I am, I sometimes admit, something of a poseur vegetarian.  For the past few years, I’ve dabbled in the occasional non-Kosher bottom feeders and,  on the even rarer occasion, an honest-to-God fish.  I feel bad about the fish, though.  I dwell on them once I’ve eaten them.  So I only do so a couple of times a year.

One of those times was a few weeks ago at The Atlantic Chip Shop, the purveyor of the best fish and chips, deep-fried chocolate bars, and Carlsberg on tap in Brooklyn.  Shannon was out of town and my buddy Rachel was in, and Rachel, having become something of an informal (but forceful) advocate of all things meaty over the past decade or so, jumped at the chance to go.  She always jumps at the opportunity to witness someone eating meat.   Have you noticed, vegetarians, how excited some folks get if they suspect you might eat some flesh?  They act like it’s Christmas morning.  It’s cute.

The Chip Shop in fact offers some choice tasty veggie options, including a mushroom mac and cheese and a Welsh rarebit, but the fish is the most captivating opportunity.  It’s divided between three pesca-social classes—Cod, Haddock, and Plaice—and you can choose between them while sitting beneath a few Sex Pistols posters hanging on the wall, which John Lydon probably would appreciate. Continue reading →