Word Count: 100
Summary: Even Death enjoys a bit of comfort food now and again ...
Disclaimer: I don't own him!
Death rather liked it when his duties required him to pay a visit to Britain. That damp little island was nothing special in his eyes, except for one thing.
Fish and chips.
A juicy, moist slab of cod wrapped in a thick layer of crunchy, melt-in-the-mouth batter, with a hearty portion of thick, stodgy chips, steaming hot, soft and just a touch crispy at the corners. All basking in a sea of vinegar and wrapped in yesterday’s front page.
Yes, Death pondered, his beloved America might well have mastered the puny French fry, but a delicious, real ‘chip’ was to - *ahem* - die for.