We have a close friend who teaches at a local university, whom we affectionately refer to as “the Professor.”

We share a love of all things food, wine, coffee and world travel. Many conferences and guest lectureships keep him and his suede elbow patches jet-setting across the western continents. Such broad exposure to world academics and cuisine has curated his status as a trustworthy source on all things digestible, from lobscouse to literature.

The Professor’s recent achievement of tenure had us looking for a novel restaurant to facilitate celebratory libations and cuisine we’d struggle to replicate at home. The hunt concluded when someone recalled a new-ish British restaurant currently occupying the space that had previously been some western frontier themed eatery that we’d long intended to visit but never gotten around to.

We’ll take the time here to acknowledge that British food is not often associated with celebratory dining nor any iteration of dining excellence. When the English national dish has unofficially become chicken tikka masala, it’s evident that more indigenous fare is perceived as less than compelling.

Yet we, and yes, the Professor, too, find this pejorative attitude toward British food far too narrow minded. Superlative cuisine need not be exotic, fanciful, nor beyond the comprehension of the average Joe. Meat and potatoes in their numerous forms is for many the epitome of comfort food. Enter The Great British Food Co. (whose name may or may not be an ode to Paul Hollywood).

Within the UK the number of riffs on the basic meat/potato combination is impressive. And The Great British Food Co. has ‘em all. From the classic fish ’n’ chips (tender, white and flakey with brilliant chips and no mushy green peas; be sure to grab malt vinegar) to the subtlety seasoned cottage pie, the Cornish pasty with its lovely pastry crust, an open face lamb sandwich draped in cheese sauce with more brilliant chips, and the Lancashire hot pot with large chunks of mutton, the traditional fare will fill you with warmth and lull you into a contented state of blissful relaxation. Just skip the jello based trifle. Instead? One more pint of London Pride, governor!

Pity a bloke can no longer linger at the bar and jab with the barkeep while keepin’ an eye on his football club. That place is ornamented with more large-screen tellies than there are lights on the Trafalgar Square Christmas tree. But even taking your munch back to your flat proves worth the effort. As the approving Professor advised: just be sure to crisp up those battered fish under the broiler.

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