The colour scheme is turquoise and lemon; our soup bowl sat on a doily; and we received Fox’s Glacier Mints with the bill. Yet despite the kitsch, Mr Fish doesn’t have a seaside vibe. With its partitions, padded banquettes and black and white flooring, it looks more like a strangely hued US diner. The place was almost empty on a Thursday night, lending a slight Edward Hopper edge to the experience.
A starter of clam chowder was odd – but for the slivers of seafood, we could hardly have told it apart from tinned cream of chicken soup. Other options included avocado and prawn salad, breaded mushrooms, calamares, and king prawns in garlic butter. Fried in rapeseed oil, fish is offered in breadcrumbs, matzo meal or batter. We chose the latter, and our cod’s coating was crisp and light. Grilled, you pay a little more, but a big grilled lemon sole made a nice change – shovelled down with mushy peas, shimmering-hot chips and (mediocre) tartare sauce.