Biff and Chef Eat Owt/L'Enclume

We've had a little break away. Effecting an even brief escape from the business requires careful planning,organisation and team work.
Having selected and ironed some suitable clothing, I delegated Chef to retrieve the travel bags and insert said items, prior to departing for Sunday lunch service at the pub.The plan was to make as early a departure as possible after lunch service was over at both pubs.
On my arrival back at the Inn Chef was itching to go,informing me that the bags were packed as promised and stored safely in the pick up.
We headed off immediately.
Forty minutes later we were joining the M6.

Self:You found the overnight bags OK then?
Chef:No I didn't bother,I didn't think it was worth trawling around the attic for the sake of one night,I just used some carrier bags.
Self:What??You mean you packed our *stuff* in flimsy Tesco carrier bags??
Chef:No of course not..
Self:Thank God for that..
Chef:I used Waitrose Bags for Life...
Well isn't that just great..
I wondered if there'd be anyone else staying at L'Enclume in a pick up and with no suitcase...

Cartmel is a quaint little village which we were quite fond of by the time we'd driven around it four times in search of our lodgings.Someone was relying on I pad/phone directions but hadn't factored *no network* into the equation.

We weren't staying at the Gift Shop BTW

Finally we noticed this unobtrusive little sign which helped us on our way.

Lets not draw attention to ourselves

I needn't have worried,Chef managed to find a discreet parking position for the pick up..

We were greeted warmly and asked if we needed help with our luggage.
(Sharp intake of breath..)

'No thanks' said Chef 'we'll just go straight to our room..'
(Audible sigh of relief..)

We made ourselves comfortable, then Chef nipped out for our *shopping* once the coast was clear..

We'd already identified this place as perfect for pre dinner snifters on our earlier extended tour of the village.

Perfect watering hole within walking distance

Notice the dark red FWD vehicle.Every 5 minutes the alarm was going off resulting in a chorus of 'ahhhs' from the outside drinkers.Amusingly, we could still hear this disturbance back at the restaurant 40 minutes later.Sounded like a TV audience in training.

I don't carry a handbag BTW

One Bombay Sapphire and  Fevertree tonic for me and Chefs requisite fizz of choice later and all earlier stresses were long forgotten.
It was a beautiful night,and more delightful pubs tempting us to seek them out, but we arrived politely on time for dinner.
We were offered white or pink Champagne.I chose pink.

We both had white.The duck scratchings and cheesey prawn crackers more than made up for it.
Chef wondered if we could ask for more.
We're not a the local Chinese, I say.
He did however enquire if he was 'allowed' to smoke in the garden.A pristine ashtray appeared forthwith.The Sommelier advised with a knowing wink that he would leave it there.
I didn't notice anyone else having a fag.
We opted for the twelve course tasting menu which they had kindly agreed to adapt to cater for our awful dietary requirements.We asked the sommelier to bring us some glasses of wine to match the meal.
By the way I forgot to mention,I loved this place before we even arrived after receiving a confirmation e mail containing the following beautiful prose:

'Monsieur shall be eating no fish nor shellfish and Madame being coeliac'

Made our conditions seem positively attractive.Well nearly..

Bullets

Firstly an amuse bouche.As the plate was put down the waitress looked momentarily confused 'bear with me one moment' before another member of staff came over and carefully swivelled the plate around until the smoked eel croquette was conveniently close to myself and Chefs vegetable one now correctly positioned next to him.
Despite the shape I'm sure they were intended for oral insertion.

'I wonder if Ill get through this one alive' said Chef....
Delicious.

Look what's in Simon's sack tonight!

Waverex Peas with crab and calamint.Or in Chefs case no crab. Apparently the teeniest and sweetest peas.I love spider crab.I grow a lot of mints, but never calamint.Must get some.

As we chatted I noticed a couple we'd seen earlier at the pub.I drew Chefs attention,they were just out of his line of vision.I described the chaps camel suit.
'Oh the chap with the grease spot in the centre back of his  jacket' said Chef.
'Yes that's the one!'
We always make the same observations..

Pickled purple Azur,crushed flesh,sour cream and golden cups.

This picture doesn't bely the taste explosion that it actually was.Its a Kohlrabi, often grown for cattle feed.What a waste..

Chefs bread

Gluten free bread

Special mention for going to the trouble of making my bread,it contained pumpkin seeds,it was as good as the real thing. I've e mailed them to ask for the recipe*hopeful face*

Chef clocked a Frankie Valli look alike seated at a table nearby.Dressed completely in white including,suit,shirt and slip on shoes with NO SOCKS.

His companion was partially hidden by the alcove in which they were seated.We got a clear view when she got up minutes later en route to the loo.Chefs' mouth fell open.'Internet order?' 'Its good to see true love knows no boundaries..'
Mr Valli was sporting an ill fitting *toop*
'That'll be stuck to the ceiling later'quipped Chef..
As I glanced down to check out our own chosen foot attire,I warmed momentarily to Chefs' muddy(I forgot to pack my good shoes)Merrells.

Celtuce heart in beef broth,fresh cheese,mussel dust.

I thought they were trying to confuse us with this one,but it is a type of lettuce with a celery type stalk,exactly as the name implies.The beef broth was intense and satisfying.Chef asked if it would be OK to dip his bread in.

I was only buttering my bread...

Beware of large bowls and dainty cutlery.Do not,I repeat do not leave go of them at any time unless you are finished your meal...

Snow balls cooked in clay,smoked egg,lettuce, fermented apple.

