This is the one that nearly never was..

A couple of things happened last week (not very interesting ones so I wont bother to elaborate) which had me a tad fraught and questioning the actual wisdom in posting these ramblings. Whilst pondering the absurdity of life in general  I chanced upon this in one of those shops which sell cheap imported repro tat from China quaint little antique shops in our local town.

I've hung it on the wall at the New Pub.Its my new mantra.
So,ever onwards and upwards...

Discussions re what type of menu to put on at the New Pub have been our main thrust.Though we've a successful formula at the Inn,we were conscious that the New Pub is only 11 miles away and not wishing to dilute our audience if you get my drift,Chef came up with a novel plan.
Well,says he,we already know that people love bad food,so how about we do exactly that,but do it properly?Pub grub,homemade pies,fish and chips.Mass market stuff with broad appeal,but it'll be the best bad food they've ever tasted..
A fanfare to the common man..
So we've employed a new Chef.Following our previous form with the younger generation, we decided to go for a more *mature*applicant.
He's been around the track a couple of times, had his own place in the past,classically trained and knows how to do things properly.I think he just wanted something non too taxing with not too much pressure,a bit of a wind down..
Needless to say I don't think he bargained on the 70 odd hungry diners who tipped up unannounced on our first Friday night.
To be fair he didn't flap,just kept his head down and ploughed through it,with me plating up AND doing starters and calling the checks.I'm sure he enjoyed it though,I may even have seen a twinkle in his eye..

We've been getting along quite famously.
Though admittedly last Thursday I did have to tell him his balls weren't big enough.

Ice cream ones of course..

Apart that is,form a couple of little niggles...

Lets consider Chips.
I'd set the standard a little bit having done the kitchen on my own the previous couple of weeks. Home-made chips blanched off at low temperature then crisped off in the fryer at a high temperature once the check comes on.This produces a nicely cooked crispy chip which is pleasingly golden and easy on the eye.
On the first night with PubChef, I duly noted his chips weren't as crisp as one would have liked.

'I think you need to crank up the fryer a wee bit' says I.
'No' slowly and with deliberation  'the fryers OK as its is' says he..
Hmmm...

That night as I related the days events,Chef advised caution.
'You want to be careful you don't piss him off upset him,otherwise you'll end up doing the whole lot on your own...'
At this point  my Violet Elizabeth tendencies came to the fore,I may even have stamped my foot.
'But I WANT crispy chips'(folding arms petulantly)
Chef grinned.
'Well' said he 'you know what you need to do don't you??'
'Already done Chef,already done..' says I (triumphantly)
'You turned the fryer up when he wasn't looking???That's m'girl..'

Desperate times call for desperate measures...

His reluctance to use the temperature probe is also a slight bone of contention.
Lets be honest there are two schools of thought with this one.There's the 'I can tell if its done by the touch of my finger' Which is true.To a certain degree.But to me its more about making sure that the food isn't overcooked than checking that its cooked(though obviously high on the agenda is not picking off ones diners with a tasty but suicidal  E-Coli casserole..)
If his pinky can tell him whether a piece of fish is at the optimum 50 degree temperature(look away now EHO Inspector) when the protein has  just set or if its gone beyond this by a couple of degrees then he's a much better Cook than me..
As Chef said he's probably too old school for a probe,even when Chef did his training(he's 40 FYI) the full extent of temperature testing involved inserting a skewer into said item,then placing the skewer on ones lip-if it burnt twas done..
I think we'll have to agree to disagree on this one.
Anyhoo,as I said to Chef later,I do like a good probing....

In other news in the spirit of embracing the local community Ems and I decided an entry to the fortnightly quiz held at the New Pub was in order.
We looked forward to the picture round and subsequent shining with our worldly knowledge of current events aided in no small part by Ems encyclopaedic knowledge of all things *sleb* due to her ongoing subscription to Grazia.
Then this.

Need I say more?

PS I don't dare publish Chefs eagerly awaited daily  missive via the text message to the landline medium on this particular subject....

Pub landlady cleans up soot damage left by Southern Comfort drinking coalman at Jamaica Inn

I bumped briefly into our butcher this morning for the first time in a couple of weeks,due to the inordinate amount of  time I'm spending at the new pub.



Hello stranger!Hows it going up on the hill?? says he. *knowing big wink*
Self:Not bad thanks
Butcher:Interesting eh?????(Folding arms slowly,relaxing one leg and waiting for the gory details)
Self:Yes its great thanks,loving it....(lying through teeth)

To be honest I'm afraid the New Pub might be a bit more of a challenge than I had first anticipated.I haven't yet furnished you with the full story..
It was reopened a couple of years ago following a lengthy campaign by villagers to prevent it being turned into a residential home,having been closed for more than a decade.In the two years since the reopening two or three landlords have passed through...

Over the last couple of weeks I've seen things that never in a month of Sundays did  I expect to see in a pub..

On the first night a fellow strolled up to the bar, black from head to toe apart from his ginger hair which was teazled into a Gummidge inspired style and the large gold signet ring on his wedding finger.
'He must be the coalman' I whispered..
'I didn't know coalmen still existed' said Ems
Self:Well of course they still exist,where do you think we get the bleeping coal from???
Thankfully,Tesco Direct have yet to infiltrate that particular market..
He smirked and offered his hand to me.I knew it was a test.I rose to the challenge then feigned an excuse to depart to the kitchen to wash ones hands after failing to inconspicuously dislodge the damage onto the seat of ones arse jeans.. .
Surprisingly he was a double Southern Comfort and lemonade aficionado. Well blow me down with a feather, I didn't see that one coming.By the end of the evening, being well oiled and a tad unsteady on his steel toed boots,he stotted in a side to side motion down my previously buffed back passage steadying himself all the while on my newly painted Burnt Verdigris walls..Sadly a black smudge frieze on a wall doesn't do it for me.Thank gawd for Cif.

