Here fishy fishy...
Here fishy fishy...

Guess where I'm eating?

No, it wasn't the greatest fish fry in the world, but it sustained me while the snow blew outside and the drifts piled up. It came fast; it came hot. The batter was lacy and delicate from the fryer, and the fries were crisp and herbed and nowhere close to hand-cut.

But then, it was a fish fry -- comfort food that's hard-wired straight into my lizard brain. And it was a good one. Paired with a cold pint of Murphy's and a little Premier League football action on the big screens, it was the perfect way to spend a snow-bound afternoon. But now that the snow has melted away, one question remains: Can you guess where I was eating?

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