I'm troubled when I approach the equivalent of a British greasy spoon, especially when I can smell the overheated cooking fat in the air from 4/5 metres away.
As I got to the door I spied a couple eating a pizza and honestly it looked so unappetising almost anaemic that I began to doubt that I'd enjoy the food here - not that I'd eat pizza anyway but it's a pizza portent. I've had some exquisite pizza in Italy but nowhere outside of there but I very much prefer tarte flambée (with an icy crisp gewürztraminer) perhaps two flambée mostly associated with Alsace. Oh I've eaten my body weight in tarte flambée.
As I entered I looked at the cooked batter coating the fried fish, my nostrils clogged with the heavy effluvium of lard. I thought no thanks. The spirit was no longer willing and the flesh was saved; didn't fancy a year's supply of cholesterol in a bag at just under €13. read more