Then,last Saturday afternoon a middle aged couple approached the bar.Swarthy looking types, faint hint of a moustache.
Conversely the husband was clean shaven.Ordering themselves a couple of ales,they took a cosy seat by the fireside where the wife produced her KNITTING from a very large Tapestry bag then,proceeded to knit for the next hour and a half.Not a word was spoken.Now I wondered what the crack was with this, so I googled knitting and apparently these two are bang on trend as knitting is once again a popular pastime amongst the rich and famous.Though to be honest I cant see Gwyneth Paltrow sizing up a half finished garment to Chris Martins back in a pub..Truly not a sight one sees very often..

I don't regard myself as a city slicker,the Inn is undoubtedly in a rural location,but it is almost within spitting distance of a small market town.The New Pub locals regard *small market town*as the bright lights.We had to put the prices up(one has to make a profit) there's been a bit of opposition, feedback has been on the lines of: 'but them's *small market town* prices...'
I've been feeling like the landlady at Jamaica Inn,every time the front door opens I'm beginning to hear a howling noise as the wind blows,yesterday I swear tumbleweed followed a customer through the door.
'Its blowing a hoolie oot thar' says he.That's the other thing,its windy.All the time...
Today someone asked to order a *nosebag* and no it wasn't for his horse..
And men wear *strides* not trousers round these parts..

Anyhoo, apologies in advance that toilets/drainage seem to be a recurring theme,but yesterday we had another little incident.It appeared the water wasn't draining away from the upstairs loo.Following prolonged efforts with plunger and rubber gloves,still no joy.
I decided to leave it and  returned to the kitchen to do some lone prep for lunchtime(following last weeks sacking).Ems Mum had kindly brought some duck eggs down from the farm so I thought I'd knock up some Duck egg and smoked bacon mayonnaise for the sarnie menu.They were so bloody fresh I was having difficulty peeling them and was muttering incoherently to myself when I felt a drip of water plop on my head.
To cut a long story short we had to call out an emergency plumber as the water was seeping through the joints in the soil pipe from the loo sited conveniently directly above the kitchen.
At £80 call out plus £40 for every 15minutes thereafter I was hoping the problem would be resolved quickly.
I left Ems to deal with the plumbers(dour chaps not much crack).Presently I heard excited shouts with my name interspersed in the din.
I ran from the kitchen with the half peeled egg still in my hand.
Plumber:'COME HERE YOU'VE GOT TO SEE THIS'
I gingerly peered down the manhole cover and witnessed a six inch wide solid mass slowly emerging from the waste pipe.
Ems was on the periphery of the activity whimpering,silent tears rolling down her cheeks.
Plumber:I've never seen anything like it,its this long(stretches arms wide at full length)at least ten feet,compacted right up the soil pipe,at least a couple of months worth there.'
He was quite animated unlike his demeanour on his earlier arrival.
Well at least someone had some job satisfaction..

From the comfort of his provincial though close to civilisation kitchen, with wall to wall hotcupboard,tattie rumbler and hot lamps,Chef was blissfully unaware of the dramas that were unfolding far off the beaten track.

When news filtered back to the ranch, the old text message to landline chestnut was called into play once again.

'Oh dear...there was a big fat sausage in the loo pipe'

I fear the lady from Masterchef is the only thing that's keeping us going at the moment...

Hard boiled egg anyone???

History teacher sacks Kitchen Hand and promotes self to Head Chef

You know that saying 'it never rains but it pours'? Well folks,last week we experienced a veritable monsoon.
Worryingly I lost track of the date and time in a frenzy of relentless cleaning,trips to the tip and Fired Earth paint(Chef valiantly attempted to steer me towards the B & Q own brand but obviously failed).
The refurbishment has not been unproblematic,for example:

• Bubbling drains backing up under the floor of the gents and making an unsolicited entrance through the grate on the floor.Lately I seem to be dogged with toilet troubles,though the request that one of the tradesmen  'buff up my back passage ' did lighten the mood somewhat..
• A central heating system stuck permanently in the 'on' position resulting in a full tank of oil 1000 litres (don't ask how much)being burnt in a week

Dysfunctional kitchen equipment including:

• an oven door held closed by a hard spile (who says men cant multi task?)

• Fridges running at a balmy English summertime 18 degrees.
• Freezers packed to the rafters with 'food waste'.This in particular made me very sad( and for all you grammar pedants I'm not talking about the offensive apostrophe usage).

As did  a whole freezer dedicated to that doyen of English culinary hospitality: the venerable Yorkshire pud.

Some conveniently individually cling filmed

Some free falling

In the midst of the mayhem and the twice daily drive between pubs,something had to give namely the 45 minutes spent blow drying ones fairly long and very thick hair.An unplanned stop at the local hair salon and the request for something a bit shorter and less labour intensive resulted in a cut verging dangerously on the functional and tidy rather than the aesthetically pleasing.You know the sort of cut women of a certain age adopt when they've given up trying?
On seeing the new look Chef smirked and acerbically quipped 'you look like a history teacher'.I think that's a compliment..
On the plus side the hairdresser was delighted,as apparently people with hair like mine are the reason she was 'starting to develop weightlifters arms'.
Despite all this the new pub is slowly starting to take shape.

Told you there was a potential cosy corner..