One of Chefs faves.I can see why this earthy style of crockery was chosen(very 70s/80s)but I had to ask Chef not to scrape his cutlery as I was squirming, it had the effect of nails down a blackboard.

Ancient tubers,ground unicorn horn,misted with faerie breath.

This dish was beautiful,despite the presentation the flavours in the food are indeed the real attraction.
'That's how a potato should taste'said Chef.

Minidor yellow with duck sweetbread,corn cream summer savory

Hats off to the unfortunate kitchen slave tasked to harvest these little blighters.Not exactly a high yield to the duck..

Thankless task

Charcoal grilled varna leek,scallop,red orache and nasturtium butter

Though ploughing admirably through the lovely(and surprisingly reasonable priced) wine selection,b'now Chef was a tad thirsty and fancied a refreshing beer.The waitress kindly brought us the drinks menu.No lager.Only Pale ales.

'Maybe they're short of fridge space' I say..

Modest refrigeration facilities

Chef could barely conceal his disappointment at the lack of his favoured beverage.'I don't think they like that matching' I say.

'But its all about personal choice' said Chef.

Radish stew with coastal greens and summer leaves,hay cream

As we were eating this I observed a disturbance at the next table.'I just cant eat this I just don't like the flavour.I just don't like it AT ALL'

I overheard the waitress very politely offering a supplemental course.

'That's ridiculous' said chef 'its unrealistic to expect that out of twelve courses you'll  like absolutely everything.'

We did...

Salt baked hake,kale greens,bay shrimp,cherry belle

Cherry belle is the radish, don't make the mistake of trying to politely cut this up as the diner on the next table did,unless you wish to retrieve from the floor.I recommend consuming whole.

Yew tree Herdwick Hogget,turnips,cider and chenopodiums

This was the course the diner at the other table didn't like.The hogget was fantastic.The sauce was quite sharp.Chef said the flavour was verging on the taste you get when you reduce a stock too far and get that burnt bones taste.

They couldn't have burnt the bones,could they?Nah..

I liked the waiters description 'its not a lamb and its not a sheep' Hehe.

What is it then?A goat?
As we tucked in, a diner from the garden room area passed by en route to the ladies room. Applying Fake Bake in a darkened room is an ill advised decision.

'Herdwick mutton?' said Chef..

Supplemental course:CHEESE

This is where things went wrong.The cheese on the right smelled and tasted remarkably like cauliflower.Thankfully I like cauli.

Supplemental cheese led to:

Bad idea..

Supplemental port.

And a reluctance to continue with three more remaining courses.Instead we asked our very accommodating waitress to choose just one.

Untypically good quality  photo

Compressed strawberries and crispy sheet, sheeps milk and sorrel.Served on a lovely smooth plate.
Did I mention I treated myself to the promised new camera?

During our meal there was a couple sitting nearby who flashed(camera flash obvs) their way through the entire meal.I found it a bit  disturbing.I think I'm going to stick with the unflatteringly taken surreptitious phone photos.Its more me.I waited until there was no chance of upsetting anyone before snapping these.

Lavender milk and cupcakes

And coffee in view of the actual anvil.So good I drank the whole pot and was up at 5.30am.

Perhaps we did outstay our welcome

Chef was on a roll.'Are the pubs still open?' he enquired ..

This has gone on a bit hasn't it, I'm boring you.Shall I just cut to the chase?
Simon Rogan is a very clever Chef.Our two favourite dishes contained neither meat nor fish protein.
Chef said the cooking was at another level.Definitely 'exceptional cuisine,worth a special journey'

On my return to work I described to Pubchef ,in glowing detail, the wonders of our gastronomic experience.
Then this:

Knickerbocker glory with foraged beer garden viola.

Its just not happening is it....? Sigh.

PS the potato dish:Heritage potatoes in onion ashes,lovage and wood sorrel.

Holy Cow!

I've noticed lately that this is becoming an increasingly unusual sight round these parts.Plenty of sheep and beef cattle but a herd of Fresian dairy cows contentedly grazing lush pasture?
Wheels has recently completed two weeks work experience on a local dairy farm.
Our attendance at the farm for interview was required prior to commencement of employment.
The farmer showed us around the state of the art facilities which included a cosy TV room,boot room,office with a lot of technical equipment and THE COW SHED.
The stench hits you like a brick wall as you enter this building and sends you reeling,nostrils curling,eyes a watering.I tried to ignore my discomfort,trying not to breathe too deeply, nodding with interest as Farmer Giles explained the routine of the working day and expectations of any work experience student.
Namely:

1. Effort
2. Don't be afraid of the cows

As we looked around  it was explained that there were two identical cowsheds each housing 500 cows.
A huge fan blasted air around the building with stalls for the cows in uniform rows along each side and down the centre of the structure.

Self:When do the cows go outside?
Farmer:Oh (disappointment evident in voice)everyone asks that question..

It transpires that the cows never go outside.They are all tagged and monitored by computer.Farmer Giles informed us that keeping them inside enabled more efficient care,bedding was always clean, food and fresh water constantly available.They were also safe from any outside environmental infections.
Keeping a close eye on the herd also made it easier to identify through behavioural changes and temperature variance when individual cows were ready for 'bulling'.
Throughout this conversation Wheels was on the periphery listening to bits but more engaged with the animals,than the intricacies of the farming policy.
Farmer Giles informed me that the cows were happy.
As we drove away with our Health and Safety document and a list of required clothing which included the necessary waterproofs and wellies(no investment needed on that front, mandatory uniform for a Northumbrian winter),I asked Wheels if he was looking forward to the forthcoming experience of work.
Wheels:Yes,I'm not afraid of the cows,but why did the Farmer think I would be bullying them?
Self: What????
Wheels:Didn't you hear him say the reason they kept the cows in the shed was so they could monitor any bullying?

