To the Moon!

Sometimes all it takes is for someone to mention food and I get all, "I've gotta have it."

This time it was a mention of fish and chips that got my salivary glands working overtime. That and the fact that I had no clue what I was making for dinner and inspiration was, tragically, absent. Perhaps chased into a dark corner by the idea of a cool, basement-temperature Guinness to sip alongside.

You see how easily seduced I am?

So when Dave came home, I gave him my best puppy-dog eyes, all baleful and pathetic, and he caved. Though I'd seen him start to teeter when I mentioned the Guinness and how it was just a few minutes' drive away. A quick in-and-out for dinner.

We pulled up to the Moon & Sixpence in Hollywood and, once inside, had our choice of seats, the place sparsely populated with other folks there for a beer and a bite. We chose a table near the bar at a church pew that stretches along one side, the walls behind us plastered with photos of soccer players and Irish-y knickknacks.

There was a good selection of local micros on tap, including our current fave, Hopworks' Secession Black IPA, but I stuck to my guns and ordered a Guinness and fish and chips. The Guinness came first with a perfect head of pale brown foam, and with a sip of its creamy, sour darkness I knew we'd come to the right place.

At $10.95, the fish and chips are a real bargain, comprised of a long finger of English-style battered cod, crisp and crunchy. It was set on top of a pile of terrific fries, substantially sized but not the dreaded (in my case) planks, crisp on the outside and meltingly creamy on the inside. (How do they do that?)

The tartar was basic, simple stuff, tasting like it was made on the premises rather than dumped from a jar, and was offered alongside the requisite malted vinegar and catsup, Dave's condiments of choice. We drank, we sat, we talked, we ate and, like the best pubs, it was warm and welcoming, a low-key night out when a pint and a bite feel just right.