And then there was one. On June 15, the Arthur Treacher’s in Garfield Heights, Ohio, closed its doors. This left the Arthur Treacher’s in Cuyahoga Falls, a suburb of Akron, as the last dominion of the former fast food empire. At its peak in the 70s, Arthur Treacher’s posted over 800 restaurants coast to coast, feeding fish and chips to an entire generation. Stepping inside one is like stepping into a time machine, as I learned when I visited the Cleveland location last Wednesday, the day after it closed. 

Brown paper, plastered hastily to the glass, dimmed the walls where vintage advertisements, stock British iconography, and beaming teenagers from last century clustered. Trash bins and countertops had begun to shed parts. An assistant manager, Dominic—a soft-spoken young man with a face tattoo—scrubbed a frying vat with soap. “It’s like the end of an era,” he said. “I’m sad it’s gone, for real.” 

Dominic, 24, wasn’t sure if he’d continue working at the remaining store in Cuyahoga Falls. He said business was good until the last day: “We had a lot of regulars, but also a lot of out-of-towners. People who said that they had it growing up, but it’s not that many [Arthur Treacher’s] now.” His eyes grew big as he remembered certain customers: “We had two ladies from New York a few months ago, a mom and her daughter, they ordered 80 pieces of fish. A couple yesterday drove here from Michigan. I had to tell them we closed this store for good. I said they’d have to drive 40 minutes to the other Treacher’s, but they got in the car and went.”

I sit with Ben Vittoria, the owner of both restaurants, by the window near the door. Our conversation was occasionally interrupted by a customer walking up and pressing their face against the glass. “Excuse me, if you will…” Vittoria says. “I must explain to my customers what has happened…”

Vittoria, 66, speaks with what remains of an Italian accent—he immigrated to America as a teenager—and convictions of the Old World still animate him. He says there’s been an “outpouring of interest, goodwill, and sadness” about the closing. He credits the love to “the taste of a unique product, and memories of a happier and less complicated times.” Vittoria insists he did not close because of sales, but because of his inability, due to the current labor shortage, to operate the restaurant to expectations. “If I couldn’t keep it ‘original,’ it would be better to close, than to accept mediocrity,” he says emotionally.

In the easy retelling of this story, the one that lures pilgrims from across the country, “original” means the fish & chips recipe from their childhood 50 years ago. This Vittoria can personally guarantee. He’s kept the Arthur Treacher’s recipe the same as it was in 1969: same batter, same cooking procedures, same taste. The only change is that pollock has replaced cod due to the “Cod Wars” between the United Kingdom and Ireland in the 70s.

“I’m one of the few people that had enough experience in the system to [keep it going],” Vittoria says. He joined Arthur Treacher’s in 1976, and worked his way up from assistant manager, to Director of Operations at the corporate level, to franchise owner of 15 stores by 2003. Over the years, the brand suffered heavily from corporate mismanagement and expired leases, but Vittoria remained its faithful steward: “I realized that maintaining the system was most important.” He gestures to a steel vat in the kitchen. “That vat is unique to Arthur Treacher’s,” he explains. “It has a unique fish grate which imparts the ridges to the fish. It’s over 30 years old.” He’s keeping it for parts.

However, Vittoria signals that’s not all that “original” means. One of the vintage advertisements framed on the wall barks out: “Home of ‘the Original’ English Style Fish & Chips!” “Original” was written into Arthur Treacher’s DNA. Understanding “original” in this sense requires rewinding the clock further and traveling across the Atlantic. A journey which Vittoria is happy to pilot.

The lore goes like this: when the Arthur Treacher’s brain trust first gathered in Columbus, Ohio, and decided to introduce fish and chips to the United States, they needed something to authenticate that this was a traditional fish and chips. They bought the namesake of Arthur Treacher, an actor who played an English butler on TV. They also bought the rights to a fish & chips recipe from a London shop named Malin’s in Bow. 

Here’s where the stakes grow: Malin’s in Bow is recognized as the inventor of fish & chips, period. They opened the first fish & chips shop in London all the way back in 1865. A century later, in 1969, they sold the exclusive rights to their recipe to Arthur Treacher’s. Malin’s in Bow shuttered in the 70s and is no more than a memory now.

If you connect the stars from A to B, a fish & chips mythology begins to shimmer, a cheeky creature of Fate. Imagine this: a soot-covered Londoner in the year 1865 stumbles inadvertently into a time machine. After much swearing and banging about, he’s ejected in the year 2021. If he wants to eat the crispy fish and hot chips from ol’ Malin’s in Bow, one of the last places on Earth he could find that original taste would be the Arthur Treacher’s tucked away in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio.

It would be hard to miss. The last Arthur Treacher’s has a colossal four-sided sign in front, the only one of its kind in the city. Vittoria stands proudly in the sunshine, elbows out, and tells the story. “There was an original Arthur Treacher’s down the street, but we moved to this location in 2003. The city granted us special permission to bring the sign here, because they wanted to accommodate Arthur Treacher’s,” he says. When asked for comment, the mayor of Cuyahoga Falls, Don Walters, tells me that Arthur Treacher’s “serves as a nostalgic draw for tourism to our city and I am grateful they call Cuyahoga Falls home.”

Inside, I’m greeted by Gina Jordan, who’s worked there for over 30 years. The restaurant is adorned with blue signage, careworn but kept. Soft oldies hum over the speakers. Fish, chips, and hushpuppies lay still on metal racks. One may wonder how an entire fast food chain exists to support one restaurant, but it seems like the other way around. Vittoria insists he is self-sufficient. He enlists a local sign company to retouch his menus and says he’s been lucky enough to retain original jpegs for custom printing. He dutifully sends a royalty fee and weekly report to Arthur Treacher’s current parent company, TruFoods Systems, which holds the rights to the franchise in Ohio and Virginia. Nathan’s Famous owns the rest of what’s left of Arthur Treacher’s.

“The Nathan’s relationship is cordial but minimal,” Vittoria says. “The only thing is that, about three years ago, the Senior Vice President of Nathan’s, James Walker, requested a visit. He was intrigued by our operation and the fact that there was an Arthur Treacher’s still doing business and thriving. He spent half a day with me and took a lot of notes. From time to time afterward, him or his people request some operational information.” He points to the menus mounted on the wall. “Nathan’s actually asked me to send them a picture of our menu not too long ago…I don’t think they had any left.” He grins, proud.

Nathan’s, it turns out, may have bigger plans for Arthur Treacher’s. While Arthur Treacher’s products surface at their locations from time to time, the company announced just last week that they aim to reboot the concept as a ghost kitchen for food deliveries. Vittoria himself has no plans to abandon ship anytime soon. “As long as I’m in good health,” he asserts. “I think that I can go in and pull my resources together and maintain the kind of standard and pride here that would keep me satisfied.”

Which means the last original Arthur Treacher’s left in America lives on. It’s a Blockbuster, a living fossil, a coelacanth. A sacred site for those, like me, who exist in the space between fast food junkie and wandering foodie. I plop down with the most popular meal: two fish, two hushpuppies, and chips. I douse the chips in malt vinegar and sprinkle everything with salt. I grab a piece of fish, noticing the ridges, and take a bite. I close my eyes. What can I say? It tastes…original.

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