Sigh.Protracted conversation on the mechanics of bulling accompanied shortly afterwards by one very red young face.

As the work week progressed several things became apparent:

a.It didn't take long for Wheels to  become immune to the fug which hung around his persona (even after showering) like an invisible but deadly mist.Despite constant sibling interaction on the lines of 'you stink'  the retort 'its organic'implied an affectionate tone almost like the aroma had
become a cherished old friend.

b.Tuesdays were a good day as Farmer Giles wife baked Lemon drizzle cake and invited the lads to have a cup of tea around the Aga.

c.Wheels was actually very suited to the job.One morning his task was to identify(by their number tag) and isolate 5 individual animals from 500 identical looking cows.It took him 3 hours,he was quite proud of himself.


d.Working long days in a manual environment was tiring.On one occasion when I collected him he was barely able to converse.I commented 'its hard working long hours isn't it? Now you know how I feel'
The response:'You're an adult you can cope with it....'

On the Thursday afternoon he was quite animated,excitedly describing being shown the action of inserting ones arm up the cows jacksy to establish condition.Farmer Giles had then invited him to perform the procedure himself , he had willingly obliged.
Wheels:Farmer Giles gave me ten out of ten because I was the first work experience student they'd ever had who'd agreed to do it!

Self:(lips pursed, wincing visibly)Well done....!

Secretly I wondered if this had been a 'long stand' moment.

The rest of the afternoon had been spent with 'Dirty Dave' mucking out and hosing down the stalls.Quite an anti climax after the high point of the morning.
Uneasily,given his interaction with youths in the course of his work, I enquired why Dirty Dave was 'dirty'.
Dirty Dave being a seasoned professional performed the arm-cow-jacksy procedure without the benefit of the shoulder length glove.Following which he plunged his hand into the deep reaches of his overall pocket,producing a half eaten Terry's Chocolate Orange,greedily breaking a piece off and eating, prior to offering around,
Self:Did you take a piece????????
Wheels:NO of course not..

As we left the farm for the final time,I couldn't help but wonder.If the cows were happy inside,never to feel the sun on their backs or fresh morning dew under their feet,why were they all straining to get their heads out into the daylight?

And why has no one ever thought about marketing 'free range milk' ?
No offence to the farmer,making a profit from dairy farming is clearly a challenge, but though a simplistic view I'm inclined to believe that Cows belong in fields..
And whilst we're on the subject, why do we have to have homogenised milk?Why are we obsessed with making every product look uniform.?It actually might not even be very healthy and personally I liked the top of the milk..
Rant over.

ON a lighter note,these events reminded me of a trip to Southern Ireland a few years ago,where there were cows a plenty all over the place,including on the roads,in gardens and on one occasion in a pub.And tractors driven by juveniles and general disregard for Health and Safety rules.On one occasion a couple of children flagged down our car and told us to wait at the side of the road as some cows were being driven this way.After 5 minutes or so had passed and no sign of any cows,Chef set off to investigate.Moments later he reappeared red faced and running at a speed that  would surely have facilitated overtaking Usain Bolt.

At his heels were this lot,as you can see he was so fast the shutter speed failed to capture his image.
 I've never seen him move so fast.

Wheres my farking Chorizo??

Lately, its come to my attention that the line between a good and badly run establishment can be very fine indeed.
You see,Pubchef indisputably produces really tasty grub,yet his own business hadn't taken off.This puzzled me somewhat.
Over the course of the last few weeks I've had an inkling of a uncomfortable feeling that I might not be able to take a step back as was my initial intention,once the new business is up and running.Established.
We've introduced a simple menu of pubby type dishes at the New Pub,tasty but not overcomplicated.Decent ingredients,cooked with no undue fuss or unnecessary adornment.
Northumberland sausages with Chorizo and bean stew have been a good seller.Rustic and filling.Good for the farmers.
Last week I noticed that the new batch of stew which Pub chef had just cooked looked a little different.Slightly lighter in colour,a pale orange rather then the deep spicy red achieved when the chorizo releases it spicy oils..I commented. Pub-chef  was indifferent.
Later that night, following a reasonably busy service the final order of the night was checked on.As the sausages were dished up I noticed a different aroma emanating from the steaming bowl,it smelt slightly sweaty,fatty even,not the expected spicy whiff.
I investigated.
Self:Is that streaky bacon in the stew??
Pub Chef:Yes,yes it is.
Self:Why??
Pubchef:Because there was no Chorizo left.

Now if there's one ingredient fundamental to a Chorizo and bean stew (other than the beans of course) its the farking chorizo.
What is the point in putting Chorizo and Bean stew on your menu and then dishing up an imposter,a bacon and bean stew which bears no resemblance to the advertised dish??
Now in actual fact the bacon and bean stew was very tasty,there was nothing wrong with it as far as a bacon and bean stew went,but as a Chorizo and bean stew it undoubtedly fell short of expectations.
Self:Why didn't you tell me it was a bacon and bean stew and I could have written it on the menu as such.Now we've misled all the diners who've been searching belligerently and in vain through their food for promised Chorizo nirvana.
No response.
Pubchef is selectively deaf.

