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.
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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?