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...