Me and Jay Rayner Fostered!.. A Night at Salt Dining

Salt Pic 1

Firstly let me point out that Jay Rayner and I have never met. I’m sure he is a lovely guy, a 1st class restaurant reviewer, and an all round good egg. I have it on good authority that Mr. Rayner is a friendly chap, but why am i discussing Jay Rayner you ask?.. After all we are very much opposite ends of the spectrum. Mr. Rayner writes for various national magazines and newspapers, the bonus being he gets paid for it. I myself have 32 extremely valued followers to my blog. Jay has lavish flowing locks, lavish facial hair and his own radio show. I have short hair, it takes me a month to grow anything remotely resembling a beard, and I at best listen to the radio some days. I could go on, areas we live in, career paths, hobbies, the list is endless. We do however have 1 thing in common. We have both been fostered!

The title admittedly is slightly misleading. As I said at the start we have never met. The title is nothing really to do with our parental upbringing. Neither have the pair of us had tearaways lob a can of Australian lager at our heads either, well I haven’t anyway…. No no no, what we do have in common is our love of a certain  little restaurant tucked away in the heart of Shakespeare country owned by Paul Foster. A picturesque and idyllic place in the very heart of our green and pleasant land. Well, maybe a tad to the left.

It was a crowdfunding website that first got me noticing the Paul Foster project. I recognised the name but couldn’t place it and so after a bit of research, (yeah yeah okay i googled him), it turned out I had seen him on Great British Menu. He was using this particular media platform, KickStarter, to raise money (for reward) with the intention to raise enough capital open up his own restaurant. Starting up any new business is tough going and I had no doubt that a restaurant venture in these increasingly difficult times would be no different. I chipped in a minimal amount and my “reward” was an invitation for 2 to the opening night on March 17th last year. It was a very nice evening where we had canapés and drinks.

There was certainly enough insight to warrant a 2nd trip. Not been to this neck of the woods?…Stratford-Upon-Avon is a beautiful town in its own right. Lots to see and do, the town has a nice feel to it and there are plenty of quirky shops alongside your mainstream. It has some nice bars and is a great base for exploring the surrounding areas. If I remember correctly Mr. Foster had originally been set to plant roots in another town in central England but for one reason or another it didn’t come to fruition. Having been based in SUA for a year now I wonder if that was a blessing in disguise, fate, call it what you will.

Her indoors and myself took our 2nd trip to Salt around the time of her birthday. We had a fantastic evening and I discovered a dish that I’d never had before. I’m not saying it was a revolutionary idea, just a 1st time for me. A baked onion. It sounds so simple when you say it out loud but knock me down with a 10lb sledgehammer if it wasn’t one of the most enjoyable dishes I’ve ever eaten. I’m an onion fiend!… I mean it was an onion, but it wasn’t if that makes sense. I’m doing it an injustice there. It was a “Confit Roscoff Onion, Beef Juices, Beef Cracker”. It was divine.


Mr. Foster also took time out to chat with us. We discussed a variety of things including the merits of a radish. Personally for me they are like wasps, absolutely useless, a pointless vegetable. I wait for the time that someone can prove me wrong on this front.

Given that the meal was so good I decided to book us a table for a bit later in the year. GB and I met on November 17th 1990. Officially, though we still debate it at some length to this day, the fact is we got together on the 18th. Amazing what a fox in a box joke can do… and what better way to celebrate! we booked a table for 17th November, the day before we officially met 27 years ago, (my opinion). We booked a hotel around the corner, overpriced and with a leaky roof but hey ho, onwards and upwards. For the record I have recommended a hotel in the area at the bottom of the blog. It doesn’t have a leaky roof, is cheaper, and the take on customer service is far better.

We arrived at around 19.30 after a couple of cheeky snifters at The Garrick. A nice cosy pub along the street. Walking in to Salt we were greeted by a friendly team member and shown to a table in the main restaurant next to a lovely fire. There are some tables out at the front by the bar, both areas are warm, almost humble, and inviting but you cannot see the master at work sitting at the front. We chose the tasting menu with drinks pairing. I’ve had a few of these at various places but am hard pushed to think of somewhere that offers better value for money that Salt when it comes to this.

So lets talk about front of house. Professionalism, check, knowledge of produce, check, attitude towards customers… hmm, they weren’t great… I’M JOKING!.. I’m just pulling your leg. They were marvellous. Extremely helpful towards her indoors who was on crutches at the time. Real friendly team who couldn’t do enough for us. More importantly they even introduced a Chardonnay to GB that she actually enjoyed, and my nearest and dearest doesn’t do Chardonnay at the worst of times.


