Prince Gastronome. I don't like fish and chips; there, I said it. Well the chips I like, to be sure, but greasy, battered cuts of cod picked from toilet water, wrapped in unhygienic newspaper and served with a side of anisakiasis...ooh, pinch me...

(Anisakiasis is dangerous infection caused by a parasite found in the types of fish used for fish and chips; yes, I did my research. Would you rather I just said Crohn's disease, or something?)

It's not like I'm avoiding English food. Haggis and black pudding is on the list. I can just stand to skip this one tradition.

Yet, here we were, standing in front of a traditional English pup. It was bound to happen. We might as well get it over with. My teeth were starting to wither, and I wanted to scream disapprovingly about the latest road tax. This place was called The Lord Moon of the Hall. Its symbol was "actually" a guy holding a stein of mead, I kid you not. I had better be dodging a drunken Irishman as I walk in.

The doors were open, and we feign confidence into a location no too dissimilar to the Twisted Cork back in Prince George. I suppose that's a good sign. The establishment was covered floor to ceiling in stained wood, briefly broken up by polished brass. People were yelling and laughing, and since the tables were tightly packed, you could hear what they were yelling and laughing about. Road tax.

Being a pub, you are not waited on. You find a table, note its number, remember your order, and then take it to the bar. They deliver it when ready. My mother, the closet alcoholic (kidding) started her binge by ordering a coronet. I kept it sober with a coke. Yes, I know, why not a lager? Let me get this out right now; I don't drink. I cook with wine but never drink it. I simply don't enjoy the taste of alcohol. I will often order a coke or water, and looking at the prices of wine, it's a good mentality to have. I went for a beef and cheddar Panini. My mother followed tradition and ordered fish and chips. At least one of us will try it. I noted the table number, took it to the counter, and "projected" our order over the yelling and laughing.

The Lord Moon of the Mall looks like it had been a stone's throw from Trafalgar square as long as there's been a Trafalgar square. I doubt that's actually true. The tables were random shapes, at random heights, and surrounded by chairs of random design. We sat on a couch next to a low table with the one next to us looming over with stools. The food that arrived was somewhat unspectacular. My mother got a buzz from the coronet. I commented that the chips (fries for you ignorant Canadians) were notably undercooked. There was no panache, no frills, not even a mild garnish of parsley. I had to return to the bar to get salt and pepper, and ketchup was nowhere to be found. I got a simple pressed sandwich and a mound of French-cut potatoes. My mom enjoyed her dish, and said her chips were perfect. Must have been just me, then.

Could I recommend The Lord Moon of the Mall? I am sure I could, as much as I could recommend any pub in Prince George. Despite the accents, this is not much a deviation from any place you would find in a North American town. This was the last of the pubs, as we decided to keep to restaurants from then on. It brought up an interesting point though; why were we obligated to visit an English pub in the first place? Canadian pubs are not too different. Fish and chips are tradition but that's a dish you can find a lot of places, even in your own kitchen if you're clever and resourceful enough. And yet, I would have gotten ridiculed if I did not at least visit one and order and fish and chips. Well, we visited and one of us ordered. Now, bring on the real food...

Food: 3.5/5
Service: 2.5/5
Presentation: 3/5
Value: 3/5
Recommendation: 3/5