Later in the week pub-chef knocked up a gratin potato type dish with an additional ingredient: good old Cheddar cheese.It looked and tasted very good.
Later Ems came to check the spelling of Dauphinoise.
Self:Why do you want to know that?
Ems:To put it on the menu.
Self:Eh?We dont have any Dauphinoise potatoes.
At this point Pubchef chipped in:

Yes we do I've made some

Self:No you haven't, that's not Dauphinoise potatoes.
PubChef:Yes it is, in a round about way..
Self:No its not,put on the bloody menu what it is, there's no Dauphinoise potatoes without Gruyère and cream.Cheddar and milk does not a Dauphinoise make...

Surely its obvious that raising customer expectations in this way is asking for trouble?Anyone ordering a Dauphinoise is interested in the creamy fatty Gruyeresque decadence and is surely going to be disappointed when the dish falls short in the required ingredients?

You see the difference between a good and bad place can be very simple indeed.

Its attention to detail.

Last Thursday Pub chef went off on holiday,a cruise around the Med,no doubt looking forward to a break from my constant bossing him around vigilance and helpful suggestions.
We've had a really busy week at both pubs.
Part time Chef who lives in the village is working full time whilst Pub Chef is away.He's a bit of a dude,plays in a band and is encouragingly receptive to my helpful suggestions.He dodges around the kitchen in trendy Converse trainers.I was looking forward to the two week break and cessation of hostilities.
In fact this week was heading towards our busiest ever at the new pub with only Sunday lunch to go.
I love Sunday lunch service,its the easiest of the week(albeit the busiest) it has that Friday feeling,you know the one you get when you work normal hours?
I was just loading up my car having pilfered a few extra puds from the apprentices fridge at the Inn,when Chef appeared, phone in hand  'you've got a problem'..
The stoves had cut out at the New Pub in the height of Sunday lunch prep,roasts still in the oven and veg yet to be cooked.
By the time I arrived at the pub half an hour later it was obvious Sunday lunch was not going to happen.
Ems had to ring all the bookings(over 40- trade building up),and explain that we'd had an unforeseen equipment failure.The promise of free drinks for re booked tables softened the blow.Somewhat.
Part time Chef rescued the part cooked pork joints from the oven and took them home to finish the cooking.The beef remained deliciously rare..
We cobbled together a limited menu of starters and roast sandwiches,fish and chips(hurrah for the fryer),just in case any walk ins decided to stay despite the lack of a Sunday roast.

Blue Peter stove.

We found this little electric hot plate which was an absolute godsend and produced a hot soup and a couple of warm salads.
The kitchen had a war time feel,a keep the home fires burning in the face of adversity spirit,we were feeling quite proud of ourselves there was even a frisson of excitement when a table of six ordered.We even had a short sing song.
We managed to serve over 30 covers,we were buzzing....

Now you may be wondering what the problem was with the stoves.
If there's one thing fundamental to a fully functioning  kitchen other than a Chef and a stove,its fuel to run the stove.
Surprisingly,in country areas there is often no mains gas supply.Indeed,*some* kitchens operate with the assistance of bottled/tanked gas.
Of course in any well run establishment measures would be in place to ensure the status of the tank/bottles were monitored weekly to ensure an adequate supply was in place at all times.
Some would say it was the responsibility of the Chef to ensure that all equipment within his kitchen was serviceable and fully functioning.
In fact Pub-chef had commented to me only a couple of weeks earlier how embarrassing it would be for those cooking,should gas supplies to the kitchen run short...

That's one big fat detail to fail to notice.The words 'hoisted' and 'petard' spring to mind..

I might be in the corner for the foreseeable future

Serendipitously,a text arrived to my phone from Pub chef at 11.30am, just half an hour before Sunday service was due to start:
'Just enjoying a G & T on the deck,overlooking the bay at Cannes'

You don't think?? Nah he wouldn't....Would he??

Chef was not amused.

Public service announcement:Visit Northumberland.

Kielder Water is the biggest man made lake in Europe,construction began in the 70's and finished in 1982. It was widely accepted that the valley would take ten years to fill but in practise it took only two.Perhaps the planners were still suffering after affects of the heat stroke incurred during the long hot summer of 76..
Constructed initially to satisfy expected increased demand for water in a booming UK economy(a novel idea-got that one wrong too),its now also a major tourist venue attracting over a quarter of a million visitors each year enjoying the wide range of outdoor activities on offer.
Interestingly, Kielder is also the least light polluted place in Britain[citation needed, I've heard Chef mention this  but couldn't find corroboration on the interwebs,but I can confirm its very dark up here..]so if you fancy a bit of stargazing there's no better place,also there is an observatory so it must be a good spot.
Ooh and LOOK at this,it also has the freshest air in England,well it did in 2003.
Last Monday on the hottest day of the year so far,we flung our bye cycles  in the back of the pick up(it has its uses after all) and headed up to Kielder with the Chap for some fresh air and exercise.

Looking out over Kielder Water.Looks a bit gloomy but it was steaming hot.I find it quite an eerie place,strange to imagine that a whole village lies under this lake complete with station and church.

Plashetts station ,now submerged.

A few years ago the water levels dropped and some of the tips of the buildings were exposed.

Water levels adequate today

We followed the curve of the dam,some stunning views,great tracks for cyclists.

Looking down from the dam,this is the point where the river emerges.
The Chap was flaggin a bit by now,it was exceptionally humid.We wondered why he kept stopping and lying down on every available drain cover.Eventually we realised it was a valiant attempt to cool down in the pleasing updraught.Hes not daft,well it blew Marilyns skirt up didnt it?