It was over 3 months ago now that we went. I could pretend to remember the names of the team that looked after us, they did tag our menu after all, but for someone who will tell all and sundry he has a fantastic memory I forget. Charlie (ly?) and Tom (thank you mr. Foster) are awesome, as are the rest of the team that you don’t always necessarily hear about.  I do recall the exceptional level of service we received and they are great ambassadors for the restaurant. Full kudos to you guys/girls. I’d take my hat off to you if I wore one.


So to the food, some might say FINALLY!… 7 courses (not inc the extra cheese course that we shared and the add ons that were unexpected but appreciated and delicious)…. Now I need to talk to you all, come closer my pretties, about bread. This isn’t just any bread. This bread with Salt. I don’t think I am exaggerating when I say you could eat these bad little boys all night.They are like a burnt just baked mini loaf. Mother of god though they are bloody tasty and light. Whack some of the Salted butter on it and well, it’s a little bit of loaf shaped heaven. Worth visiting for on their own.

Pink Fir Potatoes, Roasted Yeast, Lardo. First course and already her indoors and myself were split. She loved it, that’ll be the Irish blood in her showing an affinity to the humble potty toe. I’m joking, it just wasn’t my highlight. It was a very pleasant starter and the purpose of food is to be interesting, thought provoking and tasty right?.. If this was the promise of what was to come then happy blinking’ days. GB had this down as her 2nd favourite overall by the end.

Course 2 was a first for me. It wasn’t the first course it was the second course, but my first time trying oysters. Some love them, some hate them, oysters are right up there with Brexit and marmite in the love/hate conundrum. You are simply for or against and there is no middle ground. There’s a first part paragraph you don’t hear very often. If they were cooked like this every time, (crispy and served with apple, kohlrabi, parsley sauce), I think I’d find safely find myself ticking the remain box. It was a triumph and the parsley sauce suited it perfectly. Definitely a winner we both agreed. No argument necessary although I don’t think you’ll see me knocking back oysters straight from the shells anytime soon.

We moved on easily and in good time to course 3. Carrot cooked in chicken fat, with chicken skin, and pickled carrot. Now remember what I said earlier in this review about the onion dish? (feels like about 6 months ago I hear you say… I know, sorry.. hehe), well this carrot bowl was pretty much its equal. To take something as humble as the carrot and elevate it to fine dining is hats off, socks off, and pants off to you chef. A winner of any “make something from a carrot competition” unless someone produces a carrot clifton suspension bridge. Stunning cooking. Would I swap it for my onion dish? maybe, but never the twain shall meet one hopes. My 3rd favourite dish.

This leads me nicely into my second favourite. Crispy Pork Belly, Chanterelles, Mushroom & Truffle puree. I’m not even sure how to describe this. I wish Jay Rayner was here. Is this a straightforward combination?..Maybe it is, maybe not, but the texture, seasoning, and flavours. Wow! (hope Jay doesn’t nick that one). They packed a punch. Not just any punch though, a full bloodied Mike Tyson punch to the tastebuds. The dish was a knockout (boom boom). We disagreed,again, on this one. I had it in the higher stratosphere of 9’s. GB had it down as her least favourite but horses for courses, each to their own.

Salt pic 2

The ‘main’ course was Saddle of Roe Deer, burnt cream, confit shallot. BABY ONIONS COOKED THE SAME WAY!.. Okay so it might seem a bit obvious I was quite excited by this prospect. It didn’t disappoint. Never had deer, so another first, although I did buy 8 venison legs for 50 quid once, is that two deer?. Moving on, the dish was cooked exquisitely. It was a masterclass of marrying flavours and to top it off it had confit baby onions. Shallots of them.. sorry two bad jokes in 1 paragraph is maybe too much.This is genuinely a chef nearing perfection. Cheery at its finest. Course that surely couldn’t be topped. I would happily have walked away there and then. Plate of food doesn’t get any better, unless it has a side of Roscoff confit onion. Oh hold on, it did! 10 to of 10. A fist pump and a high five. Her indoors was slightly more modest. Again we were at odds. Wifey was debating that the fir potties was the best course. Luckily I’m writing this so I can honestly say she was wrong.

I’m no cheese buff so I will briefly say there was great variety and GB loved them all. She did have a favourite but I fail to recall its name. Apologies for that. The slithers I did have  were very tasty, definitely had the cheddar and i believe I tried the blue, but that was just an excuse for a cheeky glass of port.

