Originally written: August 2007
I don’t want death. I just want fish-n-chips.
I never thought the day when I’d miss British cuisine would actually come. I never thought it’d ever happen. Yet it has. Today’s the day.
Are pigs flying outside, perchance?
I’ve taken a break from my research to wax nostalgia about my former culinary nemesis, the British cuisine. I remember my first introduction. I found it wretched. I found it dull. I found it tasteless.
Now I’m singing a different tune. It’s called reminiscence.
There’s a fish-n-chips joint near my campus. Who am I kidding? There are several fish-and-chips joint near my campus. But the one I’m talking about is west of UCL which is located either on Fitzroy St or Charlotte St. For the life of me, I can’t remember. I only passed it every time I walked to our department building on Riding House Street.
Because my memory is currently uncooperative, let’s forget the name.
The establishment just doesn’t serve fish-n-chips, they also have Greek dishes on the menu. I’ve had their taramosalata which I use as a dip for my fish-n-chips. Result: very fishy fish. But I like the contrast in texture between the tangy creamy dip and the salty crunchy fish. This place is also quite generous with the fish sizes. This isn’t the palm-sized fish cuts that I’m used to. We’re talking about two huge man-hands in this joint. And for £5, that’s excellent! (Many establishments around the campus have dishes on their lunch menu generously priced at £5+.)
Floundering in a state of wistfulness over a dish of deep fried fish and spuds, I know of only one way to rid myself of this malady. (Yes, pun intended.) You know it. I know it.
Only authentic British fish-n-chips will do.
Alas, I’m on the wrong side of the pond.