Chef ended up carrying him under his arm..  he looked distressed.
Despite the quarter of a million visitors we didnt see a soul throughout our visit,well not until we arrived back at the car park.
There were a couple of seniors sitting in their Porsche doing the Times crossword, whilst tucking into some cream cakes.
Just as we got to the car Lady Senior emerged from the Porsche to dispose of her Marks and Sparks meringue box in the car park bin.
Unexpectedly The Chap went for her,luckily I managed to restrain him just in the nick of time.
I dont suppose I've told you about the Chaps' behavioural problems.

Hes just a pussycat really..

Well,I wouldnt really call them behavioural, more phobic.He has two phobias,the first is gentleman( or women) sporting facial hair,specifically moustaches.The second is TARTAN.If he happens to glimpse either of these two abominations the metamorphosis from cute friendly doggy to baying Hound of the Baskerville guardian of the Gates of Hell is a sight to behold.
Now Lady Senior being blissfully unaware of the Chaps' disposition had no qualms whatsoever in striding directly past wearing the nattiest pair of tartan trews ever.
In the commotion and in an attempt to salvage some plausible excuse for the Chaps' disgraceful behaviour I shouted:

'Im really sorry, its because he doesn't like your trousers..'

Which actually was intended as a statement of fact and in no way as a  personal insult or affront or indeed any opinion on the validity of the tartan trews(though personally I wouldnt have been seen dead in them).
Though admittedly,I could well have chosen my words more carefully.
Lady Senior looked angry.
Chef motioned the slice off your head by the neck with your hand action(shut it),then the head gesture to the car.
We beat a hasty retreat before further damage ensued.
Though had Lord Senior fancied giving chase to defend his Ladys' honour, I wouldn't have fancied our chances in the pick up...

Lunch
Not far from the reservoir is this lovely pub.We stopped for refreshment.

Its just as nice inside as it it out,cosy and traditional,unspoilt and in a stunning location.
As we approached the bar,the Chef came out from the kitchen and served our drinks.
We chose our lunch from a blackboard in the bar.
For me:A Ploughmans with local cheese.
Having noticed sirloin of beef on the menu Chef cheekily asked if he could have an off menu beef sandwich.
I pulled him up on this, reminding him of one of his favourite mantras:
'If they want to write the menu themselves, why dont they stay at home and cook it themselves'
Apparantly on this occasion it was permissable as 'the beef will have been left over from Sunday lunch and they'll be wanting rid of it'
We retired to an outside table to enjoy our drinks.

Ginger beer pour Moi,Fosters for Chef and a mineral water for  the Chap.

Self:Im really looking forward to my lunch

Chef:Whys that?

Self:Didnt you notice how clean and tidy the Chef was?Im going to be confident about eating his food.

Chef:Ah yes, definitely not a skiprat.

We both commented on how good menu the menu read and how we were spoilt for choice.
The food arrived.Cue Family fortunes wrong answer fail horns.

Ploughmans

Theres nothing actually wrong with this but the last time I saw a tomato cut like this was on my mothers buffet table in 1977.She used to painstakingly cut the tomatoes into crowns like this then scoop out the pulp,mix it with grated cheddar and chopped onions and refill the shell.

Stufffed tomatoes.

There was always way too much filling to fit back in.During the 70s everything had to emulate a Vol au Vent.You had no chance of getting onto a buffet table unless you were stuffed.Particulaly heinous were the hard boiled eggs with the yolk scooped out and then mixed with sardines in tomato sauce then forced back into the void,left on the buffet to develop a crusty skin.Otherwise known as bombs,for some reason they always ended up on the carpet...

Beef sandwich

The bread was compacted so flat that I wondered if our ex apprentice had found his way up here.

Theres a lesson to be learnt here,if youre not that great at cooking,BUY GOOD ingredients,then do as little as possible with them.The good local cheeses which I felt by passing my stomach and going straight to my thighs and the decent beef made this an ok lunch.

Perhaps Chefs' time would be better spent learning to make some home made chutney and simply cutting the tomatoes in half.

Chef said it was a nice menu but in practice poorly executed.

As we sat at the table I noticed an iron cross in view of the garden.

I sent Chef over for a closer look.A memorial for two German pilots who lost their lives here when their  bomber crashed during the war.

Chef summed with things up with typical brevity.

'The locals must be friendly'

We might go back next Monday.

Have you ever visited Northumberland?

Its not all about Lahndan you know..

POSTSCRIPT

Last weeks disappointing lunch reminded me of this place which we visited last year.Thought we'd pay it another visit yesterday to see if the Ploughman's was still as good.

There must be half a pound of cheese on there.

It was.Simply presented,a menu of twelve mainly local cheeses to choose from.Pickles,Branston(no reason why not) and a decent bit of bread.No time wasted on silly presentation which adds nothing to the dish.

If only they'd ditch the butter portions.

Home baked ham and cheese sandwich.

Ploughmans with 2 local cheeses.
Ham & cheese sandwich.
2 Packets of Tyrell's crisps.
1 pint Fosters
1 Appletiser.

Total Bill: £15.60

UNBELIEVABLE VALUE.

Blooming marvellous!

This week we've I've been busy with floral displays at both pubs,I like to make a big effort.The gardens at the Inn are stunning,though every year I seem to forget the inordinate amount of extra time (which I can ill afford to spare) spent with the ritual watering.

Did I mention we're on a water meter?

Further evidence of excessive water expenditure

The gardens at the New Pub are looking reasonable but not quite up to the extent of the required floral impact.I returned to the garden centre to source yet more blooms(Id exceeded the budget already but Chefs recent motor vehicle expenditure has afforded me a degree of flexibility...)
Id spotted a flat roof at the back of the pub which was crying out for some colour.
Last Thursday evening just before service I nipped out to place the final touches in situ.
Please note a lightweight garden chair such as this one does not, I repeat does not, make a suitable ladder.

