that Spain’s dining culture is already shifting, with urban areas like Madrid and Barcelona adopting more globalised hours and menus. Fish and Chips Fridays might just be the latest chapter in a broader story of modernisation.

For now, the trend shows no sign of slowing. From tiny tabernas to seaside chiringuitos, Fish and Chips Fridays are frying up community spirit, one crispy cod at a time. Whether you’re an expat craving a taste of home, a local curious about British comfort food, or a tourist snapping a photo for Instagram, this quirky fusion is hard to resist. So, what’s your take? Should Spain’s bars keep dishing up fish and chips, or is it time to defend the tapas tradition? Grab a plate, join the conversation, and let’s see if #ChippyFridays takes over the world. And let Euro Weekly News know in the comments what you think. Are you ready for some golden fried fish and chips, or will you stick to the traditional patatas bravas, gambas al ajillo, and other succulent tapas that we liked so much about Spain in the first place?

_{Images are for reference only.Images and contents gathered automatic from google or 3rd party sources.All rights on the images and contents are with their legal original owners.}