This seems such a good idea, it's surprising no one else has thought of it

The last time we went to the theatre in Newcastle, we discovered Starters and Puds, just over the road from the Theatre Royal, and couldn't understand why others hadn't thought of this. A menu consisting of 'starters' (actually probably more like tapas style dishes), side orders, and puds, with can be ordered at the same time.

So as soon as we had decided to go and see the RSC in Newcastle, the next thought was 'and we can go to Starters and Puds'. Given the distance we had to travel, the plan was to have our starter pre-performance, and our pud post-show. A brilliant way to avoid the pre-theatre indigestion which I tend to induce in people with my anxiety not to be late.

We were a bit surprised to get there and be told that owing to some mix up with the licensing, they actually couldn't serve any alcohol, so I was despatched to the off licence round the corner, and returned with a very acceptable bottle of chilled pinot grigio.

The food was lovely, and we pre-ordered our puds to return to them after the show, as the kitchen would have closed by then. That's Shakespeare for you, you pretty much only just get out in time for last orders. It also caused a bit of a quandary, as, as we were leaving the theatre they announced there was to be a post-show talk back with the actors. Now, I wouldn't walk away from that very often, and was very torn. But pud was calling, and, what's more, it was paid for. I'm not Yorkshire for nothing.

It was quite delicious too. I'm now wondering what else I can go and see at the Theatre Royal?

On eating out

Owing to needing to regularly stay over for work, I get to eat out a lot in Liverpool, probably more than I do in York. Hope Street has become a bit of a favourite. It’s got a cathedral at each end, a theatre*, a concert hall, a rather swish hotel, numerous restaurants and a rather elaborate pub. It’s also very close to the University, so is full of student and arty types. I guess you could say I feel at home there.

We’re trying all the various restaurants as we go along, and particular new favourite is HoSt, which does ‘fusion’ food. We had a fabulous meal there the other week, and it has to be admitted, the staff are both very attentive, and very cute, which is an added bonus.

I tend to sign up for emails at the various restaurants, so that I receive their special offers. As we usually eat out mid-week, there are often some good deals available.

So when I received an offer from HoSt, we agreed that we must go again, and started to discuss the food, waxing lyrical about the food, and specifically the corn fritters with chilli caramel (honestly, they’re divine!).

C reflects, ‘I must try and work out how to make them, it can’t be that difficult’

I smile. ‘That’s one of the differences between us. You think about making things you’ve eaten in a restaurant at home. I just think ‘when can I go again?’

*A theatre which we keep saying we must go to, only it continuously seems to be performing Pinter!

Three nights in Paris

We look at each other’s suitcases. There’s quite a difference in size. ‘I’ve been minimalist in my packing this time’, I say. V looks at me in amazement. ‘But it’s Val, ‘I sometimes change three times a day’, how have you got enough?’

I explain that I’d taken far too much to Provence, and had brought back things I hadn’t worn, so had gone for the minimal approach this time. What I don’t add is just how much of it is new stuff, for I have had a bit of a pre-Paris spending spree.

As it turns out, I have enough outfits, though I don’t have the hot weather outfits that I really need, as Paris turns out to be roasting hot. After my day of rain in Edinburgh, this turns out to be something of a shock. When you’ve travelled somewhere by train, it doesn’t feel that far away from home, yet even the air feels so much warmer. It’s the best weather I’ve ever known here.

We last went to Paris together 5 years ago. Every summer, we try and have a ‘culture’ break. For the last few years it’s been Edinburgh, so after two consecutive summers of pretty grim weather, this is a welcome change.

We’ve done most of the main tourist sights in the past, except the Louvre*, which is most definitely on the list this time, along with the Musee Rodin. We always go up to Montmartre, and walk by the river.

This time we’re staying just off the Champs Elysees, which turns out to be a perfect, if expensive, location.