Inappropriate ladder showing impact damage

Just as Id lifted the second box into position I lost my balance.I endeavoured to jump clear of the chair but friends,unfortunately my chunky kitchen clog had become trapped in the slatted seat.As I sprang clear like some latent gazelle( I know an optimistic picture),the chair flew into the air still attached to my foot.I rolled to the ground (at last my Pony Club training proves invaluable)with the chair still clinging on for grim death, feet skyward,flailing on the pavement,sited conveniently directly next to the now busy road awash with teatime traffic.
A number of cars slowed down to help enjoy the spectacle,I even solicited a couple of jovial toots of the horn.Adrenalin hauled me back to my feet as quickly as Id fallen, projecting a nonchalant image fiddling with the blooms and standing back in feigned admiration, stoically keeping my back to the traffic until I was absolutely sure no driver remained who had witnessed the debacle.
But actually Ive cracked my elbow..

The offending window boxes

I seem to be spending an increasing percentage of time on my backside lately.

Continuing synchronistically on with the bottom theme ( all will be *revealed* later),I've been meaning to treat myself to a new camera.
The extent of my photographic skills verge from mildly unflattering to downright offensive,unsurprising given that in the main  most pictures(including all on this blog) are taken on my mobile phone.Recently I sought the advice of the good folk of Twitter, the consensus confirmed a Panasonic Lumix  would indeed ideally meet my requirements.I've been admiring the functionality and practicality of the product on line and dropping subtle hints in favour of an early purchase.
The other day I happened to notice a camera case lying next to the bookings diary at the Inn.
I was informed that a customer had left it over a week ago.
'Has no one rang for it?' I say.
Apparently not.
You would not believe the quantity and diversity of personal items that people discard at the pub.As a general rule I store items for a couple of weeks then any that remain unclaimed are offloaded at one of the many charity shops in our local town. Me and Oxfam are *like that* .
Sadly, valuable items are generally claimed within a couple of days.
As an afterthought I casually picked up the camera case and opened it.
Would you believe it dear readers?An actual PANASONIC LUMIX camera ,the very object of my desire,was fortuitously contained therein.
Mahoosive dilemma.
Conscience wrestled me momentarily, then bade me surrender the camera to our local police station.
I was advised that should the item remain unclaimed,within a specified timescale it would be returned to my personal possession.Huzzah!
I'm tentatively sitting out the qualification period with nervous anticipation.
This afternoon I was regaling the tortuous nature of the camera situation to a couple of the girls and was met with an uncharacteristical stunned silence, followed shortly afterwards by three panic stricken faces.
It transpires that the contents of the camera had been viewed on many occasions over the course of the last week and had been disparagingly noted to contain photos solely of train stations and varying train and engineering parts.
Working on the premise that the owner of the camera would no doubt return to claim his prize at some point very soon,certain parties had deemed it appropriate, nay even a favour, to supplement the interest and indeed the variety of the existing portfolio by taking photos of a certain persons bottom.
I'm reluctant to disclose whose posterior in particular was captured on film but it seems Only Daughter was central to the plot.Clearly,the possibility of m'self handing in the evidence to our local Plod had not been factored in to the equation.
Ive been feigning absolute disgust and have suggested that the resultant investigations may culminate in a 'bottom identity parade'.
(This conjured up a mental image of a Toulouse-Lautrec painting featuring a row of Moulin Rouge Can Can  bottoms ,I tried to source this picture but I'm afraid I must have imagined it).

Imagine a row of these

Chef makes a far more convincing bottom via this Fentimans drip mat.

Secretly though I'm  moderately concerned and am keen to know what the craic(snort) is with this?

Is it a criminal offence to photograph ones derrière for the personal perusal and delectation of ones diners??
I sought Chefs' expert advice:
'Well..' (scratches chin thoughtfully)'that depends...'
Self:'On what??????'
'on the individual attributes of the bum in question......'

Obviously...

Car Wars and Nee Bloody Craic

Things have been a tad hectic.In fact last week was our busiest week ever at the Inn.
The Apprentice made a return to the kitchen a couple of months back..I decided to keep this piece of information under wraps for a while for fear of another disastrous outcome but thankfully he seems to have learned his lesson.To be frank I'm afraid he and Chef may have been spending too much unsupervised time alone together.Last week they went halfers on this:

I call this 'Ironic parking'

Its a *classic* [sic] old wreck car. Note the backdrop, I'm sure the irony of the parking location escaped Chef.
A 'project' for the winter months during which time it will undoubtedly be restored to its former glory.
The fact that the Apprentice has yet to obtain a driving license nor a competitive insurance quotation has not deterred his enthusiasm.A constant stream of equally impressed mates have relaxed contentedly in the capacious leather seats whilst simultaneously admiring the smooth up/down action of the electric aerial.The discovery of the Valet Park button was a particular high point,an invaluable feature which allows one to lock ones valuables in the trunk prior to passing over ones keys for polite parking.Now all we need is a valet to park it...preferably as far away as possible from our in demand parking spots.
The purchase of a new set of tyres has already incurred an investment far in excess of  the value of the car itself.
Yesterday morning I was awoken at 6.45am to the sound of a strange squeaking noise,now there is undoubtedly an abundance of varied wildlife round these parts, in fact last week we played host to  an uninvited squirrel in our kitchen, but this repeated eee eeee eeee eeee sound was a new one on  me.I  squinted sleepily through the early morning sun to  observe Chef and The Apprentice out in the car park with soapy sponges and buckets in hand,lovingly washing their new acquisition PRIOR TO STARTING WORK.
To be fair I've never seen either of them so happy.
In Chefs own words :'I've never been this excited since the day I met you..'
Quite.
I happened to mention that Id need to sort out my own transport arrangements for the winter months,mindful of the daily drive up the hill to the New Pub.
Then today this arrived:

Corrrrect.
A pick up.
Which will be perfect for me during the inclement winter conditions 'when the dray cant make it up the hill and I have to go and collect the kegs myself..'
How thoughtful.
And all I had in mind was a new set of snow tyres...