We've inherited a 'Chef'(and I use this term folks in the loosest possible sense) whom I tasked to thoroughly clean the kitchen and dispose of all the foodstuffs therein.This Friday we managed to put on a very limited menu,just some light dishes and sandwiches.'Chef Manque'offered to knock up his secret recipe red onion marmalade to go with the pate.The other ingredient being Orange Cordial.This also made me very sad.
I've been watching him like a hawk,trying to prevent his hands coming into contact with any of the food items..his hygiene practices were imaginative to say the least.My eyes alighted on a couple of plastic nozzle topped bottles stored in the under counter fridge.You know the squeezey ones with which some Chef types like to squiggle on the plates(not my style at all).One containing Raspberry Vinaigrette,the other Mustard vinaigrette,both with snotty deposits around the bottle tops,similar to the stuff you find on a well used ketchup bottle.Ick.
'We wont be using these' I say tipping the contents down't sink.'Can you get them cleaned please'
Two minutes later I witnessed him with the nozzle in his gob,red cheeked and forcefully blowing the darn thing like a bugle.Which of course may well have been an appropriate accompaniment to the plethora of microwave pings which he had been accustomed to hearing.
'There must be a mustard seed caught in the end' says he.
Christ Almighty.
If I hear one more time about his Sticky Choccy Mocha Cake with Butterscotch sauce and white chocolate sauce and a drizzle of raspberry coulis, I might well ram the offending creation right up his bleeping jacksy.Along with the 'smoked salmon on a bed of creamy mashed potato,topped with a cheesey mustard sauce'(its lush,flies out)..
He's also been late for every shift.
He had to go.Being Sunday and Chef catering for 100 plus diners at the Inn, it fell on my toes to impart the dirty deed.
Our accommodating veg supplier offered to call over to New Pub as back up just in case he kicked off.I love it when ones custom is so valued that suppliers go that extra mile..'all part of the service' he said.
I declined of course.
I lay in wait for him this morning, hoping he would be predictably late as usual.He was.
Telling a thirty five year old that you have no confidence in his ability or commitment to do the job to the required standard isn't an experience I enjoyed.He left without much fuss though.Phew.

Later I felt a whole lot better when on my hands and knees I pulled three pans out from under the sink with food waste growing in them.Gawd knows how long these had been there.
Enough penicillin to treat the population of the local hinterland and beyond.

The lazy bleeper had it coming,its people like him that give cheffing a bad name..
Presently I received a text message of support via the landline (no mobile network at the New Pub) from Chef. Imagine this if you will, read in the Masterchef voice over mode:

'Hurrah,hurrah the troll has gone'

Cheered me up no end..

Oh and one other thing. I've had an unexpected assistant who has diligently painted with new found fortitude following his unforeseen five day suspension exclusion from school due to(and I quote):
'standing outside the assembly hall window,pulling faces at the Year 9 students participating in orchestra practice,whilst smoking what appeared to be a spliff'
I kid you not.
The shame.

How to get rid of your customers

Running rural pub isn't a bed of roses.Frankly without a decent food trade you haven't got a flying feck of making it pay.
With that in mind theres a couple of pointers you might just want to bear in mind should you ever fancy chancing your luck in this trade.

Dog cage featuring bowl and niffy blanket

Firstly,try siting a feature dog cage complete with feeding bowl and assorted canine accoutrements directly in front of the bar.Does this cry out to you 'come and eat here'??
A complete no brainer.

How about this?Fancy a tinkle on the old joanna?

Potential cosy corner

A bad photo. I've managed to make this look better than it actually is.Note the plastic plant pot proudly displayed in the central position,the plant(a cactus)shrivelled and dusty, these plants are NOT attractive.Though it and the piano made cosy bedfellows .Perfect choice to see off your customers with a subliminal sign see below:

Traditional two fingered send off

or the modern one(limp) finger salute

Or how about a quick game of Scrabble to sharpen up your brain skills?

Clutter central

Not a terrible idea,but  to be sure of success please stack tatty boxes untidily in FULL view on a WINDOWSILL,illuminated by a tasteful bedside lamp.

Or how about a game of pool?

Delightful Pool view

Site your gaming table in full view of the dining area.Make sure there's some random table tops and other assorted junk in view,it will take the diners minds off any inconsistencies in the food.As will the disturbance of the flashing lights and nudging noises emanating from the pinball machine,any diner returning after this experience would have to be particularly determined.

Strict adherence to the above will  guarantee a high success rate.If customers continue to frequent your establishment perhaps you may need to resort to the following initiative..

Following our observations above,we tootled down to the nearest village to have a quick shufty round the other local hostelries.
There were two pubs,the first looked a little scruffy,paint peeling from the signage,but encouragingly some attractive looking lamps in the window.Love a nice flocked lampshade,swings it for me every time.
Approaching the bar we were greeted warmly by a jovial chap sporting one of those darts type shirts.You know the black short sleeved epauletted ones which flap in the breeze around the midriff area,skirted on the underside by a pair of low slung black polyester trews?
I requested a cup of coffee.
 Darts Man being a surprisingly perceptive chap, advised apologetically :

'Its only filter coffee I'm afraid,none of those fancy coffees here pet'
'Thats ok' I say 'Filter coffee's fine'
'Take a seat and Ill bring it over' said Darts man.
What a canny fellow I think.
Chef and Ems had beers.

We sat down in a quiet corner to plan our offensive with the new pub.10 minutes later my coffee still wasn't forthcoming.

'I wonder if he's forgotten' I say.
No sooner had the words escaped my cake ole than Darts man appeared with a tray bearing a nice cafetiere of steaming hot coffee and some spanking clean white crockery.

'Sorry about the wait' says he 'I'd ran out of milk so had to pop over to the Co-op to get some for you'.
My instincts were affirmed,what a canny fellow.

'That's no problem' I say.
The coffee was lovely.
Though to be honest I wouldn't have chanced a meal here.

The next pub was smarter in a branded chain pub sort of way.There was a bit of a Bet Lynch type behind the bar,though not as attractive as the telly version if that makes any sense.Stern and unwelcoming.St Michaels finest square print patterned blouse in shades of Jade green and Cornflower blue,lots of gold chains,gypsy earrings and overpowering perfume.Probably miffed because we'd disturbed her tea and Hob Knobs.
I threw caution to the wind and ordered half a lager.Another beer for Chef and Ems.
We took a cosy table next to the fire.There was a table of diners but disconcertingly two Chefs ensconced at the other table chatting.Not a good sign at 1pm.But then again not really much prep to do if there's only a freezer bag or two to snip open.
Ems noticed there was lippy on her glass so went to change it.Bets eyes narrowed as she tipped the contents into a fresh glass but disappointingly no apology was proferred.
We leant forward to continue our clandestine discussions.

'Oh no' said Ems 'There's lippy on this glass too...'
'Just go and ask her for a straw' I say..then in a quick change of heart: 'no go and ask her for a clean glass, you've paid for the drink you're entitled to have a clean glass to drink it from...'
Nobody should accept poor standards.

