You have reached the truth, oh faithful bloggee, regarding my unsophisticated palate. I am, at heart a chips-with-everything woman served with a slightly too-hot, mildly stewed tea. This is the place which serves that very gastronomic delight. This restaurant is behind the chip shop, accessed via a long corridor to the left. Or possibly a wormhole given the sense of having gone back in time. Formica tables and red plastic chairs bolted to the floor, woodchip swirly wallpaper and cheap prints of local views.
The menu is basic but unashamedly so - cod and chips, sausage and chips, egg and chips, burger and chips, chips and chips. The chips are fine, but not the best ever. Dark, fluffy but not too crispy. The fish is better. The cod is silky smooth with a flaky texture and the batter has an edge that gives a good gravelly crunch. Fried eggs are served with a pleasant non-gelatinous, solid white and a milky yellow, slightly runny yolk. Just about perfect if you are a yolk-dunker. I have not had the coffee here, but the tea is fine, made up in a pot beforehand and not the teabag-in-a-cup concoction you might expect. Ask for bread and butter and get the perfect side dish of thin generic white slices, liberally spread with margarine.
Just a head's up. This is a small, narrow place. There is very little room at the best of times and, when full, not crowded with a sympathetic clientele. Any kind of wheels, be they walker, buggy or sholley are viewed as obstructive and anyone struggling to get through the door is likely to meet with shrill requests to close the door. Despite your valiant attempts to hurry, if someone has to shuffle past you as you try to be seated and out of the way, expect a chorus of tutting. And no matter how helpful your nephew to expedite matters, resign yourself to the thick, martyred sighing from the table immediately behind you.