The Old Monk: Atlantic cod is battered in Smithwick’s Irish Red Ale, along with a blend of regular flour and rice flour. It’s also a massive portion, so you might consider sharing with a friend. The dish is served with a side of cold pea mash. It’s served on top of the restaurant’s thin, Idaho made-in-house fries. Meddlesome Moth: A generous serving of cod that’s battered with English bitter beer, cornstarch, ground white pepper, cayenne pepper, and paprika. Give me a sniff, and see for yourself.)Īnyway, if you’re looking for some solid fish and chips in town, this is where you should go. My sweat actually smells like a fresh baked loaf of brioche, smothered in peach preserves.
#Where to eat fish and chips near me skin
Third step: visit as many restaurants as I can that appear to have a promising fish and chips option.įourth step: collapse into a grease-fueled depression for a week and emerge wiser and with more knowledge than expected.įifth step: take two months to write about the experience because I’m traumatized that my skin is still, somehow, secreting fish-scented sweat. Second step: read articles on the internet, which other food writers have written, about fish and chips. So, after leaving Fish & Fizz, and feeling at a loss for comparison, I decided to explore the fish and chips scene in Dallas.įirst step: ask friends where they go for fish and chips, make a list. Here’s the thing: I don’t go out of my way to order fish and chips. I know that my dad really enjoys them, and I’m sure I’ve had them at a restaurant with him at some point. But that experience was squandered by an aggressive Canadian goose who was out for blood-and my French fries. (I wish I still had that coat.) Another time I ate them at a park in high school. Another time was in London, but I was 10 and preoccupied with my hot pink raincoat. I ate them all, so I’m sure they were, at the very least, fine. I couldn’t tell you if they were good or bad. The fish and the chips were a side note to the company and conversation. Once five years ago at a pub in Hampstead, with a friend I hadn’t seen in years. I’m pretty sure I would have been satisfied ingesting a fistful of wet moss.
But I’d also just hiked up, and then back down, a freaking mountain. There was the time last August, when I ordered them from a food truck in Vatnajökull National Park in Iceland. I can count on two hands-and maybe a foot-the number of times I’ve had fish and chips in my life. But I realized afterward that I had nothing to compare them to. The fries are a suitable match for the flaky fish if doused in malt vinegar and HP Sauce, the vinegary brown condiment commonly found on British tables.
Although a bit oily, the crisp coating is thick and clings to the tender white flesh. They served the same bubble and squeak (the Brits like to fry leftover vegetables the day after and mix them into a sort of mashed potato cake) and bread and butter pudding that they now offer at their Richardson restaurant.īut most come here for the fish and chips, a mound of golden and glistening Atlantic cod piled on a bed of thick russet fries. The fish is battered and then fried in a blend of canola and cottonseed oil. They’ve been here since the 1990s, and their previous North Texas venture, Barclay’s, was known for its British food. The seaside destination is one that Fish & Fizz owners Nick and Kelli Barclay know well-it’s where they ran a boutique hotel and restaurant, and raised their kids. One wall is adorned with a cartoonish painting of beachgoers, relaxing in the sand along the Banjo Pier in the small English coastal town of Looe. Wooden tables fill the dining room families and neighborhood regulars settle into metal chairs. Inside, the walls are decorated with British flair and fish knickknacks. The car belongs to restaurant owner Nick Barclay.
The vehicle, which is native to the humming streets of London, stood out among all the Toyota Camrys and pickup trucks. Some may call it “ideal fish and chips weather.” I prefer “a nuisance to drive in weather.” I pulled into the Richardson strip-mall and parked next to a 1972 Austin black cab. It was dark and drizzly the evening I ventured up to Fish & Fizz.
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