I watched Ems politely point out the offending red lippy.Bet picked up a glass from the shelf and thrust it towards her.
'Here do you want to inspect(heavy emphasis) this one before I tip your drink in???'

'No' said Ems, channelling her best Oliver Twist voice 'Id just like a clean glass please'

Bet made a big show of holding the glass up to the light,frowning disapprovingly as Ems returned to the table.

'I think she needs some new Geps' said Chef.

It appears there's not really much competition round this neck of the woods.
Good.

This is the one where we finally lose the plot.

You know in these times of austerity and widespread economic hardship we consider ourselves very lucky indeed to be at the helm of a successful business.We heard a couple of weeks ago that the pub has finally made it into the last of the guide books which we weren't in(toot toot)
So a very comfortable position for us,time to kick off our shoes,sit back a little,rest our heads on the antimacassars and toast our toes in front of a roaring fire.
A chance to feel a welcome respite from the pressure and enjoy the fruits of our labour,perhaps even take up a HOBBY.( I do actually have one in mind for when I retire, its a bit controversial might tell you about it at a later date..)
Actually no..
You know when you are chasing something and the anticipation is such that you can constantly  feel the excitement of getting close to your goal,but its just out of your reach and there's the danger that you might not quite make it?
I think its called adrenalin.(Or maybe the build up is invariably better than the main event,if you get my drift).
Then when you finally get there,it all feels a little bit,well FLAT...
We should be feeling like Charlie Bucket after he's discovered Willy Wonka's Golden Ticket,but what we actually feel like doing is going in search of another ticket..

Chef summed things up with typical but accurate brevity:
'That's it then..Its all a bit boring now isn't it'
Followed by:
'What are we going to do next ?'

Rural pubs are still closing at a rate of knots.Anyone entering this business in the current climate would need their head examining.

A glance at the trade press and its easy to find some amazing bargains just crying out for someone with a bit of enthusiasm(well to be honest you need more than enthusiasm,a bit of expertise and some spare cash wouldn't come in wrong) to snap them up..

(Its becoming a tad obvious where this is going isn't it..)


Imagine if you will,a rural pub,even further off the beaten track than this one, which is about to close its doors.A dying business,just waiting for someone to breathe new life into it.
Imagine balancing two businesses,one a thirty minute drive from the other,setting up one(this is the bit we're particularly interested in), whilst not taking ones eye off the ball with the other..now that would pose one hell of a challenge.

We pick up the keys in two weeks time.

I think there's a fair chance we're a couple of serial business start up offenders,hopefully this one wont be the first to go pear shaped...

Bizarrely I found this today,amongst the selection of antique books which I have scattered around the pub for customers to browse:

No one admits to leaving it and its certainly not one of mine..
Do you think its an omen??

So if things go a bit quiet on here for a while,you know why.
You can follow the chaos developments on Twitter @mynewpub ,if you're interested...

Friction in the ranks

There's a run down pub in a village not very far away from here that's recently been purchased and has been the subject of quite an extensive refurbishment.
Today, I eavesdropped Compo,Clegg and Foggy having a good old chinwag about the money that's reputedly  been spent by the new owners.There was a lot of sniggering going on,lots of nudging and secretive whispering followed by raucous laughter,which needless to say sparked my interest.In truth, the comment which made me sit up and listen was the reference that 'it was obvious that one of the new owners hailed from the Big Smoke,due to his mode of attire'.

I was intrigued to discover which item of clothing in particular identified this fellows origins so precisely.Apparently the dead giveaway were the 'crumpled cream slacks' which are only ever seen on chaps from the Big Smoke ...

To put this observation in perspective,we are actually in the heart of Johnnie Boden/Fat face country here,so anyone wearing something even remotely cosmopolitan would be viewed as controversial.In fact on a Friday evening I would be very surprised if you looked around the bar and didn't manage to spot the same(current season of course) Fat Face sweatshirt at least twice.

Ahem,how can I put this diplomatically.. the gist of the conversation centred on the hilarity and exquisite aptness that these particular two gentlemen incomer owners had purchased a pub so named: 'The Queens Arms'.

This week saw the erection of the new pub sign:

The sign has caused a bit of an uproar,with some villagers even citing the outrage as treason..You probably cant make the out the detail from this picture but the tat on Lizzies arm appropriately depicts the name 'Phil'.

One of the partners has been quoted as advising that the cartoon represents his mother,his fathers name being 'Phil'.(Before you ask- no his name isnt Eddie)
The article in the local rag outlining the blasphemy contains the best quote I've seen in some time,possibly ever.
The local squire landowner(a Major no less),and regular customer of ours, was quoted thus: *dons raspberry corduroy pants,tan suede brogues,sucks in cheeks and adopts exceedingly plummy accent*:-


'some of our villagers are JOLLY CROSS..'

How I wish worldwide conflict could be resolved so politely..

Personally though not offended, I'm baffled at the audience a sign such as this seeks to target.Certainly not the betweeded ladies/gentlemen(of which there are plenty in these parts) who grace our fireside.

For some reason instead it evoked the memory of this particular gem:

BTW:We're off to check out the opposition next Monday.

What I ate on St.Valentines Day

 8am-Mug of Earl Grey tea,bowl of yoghurt with blueberries
(I know out of season but special offer in Waitrose)

11am-2 Cadburys Creme eggs(80p each now-can you believe that?) and a bottle of Lucozade in the car on a 40 mile round trip up the Dales to view a pub

3pm-A bag of Salt 'n' Vinegar Hula Hoops,a Galaxy Ripple and a Cappuccino (back at home).

As you can see basically nothing eaten all day (other than trash),so ready for a good feed..

6pm-Newcastle Quayside for drinks,looking at The Sage across the river.

The Millennium Bridge at night

 7.15pm-We arrive at the restaurant politely on time,we like this place, treated our staff to their Christmas meal here.Quite a raucous evening(hope we're not recognised).
We were offered the regular menu or the 'Valentines Special Menu' (see below).Due to our line of work its the first Valentines night we've been out in twenty years, so we decide to treat ourselves and opt for the special.