My experiences of French food, after the struggles of Provence, are still a bit mixed. Breakfasts in the hotel are great – fabulous French bread, smoked salmon, ham, and preserves. Crepes make a great lunch, even though I have to avoid the ones with cream (I also have to avoid most of the squidgy cakes, as they almost all have cream). Dinner still proves more of a struggle, though I eat very well in Montmartre. A couple of other meals prove distinctly average, given the price of them. We do, however, find a fabulous little cocktail bar, so I make the most of the French wine and the Happy Hour cocktails.

We do find a fabulous little restaurant in the Palais Royale gardens for our last lunch. It’s full of Parisienne ‘ladies who lunch’, all immaculately groomed, rather than tourists. It suits us well.

*I once stood on a bench, and saw the Venus de Milo through a window. It’s not quite the same!

Diet Update

OK, so I’m not going to do this every week, but:

Week 1: weight lost 2.5lbs

I’m pretty chuffed after the 5 scones and the cakes and the champagne!

Just got to keep it up now.

On being Northern

Whilst having tea, we noticed that some of the other tables were being given little packages to take with them when they left.

‘Oh, how lovely, you get a little present’.

A little later, we realised that these packages differed in size from table to table.

‘I don’t think it’s a present, I think it’s a doggie bag’

We looked at our plates.

‘We’re not going to get one, are we*? We’re Northern, and we’ve eaten everything, and asked for seconds!’

*we did get a tiny tin of tea each though.

If only I could live like this

Over the last few weeks, after a shaky start, which led me to dismiss it as ‘Too ITV’ (a pretty damning assessment in my eyes), I really got into Lost in Austen, where a modern woman went back through a time portal into the fictional world of Pride and Prejudice*, swapping places with Lizzie Bennet just at the start of the novel.

I think it hooked me at the point where the plot began to deviate from the story, and Jane ended up married to the odious Mr Collins. Darcy was insufferable as he is in the early parts of the novel, but Wickham turned out to be a good guy, and Lydia ran off with Bingley, who’d turned to drink when Jane married another. As in all good fairy tales, it all ended happily, however, and Amanda, our modern heroine, stayed with Darcy, whilst Lizzie found a new life in modern Hammersmith.

So, when I went to Middlethorpe Hall for lunch on Friday, all this was still in my head, as I’d watched the final episode the night before.


I love Middlethorpe. It’s a beautiful 17th Century house, set in glorious grounds, and is now a hotel and restaurant. It’s usually a treat for special occasions, but this time we went for lunch as it was the York Food and Drink Festival, and also to celebrate C’s official appointment as my assistant.

Before lunch, as we sat in the lounge, C declared that she could happily live there, as it was ‘managable’. Well, yes, it is, but you’d still need an army of staff. One of the things I love is that the service is superb, but unobtrusive.

Lunch was lovely, and, fortified by two glasses of wine, we went for a stroll round the grounds. It was one of those mellow autumn days that Keats wrote about, with a hint of mist in the air, but still some warmth in the sun. We walked down the lawn to the haha, and ventured further into the orchard and wilderness, discovering the lake. All I needed was a regency dress, and Mr Darcy. The setting was all there.














* Mr Darcy, time travel, how could I not end up loving it?

There must be a book in this

We didn’t walk on Friday. Mainly because I was getting my hair done. So, as is the way of things, we lunched instead. At Harville’s. I hadn’t been for a while, and they’ve had it closed for a few weeks, to expand and refurbish. It’s now got a new cocktail bar upstairs, and an expanded champagne and oyster bar downstairs, but unfortunately I didn't have time to explore, so I'll need to make a return visit. In celebration of the fact, however, we drank champagne with our ‘express lunch’. It may not be a natural combination with fish and chips, but it was pretty damn good.

So yesterday, I decided that I would go for a walk, rather than do house work (or, more likely, veg out in front of the tv, or read a book). We walked along the river, into town, and out to the millennium bridge, accompanied by our ‘honorary handbag walker’, K, (his camera bag gives him admittance to the group), who didn’t so much walk with us, as trail about 50 yards behind, taking photos.

