Tourist Tuesday: A Salt and Battery

23 Oct


My job is very physical, and I work 10-11 hour shifts. In recompense for this, my co-workers and I are allotted a three-day weekend. All of my friends gush over this and tell me how lucky I am, but in my line of work, it’s really necessary. For the last couple of months, I picked up an extra shift and was working 5-6 days a week, clocking in on average between 50-60 hours. While a lot of people do this, a lot of those people sit at a desk. Not that their jobs aren’t challenging or tiring, but there’s a difference between staring at a computer all day and lifting 60lb dogs and trying to avoid getting killed by a cat.

So now, I finally have my three-day weekends back. While I spent the last two weekends relaxing and catching up on so many things that fell by the wayside, I can already feel that three days off can get a bit much. I’ve picked up my knitting, I’ve become a football fan, I’ve been reading and writing. But I also decided that I wanted to explore my city more. I’ve been in New York for two years, and I fear I’ve fallen into a routine. With so much in the city to do and see, this is unacceptable. I subscribe to a ton of email lists, people are always telling me about cool things to do and see, I even own a 1001 things to do in New York book!

My three-day weekend is Sunday-Tuesday, so I have designated Tuesday: Tourist Tuesday, on which I will try to force myself out into the city to see something new. This week “A Salt and Battery.”

One of the best parts about New York are all the ethnic neighborhoods. It has your obvious Chinatown, Little Italy, and Spanish Harlem. But there’s also Koreatown, Little Bombay, a Dominican neighborhood, a Haitian neighborhood, a Hasidic neighborhood. Every nationality is represented, even the ones that don’t seem to need representation. For instance, there is a small street in the West Village that has a string of British places. A pub, an amazing tea house, a grocery store of British thing, and this amazing fish and chips place.

I’d been craving fish and chips for weeks. But all the places near my work were too expensive, and when I went to local bars with friends, I’d already eaten a healthy dinner at home. So I left it to Tuesday to go to the most authentic place in the city for a traditional British snack. The weather was perfect, and by perfect I mean 55 degrees, cloudy and drizzle. The perfect London weather for my British day. I threw on my raincoat and went.

The place itself is very hole in the wall, with only a couple of stools against the walls for seating. I got the Pollock and chips, as they don’t serve cod anymore. It was exactly what I wanted. I doused it in the Heinz vinegar, sat on a stool, and looked out onto the streets of the West Village, watching people scamper home from work.

The men that worked there were adorable, slinging fish with their British accents. The radio was broadcasting a station from London. It was perfect. My meal came to be about $13, including a bottle of water I bought. And it was filling. I didn’t even get to finish all my chips, which is not a common thing for me. I only wish I had room for their deep-fried Mars bars.


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