We all make terrible decisions regarding food when we've had a skinful. I get away with it far more…read moreas I don't eat meat, therefore generally my post-beverage binging will involve fries or a dubious pizza at the most. Kebabs are lost on me, and that's no bad thing.
If you've danced the night away and have the munchies, I have a far better suggestion for you.
Don't get soggy fries and burnt pizza crust from the nearest freezer-to-oven shack, dear God, please don't. If you're partying in the Gay Village or along Princess Street, take my advice and go to Portland Plaice. Why? Well, what could be better than proper fish and chips after a night out? That's right, proper fish and chips. Real fat chips, mushy peas, gravy, battered fish fingers, all wrapped up neatly and smelling pungently of vinegar. My Baa Bar companion, the blonde, introduced me to this little treasure, and I've never looked back.
The downside is that it might be open until ridiculous o' clock at weekends, but not during weekdays. Many a time have we trekked there from afar, finding it shut, realising it's a Tuesday. Maybe not enough people would go, but they forget, chippy food is cheap, and students (and writers) like cheap, and students (and writers) are out during the week... the maths does itself. But never mind, just grab it while you can.
Some of my favourite memories include myself and the blonde grabbing us a little midnight snack, smuggling it into the taxi and eating it in the comfort of my own flat in front of the TV. Ah, those were the days. Now if only we could arrange our next Satan's Hollow excursion nice and quickly...