As always, we stopped at a tea shop, one of our favourites, the little Belgian café which is built into Skeldergate bridge. We decided to be hardy and sit outside by the river, but it did get pretty cold, and I was chilled through for the rest of the walk. Once again, walking through town makes me realise how lucky we are to live in such a beautiful city. You pass by so much history on the route, the station and the railway which brought a new lease of life to the city in the 19th Century, and which also brought my maternal ancestors here. The bar walls, the Roman multangular tower, the site of St Mary’s Abbey, the old medieval houses which are now shops, and that you don’t even realise their age until you look up, rather than charging, head down, along the street from shop to shop. Further along, we come to Rowntree Park, and the Quaker/chocolate heritage of York. I mention that the first place I ever went swimming was the open air pool. As we pass by the duck pond, V asks if you could paddle in it, clearly thinking this is the pool! I explain that it was a 'proper' pool, though long demolished now.

As we walk, we talk about our plans for the ‘handbag walkers’ book, for surely there must be other ‘casual walkers’ like us. It would feature walks, and teas shops, and shopping, all the essential elements, and all rated. I think there's a market out there.

Yo!

‘Is it your first time?’

V and I smile a little nervously, as our server introduces himself as Richard, and explains very patiently how things work. Apparently we can order from the menu for hot food, or select from the conveyor belt. Very helpfully there are pictures of all the dishes, and the dishes are colour coded according to price. There’s fresh still or sparkling water from a little tap set into the table, and a dish of pickled ginger to cleanse the palate.

It’s all initially a bit overwhelming, for we are in Yo! Sushi for the first time, (it’s actually in Fenwick’s Food Hall). I’ve never really fancied sushi before, all those clumps of rice with little bits of fish, wrapped in seaweed, but these dishes look rather nice.

We select a couple of hot dishes, and then decide to take one each off the conveyor belt. V’s crayfish salad is relatively straight forward. I have decided, however, that I’d like the little veggie parcels that have just gone past, and it takes a while for them to come round again. As I’m not known for my patience, I almost give up and choose something else, but I do decide to wait.

Richard, who, according to his name badge, is now Rachel, returns with one of the hot dishes, and asks how we are getting on. The food is delicious, but it’s also a fun experience, so it’s getting the thumbs up from us.

We decide that this is our ‘starter’ for dinner. It turns out later that it’s a good job we had it, as it takes the best part of an hour to cross the Tyne Bridge, park, walk back over the Millennium Bridge (don’t ask, it seemed like the best idea at the time!) and find the restaurant that we’ve chosen. But find it we do, and have a delicious curry to finish off the day.

You can see why I don't get invited to many dinner parties

At one of my workplaces, we have a regular feature of working lunches. I’ve learned over the years to take my own, as otherwise it just gets complicated. But as I’m fairly new here, they’re trying hard.

They understand that I don’t eat pre-made sandwiches (all that butter, mayo, or other random stuff I don’t like), so they attempt to provide me with salad. So, again, no mayo, no vinaigrette, but then also no onion, tomato, cucumber…the list continues.

This week I was offered a salad. Crayfish and rice. ‘Ah, sorry, don’t eat shellfish’. ‘How about this one?’ (it’s bacon, avocado and spinach) ‘Ok’.

A little dubious, I start to take it apart. M&S have helpfully put the various bits in separate packets, so it’s a DIY salad. Bacon bits, no, don’t want those, vinaigrette, no thanks, tomatoes, well, I can leave those at the bottom of the dish. I’m munching my way through avocado and spinach, helped down by a handful of crisps. It’s not the most appetising lunch I’ve ever had, so I soon give up.

Afterwards I’m asked ‘wasn’t it any good?’ and try to explain that I’m just, well, difficult, and awkward. ‘Can’t you ever eat in restaurants then?’ ‘Oh yes’. I can see the confusion, about what I can possibly eat.

‘You know, you really don’t have to bother’.
‘Oh, I will, I like a challenge’.

I wonder what I’ll get next time?