Chef is allergic to squid,so we requested they leave this off the platter(just in case of fatality).We cheekily asked if we could have a couple of crispy chicken wings instead from the regular menu.

Chef enquired if the beef was served medium rare.

'It can be if you like'replied the waitress.

'Yes, medium rare please'said Chef.

We sat back to enjoy our drinks whilst waiting for the seafood platter starter to arrive.A chilled Chablis for me,Becks blue for Chef(driving again-he pulled the short straw).

The seafood platter.

4 scallops,3 shell on king prawns,two chicken wings(bottom left-cropped off photo),half a lobster.Bowl of rocket salad.The small white pot is the Calamari which was sent anyway-I wondered if the waitress hadn't realised that this was the squid Chef was allergic to.Sadly it was of no use to use us, I couldn't eat this either as it was breadcrumbed(gluten allergy).

We frowned quizzically in unison, as a small bowl of 4 turned (torpedo shaped)potatoes and some greens arrived at the table (just out of shot on the photo).

'Thats a bit weird' says I.

'Mmm indeed,yes' said Chef,tucking in anyway..'probably meant for another table..'

I allowed Chef to gorge the lions share of the platter as I was looking forward to filling up on the rib of beef.

I politely consumed:

• 1 prawn
• 2 Scallops
• half of a half of lobster(2 bites)
• 1 turned potato
• greens

 We sat back and awaited our rib of beef with anticipation.Presently,I nipped out to the loo.As I returned I observed the waitress was back at the table with menus.

'Would you like any desserts or coffee?'
'What??'said Chef....'what about our main course??'
Short stunned silence....
'But the seafood platter was your main course..'
'I thought it was a bit weird that it came with a bowl of spuds'  says I..'but we asked you if we could have the beef medium rare and you said Yes that's ok...'

The waitress  gave us a look of horror, then with out a word ran to the safety of the bar and didn't return to our table for the remainder of the evening.
A hard faced bitch different waitress was despatched to our table.
'Ill just explain what the sharing desserts are'  she advised condescendingly.......'because its quite complicated..'
'Its ok' said I, sheepishly, 'we're not stupid....'

We didn't bother with the sharing dessert.The evening had become a tad flat b'now.

Pannacotta

Rhubarb trifle

8.30pm-Just over an hour after our arrival bill £74.50 paid, but sadly hunger not sated....

 9pm- back at home,Chef felt sorry for me and made this.

And I ploughed my way through half of these.

Question:-Are we a couple of planks? or would you have made the same mistake??

There's a valuable lesson to be learned from this experience.Always instruct staff that if they're unsure of what any diner has ordered to clarify at the table and not to make assumptions.I mean, did she think we were enquiring after the rib of beef out of polite interest??

Had we been informed the seafood platter was a main course:

a.we wouldn't have ordered it in the first place(would have preferred the beef)

b.we would have ordered starters.

c.we wouldn't have gone away disappointed

d.she wouldn't have cost the restaurant in lost revenue.

(Oh and one other thing,why didn't she offer us something else when she knew we were still hungry???)

Next year we're going to open for business as usual and fleece some unsuspecting diners instead..

much simpler.......

Service!

I'm not really one for reality TV programmes but I've really enjoyed watching Michels Roux's service.Aren't Michel and Fred Sirieilx such brilliant ambassadors for the industry? So much enthusiasm, professionalism and patience with the trainees,I hope the programme helps to raise awareness in this country of Front of House service as a possible career choice rather than just a stopping off post to something else.

I once met Monsieur Albert Roux, albeit briefly.
Many years ago I worked at a country house hotel.The Sous Chef was a nasty piece of work who made the lives of all the waiting staff a living hell. At the time Gary Rhodes was at the height of his TV Chefdom.Sharing a name with his idol was a constant source of pleasure to Gary Sous Chef,predictably, his hair was pimped up in a similar fashion.God I hated him with a passion.
I'm a strong believer that if you wait long enough,the opportunity will present itself to give individuals such as this their come uppance.
News filtered up from reception late one afternoon that Monsieur Albert Roux would be arriving later that evening.Never being one to miss out on an opportunity for self promotion,Gary Sous Chef conscientiously offered to stay back late after service in the event that the great man might require any manner of  refreshment.
He spent all evening preparing a plate of canapes,consisting mainly of smoked salmon and cream cheese pin wheels which were a staple on every buffet at the time.Quite basic stuff really.There were a few other bits and pieces, nothing notable.The plate of delicacies was placed in the fridge with a damp tea towel on top to prevent the treats from drying out.(Yes folks, that's how those assorted buffet sandwiches are kept moist prior to being displayed on your buffet..the Chef will hold a clean(hopefully)tea towel under the cold tap,then wring it out and place carefully over the top of the flat of sarnies.Delicious).
That evening I wheeled the plate of delicacies up to Monsieur Roux's room on a linen clad hostess trolley(country house hotel style).Later, I returned to collect said trolley and when arriving back at the kitchen, as expected Gary Sous Chef was waiting eagerly to check the contents of the plate(yes that's also what we do,check your plates to see if you've left anything..).It had all been eaten.His face was beaming with contentment,he actually flashed me the first smile Id ever had from him,he was positively basking in the reflected glory of his success and fishing for further positive feedback:
'What did he say??Did he like them???'
My chance had finally come.I looked up at him and smiled.I held his gaze,just for a minute to prolong his agony.I spoke calmly and in even tone:

'You bloody idiot,do you really think that a man such as that,coming as he does from the very Temple of Gastronomy is going to be impressed by your bloody stupid poncey salmon sandwiches??Is that the best you can do??The reason he ate them is because he's been travelling all bloody day and he's bleeping starving.Alternatively, he may have binned them in the room to avoid upsetting you,Id have a word with the chambermaids in the morning if I was you...'
Past experience taught me that I had around ten seconds before he exploded.I counted down from ten in my head...

10,9..
look of disbelief beginning to register on his face...
8,7
 breathing becoming short and laboured...
6,5
Starting to fill up with colour,face twitching uncontrollably..
4,3
visibly shaking with anger now,not much more time to go,but I stayed as long as I dared..to enjoy the moment...
2,1
lift off....

