The (North) Eastern Block (and two very good reasons to go for a visit)

Whilst in the North, surrounded by dogs and with plenty of time on our hands, it seemed like the sensible thing to do would be to go for a walk on one of the nearby beaches. We all left with good intentions; I had in mind some frolicking in the sunshine with the dogs, maybe even rolling about with them in the soft sand dunes. But unfortunately, on arrival I realised just how unlikely this was. It rained. I’m sure in the sunshine you would have been able to ignore the fact that the backdrop to the beach was a petrochemicals factory and steelworks, but as it was, it just felt a bit like we were somewhere in the Former Soviet Union (maybe that’s why they call it Redcar?). I kept expecting to find two Russian KGB agents sporting ushankas and long coats confiscating our passports. I think this picture sums up the (my) mood perfectly

Having said that, it was good to get some ‘fresh air’ (note the factories in the background), and anyway, everyone else enjoyed it (you can’t win them all).

On Tuesday we travelled to Harrogate to go for tea at Betty’s tea rooms. I was all set up to have a full afternoon tea (finger sandwiches, scones, cakes), but on the way in I saw someone else eating it and realised that it probably wouldn’t even touch the sides. So instead I opted for a smoked salmon rosti, and a chocolate cake and a pot of tea for afterwards (it was all delicious). 

If you haven’t been to Betty’s, it really is a bit of an experience. It’s what you would like all tea shops to be, but never are. It’s a bit like a theme park (the waitress outfits for one), but the quality of the food and drink and the service and the tea rooms themselves make it worth queuing up outside. All of the many varieties of tea are served in china cups, all tea pots are heavy silver, and the tea is loose and requires a strainer (this always feels like a lot more fun than I’m sure it actually is). My mum insists on having her tea made in a pot and only drinks tea out of a thin china cup, which I used to think was just another way to wind me up, but she’s right - tea brewed in a pot tastes better, and tea also tastes better out of china cups than mugs. It just does.

Something of a revelation for me was a wonderful dinner that we had at a small pub in Maltby, called ‘The Chadwick’s Inn’

http://www.chadwicksinnmaltby.co.uk/

This place really, really blew me away, so much so in fact that I’m thinking of writing them a thank you card (I know, imagine that). The service was so good and friendly and helpful and genuine, that it didn’t matter that we got our first round of G & T’s thrown over us. We then were given an amuse bouche (a small espresso cup of freshly made peach smoothie) which really threw me, and then enjoyed a fantastic three course meal. The menu is well thought out and reassuringly small (about five options for each course) and each option was familiar and simple enough to be inviting, but with enough elements and twists to keep you interested. My main (confit pork belly, rhubarb puree, fondant potatoes, savoy cabbage)

was good, my dessert was even better (warm pecan pie, toffee pear, popcorn ice cream and some sort of jelly – the jelly was unforgettable and unnecessary)

but the starter was, and I say this in all sincerity, one of the best starters I have ever eaten. It was called something like ‘the Chadwicks Inn Ploughmans’ and was served on a wooden board, including toasted black pudding bread, homemade piccalilli, pressed ham hock, a coddled egg, and crumbed and deep fried Brie. It was totally, totally perfect. Each element was wonderful on its own, and together it somehow managed to be greater than the sum of its parts. Just, brilliant.

On our way out, I’d drank enough wine to give me the confidence to pop my head round the door of the kitchen and ask to speak to the Head Chef. I have to say I was slightly taken aback when some fresh faced, blond haired tiny slip of thing came over and introduced himself. So taken aback, I don’t remember his name. Anyway, I thanked him for the meal and told him how impressed I was, and even said something like ‘I’m also a chef, aha ha!’ (the shame). He was very gracious and lovely, and before I left I asked him how old he was. 21. I think I muttered something along the lines of ‘fucking hell that’s so young.....and I’m so old’ and shuffled out of the kitchen and into the taxi shaking my head. You just can’t buy class like that. This meal was the perfect end to a perfect few days, so thank you Roger and Jill. I think it’s fair to say we’ll be going back!