Of course, it's all about the food

When I discovered that there was a food festival on in Hull, and the lovely James Martin was appearing, I mentioned it to Cat. So it was no surprise that Saturday found us baking…in the sunshine, as we watched cookery demos. It was like Saturday Kitchen, with smell-o-vision.

Now, I’ve always been pretty disparaging about Hull, but I was very pleasantly surprised at the centre, but then it’s a long time since I’ve been anywhere other than the theatre (and the pub next door).

There are some fab cafes by the water, and we found the ‘old town’ which was quite lovely, and we discovered the Land of Green Ginger! We even found time for shopping (but then, we usually do).

Of course, we also found James. He was on stage a lot! Judging an omelette cooking comp (they all looked pretty inedible to me, and it was noticeable he didn’t taste many of them), spinning sugar. I tried to encourage Cat to get up on stage when they wanted someone from the crowd, but she didn’t think it was the best way to meet him!

Later on as we watched a competition for the top cocktail maker/bartender, we found ourselves at the railings in front of the stage. James was due back on stage shortly. I commented that it had been a while since we’d been at the front for anyone, and it was pretty clear we weren’t going anywhere despite the baking sun and, in my case, the lack of sun cream. So, we watched his final demo, and we got to nibble on his honeycomb (which was yummy!)

Luscious, and that's just the food!

It's a little late in the day, but I can’t resist the chance to say a bit more about our encounter with the lovely James Martin* at the Ryedale Food and Drink Festival at Castle Howard. We’d accepted the fact that his popularity has increased dramatically since he took over Saturday Kitchen, but it was hugely busier than last year.

It was a cold and wet Bank Holiday Monday morning and we were there for the opening so were able to secure tickets to his first demonstration. The marquee had got posher since last year, and it now had chandeliers! What you don’t get on tv is the aroma of the food, and this was in smell-o-vision – yum!

Afterwards, we headed to his stall in the exhibitors tent, where he was signing his books. We got well and truly elbowed by little old ladies (Cat: ‘chef fans are mean!’) but got to meet him. He is, indeed, very tall, and has stunning blue eyes. And yes, I bought a cook book, but I have yet to make anything out of of it. In fact I still have yet to make anything out of the one I bought last year. Ho hum!

Afterwards, we wandered round, tasting all the freebies, and buying bits (and running out of money) before wandering round the gardens – it was pretty cold though. When we eventually returned to the tent, James was there, and not so swamped with people, but neither of us felt able to just go up to him. It’s odd. When you sort of ‘know’ someone, it’s remarkably easy, but when you don’t**, this ‘non–stalking’ is actually very difficult.

*He went to my school you know! Sadly, not at the same time as me.
**which means we have to work on this

The Handbag Walks, Part 1

Bank Holiday Monday, so, ignoring the threat of rain, J and I decided to go for a walk. As usual, this began with lunch. It actually started with a trip to B&Q and then to the garden centre, which has a coffee shop. I did think of suggesting coffee, but as J pointed out once we were on the road, ‘I guess we’ll be there just in time for lunch’. And we were, walking into the Blackwell Ox pretty much on the dot of 12.

After lunch (very nice) we were off, opting for the shortest of the walks in my book, because, you know, it might rain. I decided to Christen the walking boots. For the first few hundred yards, they felt strange on my feet, ‘look, my feet, they feel odd, my feet are protesting at what they’re wearing’.

We headed off the road, down a track and across a field, talking about Florence, Paris and food. Quite a bit later, J looked at the book. ‘It says here, ‘at a cross track…after 300 yards’. We’d walked a lot more than 300 yards. Hmmm, maybe we’d better turn back. As we walked back towards the village we couldn’t see any sign of a track, or a gap in the opposite hedge that we were supposed to go through. Finally, after two fields, we found it – it was well hidden though!

We crossed the field, and subsequently a rape field, before coming out to the road and a nature reserve. Very quickly, it seemed we were back in the village. It was only two miles (or, in my head, two and a half, because of our detour), so we must be fitter than we thought.

Afterwards – well, we went for tea, of course.