I spent the day helping the SBW (short blonde whirlwind) pack up her house in preparation for a move. Dirty, tired, and scratched-up, I decided to treat myself to a dinner out with a group of friends.

On my way to Atlas Foods, I made a quick phone call to the husband. “Where in U-village is this place? I’m driving around and I can’t see it anywhere.” He didn’t know, “in the mall, someplace”. He was apparently in a carload of guys who similarly didn’t know the maze that is the University Village Mall.

Atlas Foods (once we all finally found it) is a little mish-mash of everything. They boast a huge daily-fresh fish section. They have spring rolls, for heavens’ sakes. They have burgers. They have fried chicken (Every time someone at our table ordered the fried chicken, the waitress carolled merrily “ONE FRIED CHICKEN!” alto, to which all of the kitchen staff on the other side of the restaurant hollered back basso profondo, “ONE FRIED CHICKEN!”. Everyone looked at our table. Yes, some of us are ordering fried chicken. There is nothing to see here.). Halfway through our meal, the waitress came by to remind us about the desserts, listing them all lovingly in one long tongue-twister.

Speaking of the waitress, how cool was she? We had a table of TWENTY, and she kept pace with everyone’s drink order, frequently re-filling while we were only half-done. Eighteen percent mandatory tip? She’s worth it, and more. Patient, friendly, and did I mention she had a healthy set of lungs?

I ordered the beer-battered fish and chips. A loyal subject of the Queen, I’ve had fish and chips my entire life. I can remember far back into my childhood, eating chips off newspaper, warm and soggy-sour. And yet, this is the first time I have ever had to say this: My beer-battered fried fish tasted exactly like eating a beer.

Seriously. True story.

I could not taste the fish. Also, I think I’m kind of drunk.