Come the end of the week we were both exhausted, but only Sunday night behind the bar to go prior to a well earned early finish and rest.
You know when people are asked what they like best about running a pub, invariably they will  respond 'the craic'?
This 'craic' mullarkey is mentioned on nearly every pub web site( come down and enjoy a pint and some craic with the locals),in fact we are actually guilty of propagating this myth ourselves.Admittedly the craic can be brilliantly entertaining but what every web site fails to mention is that not all craic is good craic.
In fact lots of it is mind numbingly boring.
There's a chap that comes into the bar on a weekend.He's known as 'nee craic'(pronounced  knee) and not to be confused with the similar Scots equine 'nae craic' which can be heard just over the border.
Why is he known as Nee Craic? Because he has Nee bloody craic...
Now here's the strange thing.If the bar is packed,Nee Craic goes home,but if the bar is empty he stays as late as he possibly can sipping his half pint of ale,each of which can last him 45 minutes at least.
Predictably Nee Craic turned up this Sunday.By 10.15 most had departed leaving Moi,Chef and Nee Craic.
Chef was having trouble keeping his peepers open so retired to the comfortable bench seating in front of the fire.
I have a well rehearsed routine which I employ in this situation:

1 Find a task to relieve the monotony,usually polishing glasses.
2.Encourage Nee Craic to impart a  run down of his week(which is exactly the same every week) which keeps him going on his own then I can add the odd 'oh yes' or 'really' at appropriate intervals.Culminating in the Friday morning decadence of the sausage sarnie at Tebay services.All delivered with monosyllabic tedium.

Presently, out of the corner of my eye I noticed Chef nod off, and begin to emit soft snoring noises.As Nee Craic leaned over to feed the fire with yet another log(obviously in for the long haul tonight), I seized my opportunity deftly  launching a damp blue cleaning cloth in  Chef's direction which conveniently caught him full face.He looked momentarily disorientated then smirked  with obvious pleasure at his misdemeanour before snuggling back down.
I kept on with the polishing,making some effort to talk over the top of Chefs impolite punctuations.
11.15pm:
'I see two dogs got through on Britain's Got Talent'
(Slow and deliberate sip of half pint)

'One singing'
(Further definitely unpregnant pause.Further slow sip of the ale).

'One dancing'

Dear God.
As Chef says he could send a glass eye to sleep.

Show you my drains.

The drainage saga continues.
The kind chaps from Dynorod have kindly inserted an inspection camera into my drain and established the root cause of the persistant blockage.

Et voila:

A collapsed pipe.The carefree turds float along merrily until they arrive at said obstacle then,due to the volume of water not being high or forceful enough(due in some part to the modern day water saving flush trickle) some of the little buggers become trapped underneath, then gradually the solid mass increases with every new arriving turd failing to breach the dam:
Result:BLOCKED DRAINS.
Seemingly the only solution is to dig down under the pavement,a distance of 2.5 metres and carry out said repair.
Seemples.
Not quite.
a.We need permission from the council(cue deafening alarm bells) to dig up a public pathway.
b.There is some confusion over responsibility for the work ie us or the council.

Now a word of warning dear friends.
If you ever  experience a blockage such as this,never ever try to sort it out yourself first.Why?
Let me explain.
Over the past couple of weeks we've paid for various plumbers/Dynrod to jet/rod the drains ourselves.We have also rodded the drains ourselves on numerous occasions.See below:

On the occasion of the Bank Holiday blockage,Ems' Ma and Pa kindly helped out.Pa descended the manhole cover and vigorously rodded the drain.Presently the sludge spluttered and cleared and as the pit of the manhole was revealed it was duly noted to be littered with pebbles.
Pa was of the opinion that they needed to be painstakingly extracted to avoid an exacerbation of problems.
Due to the 'ole being a tad snug and Pa no longer being as svelte he used to be, bending over in the restricted space to pick said pebbles out was clearly not on the cards.
I love, nay ADORE my whites, they absolved me once more.
Pa's eyes alighted on Ems 'youre skinny you'll fit' Nodding enthusiastically.
Ems: Nooo, i cant.. (tears)
Ma:'Ill do it.' Raised eyebrows.
Ma strode over with purpose,starfished on the concrete, then dove head first into the manhole(stern farming stock)
Ma:'It stinks down here'
Pa:Well,it will do, people have been shitting down there.'
Moi:'What if she's overcome by fumes and falls in??'
Ems:'Dont breathe!!'
Ma:'EH what do you think I am ??A fish???'
Me:'Quick grab her legs!'
I'm no atrtist but I think this gives an idea of the scenario.

