Fish and Chips, Three Ways

Seattle, Washington, 2015

I peered out the small airplane window and glanced worriedly back to my watch. There was simply no way I was going to make the next flight. But maybe, just maybe it would be late and I could run to the gate. I had a vision of myself running like OJ Simpson, stiff-arming people through the airport. (We’re talking pre-scandal OJ. Check it out here. You’re welcome.)

I looked back out the window and saw my gate. What luck, I was pulling into the gate adjacent to my next flight. But alas, my luck ended there. I watched helplessly as my next flight pulled away from the gate and taxied down the jetway. That was it. I had no other options for getting from Seattle to Ketchikan, Alaska until the next afternoon. I now had an unexpected stopover. And the solution to an unexpected stay in Seattle is simple—Pikes Place Market.

Backpack on shoulder, I stepped off the bus in front of the iconic sign, right above the fishmongers. After several minutes of gleeful fish-throwing observations (Yes, fish throwing. Check it out here.), my stomach told me to find some fish of my own.

I bypassed several nicer-looking places with patio-seating and large menus. I knew what I was looking for: a hole-in-the-wall. Sure enough, on the pier and under a shanty sat three greasy stools and a small counter. The stocking-cap-wearing chef (?) threw a pile of fried fish and French fries on a day-old copy of the Seattle Times. I doused the luscious heap of Pacific Cod and fries with fresh-squeezed lemon and gratuitous amounts of tartar sauce (call me a heathen). Nothing beats the west coast for the market flavor of fish and chips.

Howth, Ireland, 2019

The small fishing village of Howth sits just east of Dublin. In fact, it’s one of the most pleasant train rides leading out of Dublin. Ivy-covered houses line the tracks that lead all the way to the ocean. When you get to the ocean, you’ll find a lovely little village with a lot of scenic hikes and great food. Some say that on clear day, you can look out toward England and see Hollyhead, near Liverpool. Ireland supports the cliché. Ireland is exactly what you’d expect: green, beautiful, friendly, all the people have wonderful accents, and the food is outstanding. But in a place where they literally call fish and chips “Dublin Caviar” how does one decide where to eat? Nearly every restaurant and pub serve outstanding food. But when you step off the train in Howth and walk just a little way up the street, you’ll see Leo Burdock’s. Please, if you go to Dublin, eat there. We placed our order and began to take a picture of the restaurant. But the owners would have nothing of it.

“Come on back,” they said with a smile. So, I jumped the counter and got my picture with the laughing crew. We chatted about Ireland and America until our food came. They sat a glorious mound of fish and chips on a platter in front of us. Each serving is two pounds of fish and potatoes. This time, I poured the malt vinegar with reckless abandonment.

Grand Marais, Minnesota, annually

Blindfolded and dropped onto the North Shore of Lake Superior, most people would guess they were in Maine or some other rocky and oceanic local—unless, of course, you’ve been there. The Lake stretches for miles and miles and states and states. And every year, my family heads up there in search of solitude and rejuvenation. The frigid water laps the rocky coast. Pines and boreal trees sway with the almost-constant breeze. The small town of Grand Marais is a favorite in Minnesota. Most residents of the State love it and make the journey at least once a year. And just as you drive into the town, look to your right and you will see a little café called Dockside Fish Market. The Lake teems with an abundance of Whitefish, Pike, Walleye, Salmon, and (my favorite) trout of many types. When I was a lad growing up in Wyoming, I didn’t really think that anybody ate any other fish but trout. I had not been confronted with the great Northern Pike or the elusive Walleye. I now love it all. But each year at Dockside, I get a basket of Lake Trout. We usually sit on the patio in the back and we eat our fish and chips in the cool breeze of Lake Superior. It is a tradition we are not soon to break.

anthony forrest