By Heather Hoch
By Eric Schaefer
By New Times
By Rachel Miller
By Eric Schaefer
By Heather Hoch and Lauren Saria
By Robrt L. Pela
By Heather Hoch
Yet despite such unappetizing thoughts, my mid-February cod jones sent me in search of the perfect fish and chips. This is the result of a sojourn many moons ago in London where I fell for a Liverpudlian lass named Julia. Like most English gals in their 20s, Julia liked hitting the pubs, where we'd imbibe 'til closing, and then stagger to the nearest fish and chips wagon for a newspaper cone full of those salty fillets and thick pommes frites. For us, fish and chips were a prelude to love.
So with the advent of the amatory season, I decided to set out for my first ever survey of Phoenix eateries serving cod and fried tubers. Sadly, Phoenix ain't exactly foggy old London town when it comes to fish and chips. Poor Julia would spit most of this slop in the gutter. Alas, being a food critic, I can't afford the luxury.
906 E. Camelback Road
Phoenix, AZ 85014
Category: Bars and Clubs
Region: Central Phoenix
George and Dragon English Restaurant and Pub: 4240 North Central, 602 -241-0018. Kitchen open seven days a week, 11 a.m. to 11 p.m.
Here follows, then, in order of worst to best, my findings. If you know of some place I've missed, please let me know, and this column's sequel will feature your suggestions.
The lowest of all bottom feeders listed is perhaps the best known -- Pete's Fish and Chips. Pete's never fails to get glowing press from our town's beloved daily, which should indicate how reliable those fuddy-duddies are when it comes to comestibles. I'm saying Pete's sorry offerings cannot even match Gordon's fish sticks in taste and quality. By Neptune's pointy trident, I wouldn't wish their crap on my most rabid antagonists!
Pete's has several locations, so I called up co-owner Kathy Adams to ask which I should try. She assured me their Mesa outlet was the jewel in their crown, so I dutifully made the trek. Blimey, that eyesore looks like the kind of place junkies go to score smack! Picnic tables with flaking red paint surround a cruddy, white stucco structure. And as far as I can tell by driving by other locations, this eyesore exterior is one of Pete's calling cards, not unlike their infantile vermilion logo.
The food is quite inexpensive, with a two-piece fish and chips order costing only $3.20. Garbage is cheaper (why, it's free!), but I wouldn't eat it if you fried it up for me. Pete's flat, square fillets filled my porthole with freezer-burn, and I'd hardly call their skinny, stale fries "chips." They also make a big deal out of not serving ketchup or tartar sauce, allowing each customer one free two-ounce cup of "Pete's Special Sauce," which is essentially tomato sauce and cayenne pepper. Generous!
Their fried oysters are slightly more edible, particularly if you remember to bring a roll of extra-strength Rolaids. But I did not, and it was all I could do not to puke in the parking lot. Signs near the picnic tables warn customers not to feed the birds, so at least the chain opposes cruelty to animals. I'm already anticipating the letters telling me Pete's has been in business since the dawn of man, blah, blah. But anyone who eats at Pete's more than once of their own accord is a bloody imbecile. Especially when there's always a Jack in the Crack around the corner.
Turk's Fish and Chips in Phoenix isn't much better. The fish and fries are the same as Pete's, but Turk's at least offers free ketchup and tartar sauce along with their own "special sauce." Could this be the reason their two-piece plate is $4 a serving? Or could it be the additional grease, which made me want to get a high colonic to cleanse my system of all that oil? Either way, I give them points for their hushpuppies, which are not bad if you're able to eat them before they harden into little brown lumps of Crisco.
Inching up the food chain are (believe it or not!) Long John Silver's on Indian School and Rula Bula, the Irish pub on Tempe's Mill Avenue. According to the latter's Web site, "rula bula" is a modified Gaelic phrase meaning "uproar and commotion," but if I didn't know better, I'd guess it was Irish for "My bleedin' fish is undercooked, boyo!" Indeed, when I cut into the first piece, it was gooey and white inside. My rather surly waitress took it back to the kitchen and returned with a new platter, but the breading was as thick as Kelly Osbourne's makeup. I literally had to pick through it to find the cod beneath. Cost? $11.95 a plate.
Long John Silver's finishes just ahead of Rula Bula. Their crust is light and doesn't get in the way of the fish, and the $4.99 combo comes with fried shrimp that aren't too bad. There's no atmosphere, but the place is at least clean, and their fish doesn't taste like freezer-burn. I wouldn't have eaten there if I hadn't been doing a column. But if someone aimed a Tec Nine to my forehead and I had to choose between Rula Bula and LJS, the chain joint would win by a gill.