I ran ,feet barely touching the non slip safety flooring to the refuge of the fine dining restaurant.
I could see him through the port hole in the door.He didn't dare cross the line between kitchen territory and front of house.He looked like the Incredible Hulk shaking his fist at me,beetroot red though, not green.I strolled around a bit in his line of vision,glancing up periodically and smiling contentedly,I may even have waved at him..
I steered well clear of the kitchen for the next few days,staff meals were an absolute no no, just in case he pulled the laxative trick.
I survived the next few days on dried out leftover banqueting meals courtesy of the Alto Sham.It was worth it though,it may well indeed have been my finest hour...

Service standard can have such an impact on the eating out experience. I'm not saying outstanding service can make up for a bad meal but it definitely softens the blow, as Fred rightly said in the programme:
' if you smile you can get away with anything'.
Well almost anything..

Last Monday we ate at a local pub where one of the Masterchef semi finalists *may* in fact be Chef. Rather than post a negative review,I thought we'd just use the experience as a positive learning curve..


We didn't have a reservation but being a Monday we just headed out on the off chance.
Approaching the bar we were asked if we would like a table.A good start.It was 6pm and wasn't busy.We purchased a drink and were left standing at the bar like a couple of spare parts.After about 10 minutes we were shown to a table.Now at this point there were very few people in the pub,and no one ordering food.

Lesson 1:
Always get early diners seated quickly so that you can get an order to kitchen promptly, thus avoiding a backlog later.Easy.

Seated at the table we were presented with a menu and asked if we would like to 'order a bottle of wine for the table'.(for the table?? what an odd turn of phrase..)
'No' I replied 'Ill just stick to glasses' Chef was driving(his turn).
With the delay,at this point our drinks were almost finished(no flies on us).
In addition to the printed menu,we were informed there was also a specials board which we could choose from(in the bar)so trudged back to the bar to look at it.
We enjoyed a further 10-15 mins chat before our order was taken
Lesson 2:
If there's a specials menu not visible from the seating area,make sure you point this out to your guests prior to sitting at the table(we observed this happen twice more-some of the diners were elderly and moderately infirm)..Or here's a novel idea, why not get the waiting staff to advise diners personally at the table of the specials,providing an opportunity for some dialogue???

By now our drinks were quaffed,frustratingly we were sitting with vacant glasses.
In the time we'd sat at the table waiting for our order to be taken four more tables were seated.The dining area was quite large,yet the staff chose to seat everyone at the top end of the restaurant on tables sited cosily together.So close, that once chairs were pulled out waiting staff  could not negotiate the gap between without asking diners to shuffle chairs in.We were in the middle of the melee,surrounded on all sides.
The waiting staff(we observed 8)were all congregated at the other end of the restaurant unable to see easily what was going on.It was a game of two halves,'arry.We wondered how long it would be before we were offered another drink.After 20minutes with empty glasses I was parched.Chef wondered if he should make an expedition to the the bar to procure another round,but didn't fancy attempting the narrow space between the tables.He stayed put.The waiting turned into a test of how long it would be before we were offered a beverage.
Lesson 3:
Make sure your staff are positioned so they can easily observe what is going on at diners tables and don't crowd everyone into one area if you don't need to.


As we played the waiting game,we observed staff speedily take orders from all four tables that were now seated, in the space of about 5 minutes.Lets think this through.Though there's more space and usually more staff(except in ours) in a commercial kitchen, why cause unnecessary pressure?Imagine plating up meals at home for 20 people when you could choose to do a few at a time.The same principles apply to a commercial kitchen, I often think people surmise all meals are in the oven cooking just on the off chance the local rugby team might stop by for dinner.Oddly, they're only cooked if someone orders them,so if 20 people order meals at the same time inevitably there will be a wait.Seemples.
Lesson 4:
Stagger the orders in order to avoid the kitchen being in the shit and subsequent unhappy diners.




By now we were seriously considering squeezing past the other diners to solicit a drink,it had got to that stage where one was beginning to regret cutting off ones nose to spite ones face(I mean I only get one night off per week what's the point in going thirsty just for the sake if a stupid test?)
At this point a waitress came over to tell us that our food wouldn't be long.Yes you've guessed it we had been waiting a while *obviously* since all the orders had been checked on together..I was just about to order myself a drink when she spotted the empty glasses and offered.Thank God.We'd sat for 35 minutes at this point..
Lesson 5:
Offer additional drinks to guests a regular intervals.Its the easiest way to increase sales/ensure the profitability of the business- I never refuse a drink if its suggested..


For a further 35 minutes we amusedly observed diners at the tables around us becoming increasingly agitated due to no meals appearing and during which time the eight waiting staff remained at the far end of the room with no interaction with the guests.Every time the kitchen door opened 20 heads turned with eager anticipation,we heard the phrase 'this must be ours' muttered repeatedly. Coincidentally, I once worked with a girl who took great pleasure in purposely doing exactly this.By the time she was finished with her guests they were more akin to a Centre court crowd at Wimbledon than a restaurant full of diners.Tres amuseant..
Lesson 6:
Don't keep going into the kitchen if its not to collect meals,this will only heighten the sense of disappointment for diners as their hopes are repeatedly raised,then dashed.


Our meals came out first.This is mine.

Savoy overload

At this point Id like to go back to the comment made by Fred :
'If you smile you can get away with anything'.


And Chefs:

Rare steak?......methinks not.And look at all that cutlery on the table-we hadn't even ordered a pud...

