Battered Cod of Withington, if you're reading this, please don't think that three stars is a bad…read morething - it's a superb thing. It means I'll be back, time and time again. Because you do exactly what you say on the tin. You offer battered cod, with chips and pies and gravy and peas, and you're wholly A-OK.
In fact if there were a three and a half stars award, you'd be a proud recipient!
I live mere minutes worth of strollage away from this branch of small South Manchester chain Battered Cod. (By the way, whenever I think of Manchester shops with around four or five branches, I think of Dev Alahan from Coronation Street presiding over them. Don't you? Perhaps it's just me then.
*Dev and Dierdre sexytime flashback*
*Sicks up coffee*)
Ahem, anyway, you've probably noticed I've been whinging all week. I've been ill, yelpers. And I NEVER get ill. Getting ill is stupid. I don't do stupid. So feeling even more sorry for myself, I'd taken the three mile walk back from Oxford Road to Withington to blow the cobwebs (aka phlegm) out with some cold air and Curry Mile scents, and I thought I deserved a chippy tea.
Ah, chippy tea. I might sound quite posh when I talk (so people tell me), but I'm a Northern lass. Like, ya knooe. It's bred into my very bones that I love a good chippy tea. Fish, mushy peas, separate pot of gravy (take THAT, Southerners), lashings of vinegar, salt and ketchup. When I was a nipper my dad used to take me to the chip shop after swimming practice on a Friday to undo all the good work I'd just done. We'd grab the provisions and drive home to eat our bounty in front of evening TV. Picking up my epic portion from Battered Cod for less than a fiver reminded me of these simple, childhood times. And I did the same as I always did back then. Hot water switched on for a bath, cat fed, feet up, Sky+ goodies. I swear, this was the evening that cured my lurgy.
So thanks, Battered Cod! I'm finally living somewhere with a good chippy round the corner. This Northern lass is mighty happy.