McGee's Scot-Irish Pub Fish & Chips Top Lunch Catch for Any Day
Greg Wilson/Anderson Observer
There’s no shortage of places to grab lunch in Anderson, but everyone has those spots they turn to—no debate, no hesitation, just habit and happiness on a plate. Lunch Favorites isn’t a ranking or a review, and it’s definitely not another “best of” contest. Think of it more like a neighborhood conversation that wandered to food, as they always do, and someone said, “You know where I had a great meal the other day…”
These are the personal go-tos from someone who knows his way around town and a lunch menu—the sandwiches that never disappoint, the soups that feel like a small victory over a long morning, the places where the iced tea always tastes right. Because around here, consistency counts, and lunch—done well and done often—is worth celebrating.
Today’s Lunch Favorite: McGee’s Scot‑Irish Pub
At lunchtime, McGee’s Scot‑Irish Pub feels less like a downtown Anderson restaurant than a small, well‑run conspiracy against the workday. The light falls away; the room is all dark wood and low talk, the bar murmuring along to whatever soccer match happens to be streaming across the televisions. There are other temptations on the menu—lamb stew, shepherd’s pie, bangers and mash, a steak with whiskey in its past—but the regulars know there is really only one correct order between noon and two: fish and chips.
What arrives is not the soggy, dull afterthought that so often passes for pub fish in the American South. McGee’s sends out broad, golden fillets of cod, the crispy batter thin but assertive, more tailored coat than heavy overcoat, shattering at the touch of a fork to reveal fish that is hot, pearly, and improbably light. The kitchen has an equally confident hand with the chips. They are fries, technically, but that word undersells them: these are proper, pub‑style, fried to an audible crisp at the edges while still soft in the middle, the sort of potato that makes you wonder why anyone ever fussed with truffle oil. A pile of them, stacked beside the fish like cordwood, stays miraculously crunchy to the last one.
There is tartar sauce, of course—bright, a little sharp—(I also add ketchup) and a side of slaw that feels like a courtesy to the vegetable lobby. Mostly, though, this is a plate about contrasts: hot fish and cold tea, fries and slaw, the snug, almost European dimness of the dining room and the knowledge that, a block away, Anderson is going about its errands in full daylight. It’s so inviting I took a fork-first dive before remembering I needed a photo (as evidenced by the photo below where both some fries are missing and the fish has been partially devoured).
It is not hard to understand why out‑of‑towners leave talking about “some of the best fish and chips” they have had in a while, or why locals treat the place as a reliable refuge from the meat‑and‑three routine. For the Anderson Observer, it has quietly become the answer to a recurring newsroom question—where to go when you need lunch to feel, for an hour, like a small trip somewhere else.