Now, if we'd had attentive service and an all round enjoyable evening then perhaps the meal I was finally presented with might have seemed a little better.It certainly wasn't disgusting,
The lamb chops had obviously been cooked 'Sous vide'.They were very tender(almost sponge like in appearance) though not particularly tasty.The fat was white and flabby. I've been reading up a bit more on this subject and have had a few conversations on Twitter about this cooking method. I've come to the conclusion that it has its place though we're still undecided as to whether it will suit our style of cooking.Clearly on this occasion the vac pack and waterbath hadn't been used correctly,the meat was unseasoned and it certainly needed to be finished off in a pan to crisp.I wondered whether the Chef had been forced to cut corners due to the checks all coming on together and whether he'd been forced to compromise standards in order to get the meals out in a reasonable time.Maybe he cut out the last important(but vital) stage of the cooking process  and simply snipped the vac bag and placed the lamb on the plate.The temptation to do this under pressurised situations must definitely exist.
As one Chef said to me the other day:'you cant replace skill with equipment'.And if the equipment isn't being used correctly then its there's no point.


Full marks to the Chef though for picking up on the fact that I'm anaemic..


Finally,
Lesson 7:
Having the proverbial 'more staff than customers' doesn't guarantee good service. Far better to have four well trained staff who are kept busy,than eight who are standing idle. If staff look busy diners will be more patient and it will buy an up-the-wall kitchen valuable time...

Rack of lamb cooked in the conventional fashion,outside caramelised,pink in't middle.

PS.This is the lamb dish which we had on our menu last night,not wanting to blow ones own trumpet,but I know which one Id rather eat..

Chef's Ass

Calm down.This isn't what you think it is,if you've stumbled by as a result of some dodgy internet search then I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed.Lets just take a moment to admire John Wayne's statuesque pose whilst you sling your hook.

I had a bit of a panic on yesterday lunchtime.We couldn't get the door to the pub open which when you think about it is quite fundamental to the success of the business.We messed around pulling at the door in case the torrential overnight rain had resulted in it swelling and the lock not turning(even going out via the back door and coming round the front to give it an almighty kick) but despite prolonged fiddling the key still refused to turn.By five past twelve there were around twenty people queued up outside who ordinarily might have been amused by the comedic shenanigans but given the gale force winds and rain I'm sure there were better ways to spend ones Saturday lunchtime.
In desperation I sent for Chef,perhaps his brute force might effect a result.As he stepped up to the oche I glimpsed a momentary look of dismay on his face as he clocked the increasingly impatient punters queueing orderly outside.He glanced briefly at me then calmly took hold of the handle and effortlessly pushed open the door.
The reason the key wouldn't turn was because it was already open,in fact it had remained unlocked ALL NIGHT.

 It was obvious Chef was now questioning the wisdom of  last nights late poker game and subsequent unsatisfactory short sleep.
You see, normally he is the responsible one in our relationship,he follows me around turning off electrical appliances,locking doors and has only recently convinced me to stop  leaving my car keys in the ignition 'just so I know where they are'.(serial car keys misplacer).He's very organised and meticulously plans ahead, unlike Moi who much prefers to let things happen,on the odd occasion I have witnessed the phrase 'daft as a ships cat' directed at me.
Unsurprisingly, he always takes responsibility for battening the hatches at night.
So in a rare and unexpectedly welcome role reversal, I was strutting around the kitchen with an unbearably smug face and Chef was uncharacteristically quiet.
By late afternoon the Karma police had caught up with him,clearly all was not well.

I  sensed by his waddling gait that there was indeed a problem.
I suspected he may be suffering a particularly shockingly severe case of Chef's Ass.
What's Chefs Ass I hear you say?

(NB Also known in the trade as Chefs A*se I've avoided this word in an effort to avoid being inundated with  Chef fettish interweb surfers of which there must be MANY judging by the search words which have brought weirdos individuals to this blog in the past few weeks..)

Well let me tell you, Chefs Ass *big wink* is no laughing matter.
Chefs Ass, *adopts serious face* is an occupational hazard of the busy Chef,which strikes without impunity or warning.A debilitating and quite painful condition usually occurring following extended periods endured in hot and sweaty kitchen temperatures, the resultant chafing twixt the cheeks of the ass causing extreme soreness and discomfort.

'Everything all right' (smirking).

'yes fine' (clearly not fine..)

I snapped this sneaky photo as Chef plated up at the pass.Please note,adopting a John Wayne stance is not his usual Modus Operandi...

Later that night my suspicions were confirmed(YESS!!) as I went to turn off the light in the Gents loo and something caught my eye just inside the cubicle.The sprinkling of fine white powder visible on the floor(no not that sort of powder,that sort of thing doesn't go on in this neck of the woods..)was a dead give away.

You see,the only product that successfully relieves the symptoms of Chefs Ass is a liberal dusting over the affected area with cornflour.The silky properties of this particular store cupboard ingredient  both soothes and lubricates the inflammation,allowing the delicate surface skin to recover. 

(BTW I've often wondered if Custard powder, preferably Birds,would do a similar job..has anyone ever tried ??)

Now here's the puzzling thing.In over ten years of working in searingly hot kitchens, I've yet to be stricken by this condition.Chef might try to suggest that its because I don't work so hard as he does,but I'm sure there's a much more scientific explanation.It may be something to do with gender and perhaps the physical attributes of the respective male/female ass.Possibly the wider child bearing female hips afford some protection in that the cheeks aren't forced together so closely, thus reducing friction.Or perhaps its to do with a gentleman's hind quarters being firm and (ideally) muscular whereas a ladies derriere(how can I put this politely) being an altogether more peachy proposition?

What do you think?

I'm particularly interested in feedback from any female Chefs out there,am I a freak or working in this industry should I just be thankful that I don't have those elusive buns of steel?
I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Politically incorrect post

Chef tells me that Andy Gray has been the Face of Sky Sport Football for 20 years,that being the case,I cant imagine that in the whole of that 20 years there hasn't been another occasion when he and Richard(wax m'hands please) Keys have been overheard to enjoy a similar blatantly sexist exchange of views.

(BTW has anyone else noticed that Marcus Wareing seems to be similarly challenged,on the hair front?

Sporting arms reminiscent of  an AW10 Shearling jacket must pose a potentially dangerous fire hazard in any kitchen,worthy surely of a mention in the legally required Fire Risk Assessment.Makes me wonder how much cooking he actually does given that our lower arms are permanently hair free due to being singed on a daily basis.Though he could possibly be wearing gauntlets at the stove...)

