On the south coast of Britain, in the county of Cornwall between Penzance and Land's End, lies Mousehole, a fishing village with a history of over 2000 years.
On the evening of 31.07.1986, when the fisherman Samuel Goodwyn Fey was killed by his main mast in an attempt to catch the largest flounder in the history of his home country, his last thought was of his wife Martha. Martha was in the uncomfortable position of giving birth to the greatest son in the history of her homeland (the local midwife was in the arms of the local priest to test his faith in God).
In his childhood our young fisherman's son heard many stories about his father. Many good and heroic, but just as many full of fornication and escapades, often with high alcohol content. At the age of 14 he decided one day to become the reason for such stories and emulated his father to become a fisherman, and quickly signed up on all the ships he could find. Dinghies, boats, cutters...big, small, old, new, shabby and.... even shabbier.
He saw a lot in this time, things between the waves and the beach that others could not even imagine. His poor mother suffered a lot from the absence of her son. Whenever he came home for shore leave, she tried to convince him not to return to the deadly embrace of the ocean and not to end up like his father. But our young fisherman was looking for the day that would make him a legend. The catch, the adventure, the woman who would make him immortal.
When his mother made her way to the eternal fishing grounds, she only left him a letter, along with the house and lots of kitschy teacups. It contained only the words "Berlin" and "Bark". Not knowing what this was supposed to be but otherwise rather bored, our fisherman sold his house and the good porcelain, bought a fishing boat and set off on the long and arduous journey to Berlin. When he finally sailed up the Havel after 784 days (after some slight errors and detours), the rare Havel Spree suction caught up with him and catapulted his ship completely unnoticed, onto the roof of a local high-rise building.
When he awoke, he set off in search of dogs, trees and noisy unfriendly people. However, weeks later, probably also due to his lack of German, he was not one bit smarter, and one day he collapsed on our doorstep. Several glasses of gin and gravy later, our fish woke up and just whispered the words "Berlin" and "Bark" and handed us a greasy piece of paper smelling of fish and seaweed and read us the International Sign of Hunger (fingers in mouth and all...). The paper contained the recipe of the only food the fisherman had eaten in the last 2 years and, as we learned later, the only thing his body could still process...Fish and Chips
And these are exactly what you get now with us. The only condition was that we rename our shop after the fisherman...his name Freddy Fey's Fish & Fries is program.
