I was just watching Family Guy on TV - it was the episode where Peter and his mates are on a fishing boat and are on their way into a cave (where they meet a talking fish robot). Just on their way in, you see the character with the long arms from 'The Meaning of Life' (played by Terry Jones in the movie) saying fishy fishy fish etc . One of the many Python references in other shows and one I was not aware of.
The Fishy Fish Shop & Chippie is located in the centre of Kinsale town where, the original Fishy Fish Cafe was founded, opposite the famous St Multose Church. The shop stocks the freshest of local catch for you to choose from. You can also pick up a copy of our Irish Seafood Cookery book, which Martin produced in collaboration with Sally McKenna, which will help you cook and serve your fish in true Fishy Fishy style. This is a perfect reference to have in your own kitchen and makes an ideal present for someone who enjoys cooking fish.
Whether he'd have approved of Fishy Fishy, I'm not sure. The name would have annoyed him, obviously, as would the absence of Mrs Elswood sweet and sour pickled cucumbers. Then again, the service is endearing, as is the lack of chutzpah in pricing of both food and wine. What it lacks, much like the voice of the Whitney/ Mariah wannabe doing a power ballad on Saturday night, is character and precision. Weirdly, it feels like part of a chain, even though it isn't, said my friend, and he was right. With the menu and deliberately artless look to the inside (blue walls, plain furniture, piscine prints, no fuss or poncery), this is a tribute act to FishWorks, the chain that went on quite a journey of its own, from genuine excellence to smug mediocrity.
The kitchen, meanwhile, wants to sharpen its performance. All three starters were poor. Smoked salmon came in two forms, a generous slice and a hot smoked fillet, both far too oily. It's as if it's been Brylcreemed, said my friend. It's the Denis Compton of smoked fish. Grilled herring had a pleasingly crispy skin but was curiously bland, while mackerel pâté overcompensated by leaving an overpoweringly fishy fishy aftertaste. It looked hideous, too. Imagine an old farmer on a rusty tractor who decides to make a mackerel pâté, said my friend, an urban Jew turned gentleman pig farmer. There's lots of mackerel on the field, and the farmer ploughs it, harvests it, puts it on a plate and thinks of it as pâté, although it's just mush. This, he concluded, is akin to that imagining. Very agricultural.