Not that I'm condoning their Neanderthal banter,of course,but the publication of Gray and Keys' conversation must be viewed as a timely occurrence with perhaps more focus on monetary matters than any real outrage from Sky Sports.Gray was ripe for the flick,I hope he's the first male victim of the ageism on telly vendetta.

Coincidentally, I used to work in professional sport and in my experience their exchange was moderately mild compared to some of the conversations I've witnessed,and I'm not just talking of the male contingent here.A particularly memorable occasion which springs to mind being a back office discussion following a visit from a representative of a well known lingerie company, tasked to kit out the team with some trendy smalls(or not so small as later proven).The ensuing discussion debated the comparative attributes of  various  members of the team,with one notable individual being singled out for particular praise attention due to apparently being(Yeee-haaa!!) 'hung like a donkey....'.

In consideration of the vociferous and often over enthusiastic language interactions which occur regularly during particularly fraught times,in the event of our kitchen being bugged, Chef says we'd have no other option than to sack each other..

We experienced our own little politically incorrect incident last Sunday.In the midst of the usual manically busy lunchtime service this note was passed to the kitchen.My apologies in advance for any offence caused by the terminology,which is clearly outdated.To be fair the chap who penned this will have had no intention of it being bandied about the internet,but given that he's already retired, the danger of any resultant sacking is nil.

I posted the note on twitter,off the cuff, as it had given us a laugh.As a result I've unexpectedly  received pressure from certain parties to post a photo of said 'hot chef.'
There is no way I would dare post a photo of Chef for public perusal as:

a.posting pictures of Chef on line has landed me in trouble before.When facebook first became popular I created myself an account,but had no friends so(as you do), I created a profile for Chef and then made friends with myself.Subsequently Chef was inundated with e mail notifications of friend requests from an assortment of ex colleagues,school friends and other random people that he had no recollection of.He was actually quite ticked off,instructing me to take the thing down immediately lest people think him ignorant for not replying.

b.he knows I write this blog but is blissfully unaware of the content or even that he features heavily in a starring role.In addition, he doesn't agree with Facebook or Twitter(I have enough friends-why would I want any more??)so would be most displeased to find his portrait up here.

Image is so important  isn't it?I was once asked to provide a current photo with a job application and was so enraged that my physical appearance might be a factor in securing me the post that I cut a photograph of an attractive model from a magazine and stuck it to the application form.When I arrived for the interview I could see the interviewer glancing quizzically and repeatedly at my application form, with furrowed brow.
So, in the spirit of this little escapade and by way of a consolation, I thought I'd source a couple of tasty Chef pictures instead from the interwebs.

[cough]I've always had a bit of a thing for The Great White.Though lately admittedly he and I haven't exactly been seeing eye to eye. In the past I've overlooked his inept and at times tedious overuse of the word 'proper' within his menus,though he must be held responsible for the gut wrenchingly distasteful use of this word on many gastropub menus:
'Proper Prawn Cocktail' [sic] ick....

An example of the offending usage seen here in the form 'properly'

Which appeared in here...

FYI this apparently is the 'proper' way to garnish smoked salmon..

Lets also draw a veil over his Shepherd in the Nativity play period and just thank God he drew the line at the dressing gown..Ditto the Knorr stock cube episode..and please,don't even mention turkey twizzlers...

If I'm honest his main attraction was always his applaudable reluctance to answer the call of TV Chefdom and his somewhat enigmatic maintenance of some semblance of anonymity.

That and the Bob Carlos Clarke photos.

Has there ever been a hotter Chef?






Pity he failed to identify his USP....

In other news and continuing synchronistically with the non PC theme, we've advertised for staff and have intriguingly had an application from one Mr David Brent.
Cant wait to check out his moves meet him for interview.
More later...

Wee Rabbie Burns (Inn Style)

We hosted our annual Burns Supper last night.

A relatively casual affair,consisting of Haggis pie,comprising a pastry crust filled with Macsween's haggis,topped with mashed tatty, served up with Neep Crush(inspired by the Royal Family Christmas Day Carrot Crush).Obviously lubricated down by copious quantities of assorted single malts,which in truth was the whole point of the evening.
A slightly down-market menu,though not as desperate as the concoction produced by a particularly docile Chef I once came across, who failed to fully research the constituent ingredients of that traditional Burns Night treat Cranachan.Choosing instead to mix a box of Scotts porage oats with freeze dried raspberries then baking the mix on a flat in the oven until a dried gooey mess,which stuck in ones craw,he served up his creation with a dollop of synthetic cream and  inventively renamed the dish Cranacake....

In keeping with the tawdry theme,just to give you a flavour, here's the Toast to the Lassies:

O Lassie art thou sleeping yet,
Or art thou awake and wantin' a bit?
The Viagra has worked-see the size o' it,
And I would fain be in,jo.


O let me in this ae night,
When ma cock for once is big an' tight;
Ye can even keep oan the light,
O gonnae let me in,jo.


Thou knows am gettin' on in years,
And impotency has caused us monie tears;
So I drown ma sorrow wae strong beers,
But I would fain be in ,jo


So I bought a wee packet oan  e Bay,
A kings ransom I hud tae pay;
And I swallowed them awe today,
So for Chriss sake let me in,jo.

and the Reply to the toast to the Lassies:

O tell na me 'bout yer pain,
For it only fills me wae disdain;
This neet for sure yer gettin' nane,
O I widnae let ye in,jo.


Ye've wasted money on stupid pills,
In the hope o' gettin yer kinky thrills;
But ye'd better a paid money bills,
For I wouldnae let ye in,jo.


I tell ye now this ae night,
Tho' yer cock's as big as a bulls delight;
Ye can wank away for awe yer might,
For yer gettin sweet FO, Jo.


So go take out yer ancient Razzle now,
And wank away tae some filthy cow;
Jist get oot o' ma sight any how
Cos yer damn no' gettin' in ,jo.
                  

We're quite a classy lot aren't we?


In an effort to redress the balance and claw back some semblance of a reputation,this arrived today;

in spite of our rudimentary latrine arrangements..

Cheerio!