C A Rennard

Seaside, fish and chips. Fish and chips, seaside.
I’ll be honest with you, apart from Ange’s school reunions, the only reason you will find me at a British seaside resort is the fish and chips. In fact the only time you will catch me eating fish and chips is at the seaside.
To be fair, i have eaten fish and chips away from an expance of sand, and although it may be nice, it is never the same as it is at the seaside.
Rennard is not near the sea, sat outside it eating the food you would never know you are near the seaside, beside the sea.
The reason we found ourself sat outside Rennard at 5pm and not one of the chippies down on the front was because this was our go to fish and chippery, it being only a couple of hundred yards (182.88 meters for those of you so inclined) away from where Ange lived.
Back in the day I always bought their giant haddock (Two words that were meant to be together), but as we had not long since flowed out of the pub we basically just asked for fish and chips twice. Now, not only is the fish better at the seaside, but I find the chips are too, and at Renard this was the case. It could be argued that the chips were the star of the meal, but that would do a disservice to the fish which although may have been a tiny, tiny, tiny bit too greasy was still beautiful. Chunky, flaky, white goodness.
Lovely, and no sand in sight.
This review was brought to you by the word Seaside, and the number 182.88…