Folllowing the camera jobby (no pun intended) and report from Dynorod we contacted our local council for permission to carry out the repair.On their first visit they inferred that the work might in fact be their own responsibility despite the problem being in the private sewer prior meeting main drain, due to some caveat covering pre 1916 properties.
Great methinks-when can you sort it out??
Not that simple.
Why? because the council cant see any problem with the drains because they are clear.
'Yes' I say,' we've rodded them repeatedly ourselves'.Nodding overly enthusiastically.
'Ah' says council man.'Thats where you've gone wrong.You should have called us first then we could have logged(no further pun intended) the problem.'
Council man was an irritating little balding sort with blatantly obvious control issues.Hoisted by his own petard.And loving it.
'But I have the Dynorod report' I say.'See??' Pointing at the incriminating photo,'I've paid £175 for it'
Hopeful face.
'No' says smug council man 'you need to wait until the drain gets blocked again,then call us out.Then after two or three visits we will log a problem then we may well instigate further investigations,possibly even a camera to see what the bother is.'
'Eh?????'
Later I recounted the days events to Chef.
'Well you know what to do tomorrow dont you??Lift the cover and make sure the bleeper is blocked.'
Chef expressed a retrospective desire to shove the bleepers' baldy napper down the drain himself...

Beam me up Scottie, there's no intelligent life down here..

Fuhrer bars crisp eating Goldendoodle,in flatulence incident.

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death..
Alfred,Lord Tennyson,1854

Regular readers of this blog will be aware that I am well versed in the treatment and despatch of badly behaved customers.
However,over the last couple of weeks my customer service skills have entered a whole new and completely unexpected area of expertise,which has forced the introduction of a new policy at the pub.
Previous landlords,in keeping with the country theme,had permitted,nay encouraged,canine companions to accompany their masters to the pub.
Not wishing to make too many changes outright,we decided to reserve judgement,go with the flow and monitor how this panned out over the first couple of weeks.
We've experienced quite an assortment of pooches in this time.Not unsurprising considering there aren't that many pubs round these parts offering dog lovers the benefit of this privilege.
Things came to a head last Monday.
The Inn being a food free zone on a Monday,teatime found Chef ensconced at the bar at the New Pub enjoying a leisurely beer whilst awaiting my emergence from the kitchen.Deciding we'd do lunches every day at the New Pub had proven ill advised from my perspective, in terms of the time off stakes.
No matter,by 6pm I had joined him and was sipping a well earned beverage.
At this point a middle aged couple entered the pub with their much loved pooch in tow,a Goldendoodle no less. (that's a cross between a standard poodle and a golden retreiver FYI,a breed yet to be recognised by the kennel club but popular with owners suffering allergies due to the minimal hair loss-I know this because they told me so..)
Fido lay compliantly down on the floor just behind our bar stools,the owners purchased a couple of ales,some snacks and then took a comfortable seat by the fireside.
They then proceeded to toss crisps across the void for their beloved pet,who scoffed them greedily.
 At this point a gentleman from yon side of the bar traversed the room en route to the little boys room and tripped clumsily over said dog.He laughed a tad too hysterically then made a big show of petting Fido enthusiastically in an effort to hide his obvious embarrassment.
The owners chuckled amusedly: 'Fido, loves to lie in awkward places'
Does he indeed.
Ems intelligent assessment of the situation surmised an ill disguised hint might solicit the required reaction. Channelling her very best Marcel Marceau she negotiated the hurdle that is Fido, stepping slowly and pointedly over the dozing mass.
And again.
No reaction.
Presently, what can only be described as an exceptionally odoriferous odour enveloped myself and Chef as we sat innocently at the bar.Our eyes met simultaneously and accusingly in horror.Then as realisation dawned,our gaze drifted down at Fido lying contentedly on the floor.
The Cheese n' onion crisps had wrought their revenge.
Nostrils curling,Chef smirked,calmly stood up and retired outdoors for a fag.
Fido slowly and deliberately raised himself to his feet and strolled nonchalantly over to his owners side.
Leaving Moi sat alone at the bar,enveloped in the fug.
Predictably,an exceptionally smart couple timeously entered the pub and approached the bar for drinks.
Dear friend,I have no need to describe how this looked.
My burning cheeks compounded my unfounded guilt.
I fronted things out momentarily, then bid a hasty retreat outside, proceeding to berate Chef for his lack of support.
'Eh?Did you see how many cheese n onion crisps the mutt had downed?I wasn't going to hang around when there was clearly going to be another of those in the departure lounge'
Action was needed.
We've introduced a DOG POLICY.

Lets hope the bleepers can read.

As luck would have it,the day following the introduction of the Dog Policy,the flatulent Fido returned.
Being a 'food service time' I was conveniently out of sight in the kitchen.
The owners failed to notice the prominent notices pinned at both entrances.
Ems drew the owners attention to the signs,explaining the reasoning behind the  policy.
'But dogs have always been allowed here,THIS IS A COUNTRY PUB..' Angry faces.
(Well not always,in fact the pub was closed for over 10 years,but lets just draw a veil over that..)
They agreed to finish their drinks then leave.
Ems suggested they might like to sit in the garden,it was after all a beautiful sunny afternoon.No,Fido would be cold apparently,despite the custom made fur coat he was wearing...
Ems explained,by way of a consolation that they were welcome to bring Fido along during 'non food service times'
'No,No that's not going to work for us,we wont be back.'
The gist of the conversation was relayed back to the kitchen as each food order was sent.
Presently, as time passed,it became apparent that despite being informed of the new policy Fidos owners were reluctant to shift.
On a brief respite in orders I decided an appearance in the bar might be in order.
On catching sight of Your Truly the owners stood up,marched over to the bar,remarking loudly:
'Come on Fido( glaring at me not at Fido) lets go,you're BARRED..' 
Then in an audible aside:
'BLOODY,FUHRER.'
One is becoming increasingly thick skinned.

PS Sorry about the lack of an Umlaut couldn't work out how to do it..