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The best fish and chips I've ever had.
Nov. 1st, 2010 07:27 pmI was talking about fish and chips with flatmate D today, and it made me remember the best fish and chips I've ever had. I have no idea if they were good in terms of food quality - for that, it'd be hard to top Ches's and Leo's in Sinjawn's. It's entirely possible they were awful. I don't much care.
I was either eight or ten, and my family and I were visiting the Old Country. There was a steam engine roaming the country that my dad was excited about, and any steam engine Dad was excited about was one I was excited about, too. My Dad and I were cool like that. My sister was either four or six, and not particularly interested in any engine that wasn't Thomas-related, and Mum wasn't much for trains, so Dad and I ditched them and hijacked the rental car for the day while they did whatever it was mums and little sisters do when dads and older sisters are gone.
I got to sit in the front seat! This was especially cool in England, where there's a lot of scenery, ninety-five percent of which is lovely, and ninety-percent of which is absolutely invisible if you're under five feet tall and sitting in the back seat of a car travelling through hedgerowed roads. And my parents always wondered why I had my nose in a book and didn't get excited when they said things like "oooh, look at that view".
Dad gave me the road atlas and a lesson on how to use it, then told me "okay, the steam engine's scheduled to travel through this town's train station at _______". We should be able to get there. Which way, Em?" and I followed the roads with my fingers and looked for signs and generally navigated, feeling very pleased and trusted because he followed my instructions to the letter and I didn't catch him looking at the atlas once, and lo! we made it to the correct town, even though I had to find an alternate route when we missed a turnoff onto a B-road because I'd seen a kestrel and got distracted. I was eight, after all, or maybe ten.
Sure enough, and in true F------ style, we just missed the train. Not to worry! We had its entire schedule, and hied off to the next town, arriving just in time to see a puff of steam vanishing off down the valley. Back to the car! Back to the roads! Quick, Em, to the Rentalmobile!
We passed the day in this fashion, and never did quite catch up to the engine. Disappointing, but we'd listened to lots of Pink Floyd on the radio, and generally had a good time. By five o'clock, we were a long way from Whichevertownwe'dstartedinville, and it was pouring with rain, and we'd skipped lunch in hopes of getting closer to the train. Dad parked in some tiny place somewhere, and we found a fish and chip shop. It didn't have any tables or chairs, just a counter and a square metre or so of space to stand in while you made your order and waited for your food. We got our fish and chips in that morning's newspaper, with a toothpick as all the utensil we were going to get, and I ate my fish and chips standing under an overhang, with a toothpick, next to my dad. Best fish and chips ever.
I was either eight or ten, and my family and I were visiting the Old Country. There was a steam engine roaming the country that my dad was excited about, and any steam engine Dad was excited about was one I was excited about, too. My Dad and I were cool like that. My sister was either four or six, and not particularly interested in any engine that wasn't Thomas-related, and Mum wasn't much for trains, so Dad and I ditched them and hijacked the rental car for the day while they did whatever it was mums and little sisters do when dads and older sisters are gone.
I got to sit in the front seat! This was especially cool in England, where there's a lot of scenery, ninety-five percent of which is lovely, and ninety-percent of which is absolutely invisible if you're under five feet tall and sitting in the back seat of a car travelling through hedgerowed roads. And my parents always wondered why I had my nose in a book and didn't get excited when they said things like "oooh, look at that view".
Dad gave me the road atlas and a lesson on how to use it, then told me "okay, the steam engine's scheduled to travel through this town's train station at _______". We should be able to get there. Which way, Em?" and I followed the roads with my fingers and looked for signs and generally navigated, feeling very pleased and trusted because he followed my instructions to the letter and I didn't catch him looking at the atlas once, and lo! we made it to the correct town, even though I had to find an alternate route when we missed a turnoff onto a B-road because I'd seen a kestrel and got distracted. I was eight, after all, or maybe ten.
Sure enough, and in true F------ style, we just missed the train. Not to worry! We had its entire schedule, and hied off to the next town, arriving just in time to see a puff of steam vanishing off down the valley. Back to the car! Back to the roads! Quick, Em, to the Rentalmobile!
We passed the day in this fashion, and never did quite catch up to the engine. Disappointing, but we'd listened to lots of Pink Floyd on the radio, and generally had a good time. By five o'clock, we were a long way from Whichevertownwe'dstartedinville, and it was pouring with rain, and we'd skipped lunch in hopes of getting closer to the train. Dad parked in some tiny place somewhere, and we found a fish and chip shop. It didn't have any tables or chairs, just a counter and a square metre or so of space to stand in while you made your order and waited for your food. We got our fish and chips in that morning's newspaper, with a toothpick as all the utensil we were going to get, and I ate my fish and chips standing under an overhang, with a toothpick, next to my dad. Best fish and chips ever.
