Sometimes the wear and tear of having a family of four (plus two pets) makes me wish I were single again.
Back in the carefree (and pet-free) days of the 1990s, I could actually go out and relax rather than going home to collapse from fatigue. Besides, back then, all I had to do was bat my eyelashes at the bartender, and I’d be awash in free tequila. Alas, no more. So it’s ironic that I was feeling younger than I have in years last week, as I relaxed in a bar after an exhausting day chock-full of kids’ activities, with no me-time.
The reason: Fish City, tucked into the sprawling retail complex that is the Arlington Highlands Lifestyle Center, a name that just cracks me up, since nobody in Arlington really has a “high lifestyle” except maybe the people there who are shelling out unconscionable amounts of cash for Cowboys season tickets. Located on the corner of Forgettable Street and Whatsitsname Road by the Arlington-Mansfield Little Gym, Fish City looks tame but, as I learned during a random weekday happy-hour visit, is anything but.
Part of a chain with locations in Arkansas, Colorado, Florida, Louisiana, and Oklahoma, as well as Texas, Fish City here has an extensive beer selection, with several standards on tap and stuff I’ve never heard of in bottles. The liquor selection is gargantuan, and I couldn’t begin to name all the available mixed drinks. (Most, I’m sad to report, are not part of any happy-hour specials.)
Having never warmed up to beer, I’m always looking for cheap ‘ritas. The happy-hour price on the Gran Gala (like Grand Marnier) with Jose Cuervo – two bucks – can’t be beat, and the pours were excellent, almost to dangerous gustatory degree, as you’ll see.
If you go, sit at the bar, even if you’re having dinner. Your bartender will present you with a complimentary sampler plate. Hopefully, you’ll get what I got: outrageously tasty oyster nachos (corn chips topped with chipotle aioli, pan-fried oysters, and a huge mound of fresh, not-mushy pico de gallo). Fish City has an extensive menu, BTW.
Coincidentally, I visited on my birthday. Upon learning this, the handsome bartender offered me a shot of my choice. Now, I stopped accepting free drinks from strange men 10 years ago, but I figured if it was on the house, then he wasn’t – technically – “buying.” Furthermore, he wasn’t that strange. Still, I had no idea what to call – for the drink, I mean. He suggested a Wedding Cake. “No thanks,” I replied. “I just had dessert.” OK, he said, a bemused expression on his face. “Then how’s about a Cheesecake?” Hmm, I thought. Didn’t I just tell him I had dessert? And back and forth this ridiculous banter went until I finally realized what the hell was going on: He was giving me the names of possible shots, names I obviously had never heard before. (The Liquid Viagra really threw me.) I stuck with my Cuervo, mainly because I’d embarrassed myself to death but also because tequila, as we all know, doesn’t play well with other libations.
Hunger came on quick, and common sense urged me to get some food in my belly, mainly to neutralize the effects of the booze but also because of the quality of my sampler. I opted for the Thai oysters. What soon arrived in front of me, though, was tasty but neither Thai nor oyster: alligator.
You’ve probably heard that our four-legged, swamp-roaming, man-eating friends taste like chicken – not true, at least according to Fish City’s version. Here, the tail parts tasted more like fried clams, which I love. I didn’t notice exactly what I was stuffing into my pie-hole until I had eaten too much to be grossed out. Thanks, Jose!
Perhaps it was the alligator/Cuervo combo, but as the evening wore on, I began feeling adventurous and decided to broaden my boozy horizons.
The Fish City Punch – described as “like a Mai Tai” – sounded promising, but the bartender was out of punch, forcing me to go for his recommendation: the Caribbean Mojito (rum mixed with passion fruit, mojito mix, and lime), which sounds better than it tasted. I had forgotten that I like rum best with dark sodas, in addition to the fact that I am no longer 25 and now require two days to recover from just a couple of drinks. – Laurie Barker James
Contact Last Call at lastcall@fwweekly.com.
