SEAFISH: AND EAT IT (UNFORTUNATELY)

In truth it wasn’t the best time to visit a Fish and Chip shop. Feeling tired, crotchety and nursing a hangover I could only be placated by a good plate of something deep fried. Sadly, Seafish (I wonder if there’s a sister restaurant, Fieldcow) didn’t oblige and I left full of useless carbs, all my woes still intact.

It had looked so promising the previous evening. I’d just visited Public House, a cocktail bar, just off Upper Street and understated enough to mean the hordes marching up and down the main drag passed it by. I’d had a couple of drinks: a Dry Martini and a Manhattan. Both were well made with decent liquor. They were strong and at around the seven quid mark not too expensive.

Wandering back down towards the tube I passed Seafish. It used to be an old-style chippy but I’d never seen many people in there. Now it was full and buzzing. There were candles on the table and there was a big sign outside exhorting the punters to come in and BYO. All good stuff and about time too given that the last decent chippy in this area – the Upper Street Fish Shop – closed some years ago.

The next day, however, it seemed everyone was nursing a collective hangover. The Eastern European staff were incredibly taciturn, the fry master didn’t look too happy either. Unhappy people produce unhappy food.

My Haddock was soft and overcooked. The batter lacked any crispness and was as tired as my face. Mushy Peas had an unappealing crust on them. Worst of all were the Chips which had that slightly rancid taste of old oil which I got to enjoy throughout the afternoon. I may never eat chips again. A run-of-the-mill pickled onion was cheekily pushed out at one quid.

Although the prices appear reasonable the bill can still surprise if you add on a few extras and given the poor quality of everything it brought to mind the saying that Bad Food Is Never Cheap.

There’s no art to making Fish and Chips. It’s something that, when you have a bit of experience and some good ingredients, should be eminently reproducible day in, day out. Seafish didn’t seem to have the necessary cooking chops to do even one service of decent food and only adds to the woeful lack of good dining opportunities on Upper Street.

MUCHO MAS

Mucho Mas

Oleanders growing outside her door
Soon they're gonna be in bloom

Friday and a bit of a hangover after a selection of Pinchitos finest arguardientes and anisettes. But hey, what’s this, a new fast food joint opening today opposite where I work. Mucho Mas is a Burrito joint which means you get a burrito and there’s an assembly line affair where someone will load it up with various fillings. Not wanting to make too many difficult decisions I went for chicken with hot sauce. You also get black beans, rice, cheese, sour cream and guacamole are extra. They also do beers or soft drinks. I took a seat and made use of the perky Mexican hot sauce on the table.

So how did it taste ? Well to be honest with so many ingredients stuffed in it was difficult to make out any distinct flavours. However, it did it’s job and filled a gap and made me feel a bit more human for about a fiver.

I tried another one this week. This time I had the pork and left out the rice and the tastes were better but still a bit bland. Ideally, I’d like more meat and a more assertive salsa with the other ingredients taking a back seat but maybe that’s not what burritos are meant to be about (the last time I ate them was in SF about seven years ago).

One thing I found odd though. Most restaurants and cafes these days are very keen to trumpet the provenance of their raw materials. MM didn’t, so I emailed them and was told their meat comes from Smithfield Market which doesn’t really tell you anything apart from the fact it’s not organic and not free range (because if it was they’d probably say so).

Despite this, and rather spookily, I find there’s something ever so slightly addictive about them and caught myself more than once thinking about them at work.