I was raised near to the sea. Salt, rock and sand run through my veins. I do not eat animals from the land, those with cloven hoof and sickly red meat. I eat only animals which have been purified in Poseidon's great chalice, the ocean. My grandfather once said to me "never trust a man who sells you fish where you cannot see the ocean". I have never had reason to question this ancient adage until today, the day that I ate at the Kingfisher Cafe.

Like its namesake, this establishment's beauty and grace is only rivalled by its ruthless efficiency in procuring fish. As I sat eating my meal, my mind drifted and I imagined the comfortable outdoor seating area as a warm, safe nest of woven reeds. I rose out of my body and watched myself transform into a fragile, newly born kingfisher hatchling. The silence which bathed the nest was broken only by the sound of beating wings and a great relief washed over me. The restaurant itself had transformed into a Kingfisher and I watched her gracefully come to rest on the edge of the nest. I was awed by her plumage, dazzling azure and orange shimmered in the waning light as I looked down on myself and her. This huntress, her eyes gleaming like black pearls, her belly swollen with newly caught fish. I watched her place her beak into my eager maw and deliver the nourishment that I needed to live. This profound gift, a symbol of love in its purest animal form, entranced me and I began to weep tears of joy and sadness.

I ordered the cod and a regular chips. The chips were recommended to me, otherwise I would have passed over them. Root vegetables like the potato make me feel much the same as red meat. Filthy, dirt covered tumours filled with saltless water. Food should not live in the ground, hiding in pathetic shame from the sun. It should swim, free in god's blue waters. That being said, the Kingfisher cafe was able to transform the humble potato into a pleasing pile of fried columns, sprinkled over with a delicious mixture of exotic herbs. It would not be an exaggeration to say that these potato chips, by their sheer deliciousness, have softened my entire opinion of 'land foods'. I now believe that a vegetable in the hands of a skilled artisan can be transformed into a worthy food.

The quality and freshness of the fish goes without saying, but I will elaborate for your benefit. I ask you, what devil or fallen god has the kingfisher cafe, more than 100 miles from the nearest ocean, conspired with to maintain the freshness of their fish on this exorbitant journey? Surely only the powers of necromancy can take what must be lifeless, old flesh and imbue it with plump, tender freshness? I jest, of course, flesh that has been tainted by necromancy is fouled by the evil of its dark magic. Just try any of the revived chicken flesh peddled by your local Haitian voodoo practitioner/delicatessen owner and you will see exactly what I mean. The Kingfisher Café clearly has Poseidon's blessing and by his grace has delivered a quality and freshness that straddles the border of the temporal and divine.

They also have a range of cold beverages, and the wait staff were exceedingly friendly and helpful.