For me this is where it got weird. GB chose this next dish as her favourite. Read it, think about it, then try to get your head around it. Poached blueberries, yep, normal, BROWN BREAD ICE CREAM, not so normal, frozen sorrel granita, again off the beaten track. Now in my head brown bread and ice cream should never go in the same sentence. I found this course challenging. Food as I touched on earlier is supposed to be thought provoking and experimental. There can be no debate that for me this was both. Personally it wasn’t my cup of tea. Can’t criticise the finished article and like I say GB loved it. It was just odd. I did finish it though so maybe it wasn’t as odd as I thought. Wifey continued to wax lyrical about it for the next week or so. She is more savoury than sweet though so maybe that was it.. she definitely enjoyed that one. Maybe it needed a sprinkle of radish?…

Our last course was Valrhona chocolate cream, pumpkin custard, pumpkin seeds. A lovely way to finish the meal. The only issue we had was that I was salivating over the main course and her indoors was rabbiting on about brown bread ice cream. It never really stood a chance. It wasn’t as memorable as some of the other courses but there was nothing wrong with it at all. It just got lost in a wave of brown bread and roe deer hysteria.

In essence what I’m saying is that ‘Salt’ is or should be the next big thing. It is without doubt the finest restaurant we have been to in a fair while. No question it is fine dining. It is also relaxed and casual. The good thing is that Salt doesn’t stop at doing what it says on the tin. It does SO much more than that. Salt is unobtrusive, and unpretentious. Like your favourite old snug t-shirt that you have worn for years its a treasure to behold, with the added bonus of serving immaculate food. What a fantastic advert for Stratford-Upon-Avon. If you find yourself heading that way in the near future, don’t take my word for it, book it, try it yourself. Even if you AREN’T going that way, book it, try it, make a weekend of it. It is brown bread ice cream and baby onion worth it.

If you are staying overnight I would recommend the Stratford Limes Hotel. Five mins outside of town run by a lovely couple. Nice rooms at a fair price and an excellent breakfast.

So there you have it. My take on Salt in Stratford-Upon-Avon. If you are reading this at any stage Mr. Rayner and feel the urge to offer some free journalistic tips to yours truly, I would be more than happy to meet up and listen. In fact I know the perfect place!

salt pic.5

Finally a use for the humble radish: Filling in gaps when you run out of pics! 

P.s. humble apologies for the length of the review. This is my most confident form of communicae and so quite often I have far too much to say. Something this good needs to be spoken about though right!

P.p.s I’m still lost at the point of a radish.



Lie steer ( Liebster ) Award ( non – predictive in brackets )

Ok. Let me see how much of this I can remember.

Numero Uno. Thank you DarkDelilah for nominating me for a Liebster. What a lovely lady you are. Why why why DarkDelilah is my question. Just kidding. From what I understand the award is given to those of us relatively new to blogging and/or if you have a small following. It helps get you out there and also lets people have that extra trickle of info about you and your peers. It’s also a way of introducing other bods blogs to your followers, so everyone’s a winner!..

I started reading Double D because like me she has a rough time dealing with day to day life. Frankly the majority of the time she has a far more positive spin on it than I do. Double D also explains herself a lot clearer than I do. I think sometimes I ramble. She is extremely honest and tells it as it is. The other thing about it, which maybe a tad sadistic, the saddest stories for all of us can sometimes have the darkest humour. It’s well worth a butchers if you get 5 minutes. Please, check it out.

If the Internet is supposed to be cheerful why doesn’t it start https:)) …. Just a thought!

Ok, so the general guidelines ( some may say rules ) to being awarded a Liebster are as follows:

  1. Thank the blogger that nominated you ( it’s the least you can do after all )
  2. Display the award on your page/post , it’ll be on my post somewhere
  3. Answer the questions set by the blogger who nominated you
  4. Choose 11 bloggers you would like to nominate ( ideally with less than 200 followers )
  5. Create a new set of questions for your nominated bloggers.. ( I assume it can be any number )

Note to self don’t forget to stick Award on post.

Now to the questions DarkDelilah set me:

1. Tell me something I don’t already know about you

I’ve had 2 heart operations which incurred 108 stitches, and saw me under Great Ormond Street hospital for my 1st 16yrs. Not sure whether that’s new info though. I drive a Ford Fiesta. Due to a side effect of my ops, as a child I used to have to dunk my toast in my tea/coffee before eating it. It became a mealtime favourite.

2. What do you consider being your biggest achievement so far?

I’m sure my good lady being the positive one would say there are lots but for me I haven’t achieved anything yet. Maybe being alive. According to the doctors there was a good chance I wasn’t going to make it to 18.. But here I am. I’m 42 so that showed them. I know a lot of people would say well you should be thankful and grasp every moment on that basis but they haven’t worn my shoes, and if they were anything other than a size 8 it could be really uncomfortable.

3. If I could live anywhere in the world, where would it be and why?

Dont get me wrong, I was only there for a day but there was something about St.Kitts & Nevis that really got to me. I hate the cold, so obviously that was a winner to start with and the people are so friendly. The feel of the place was just right. Overlooking the ocean would be perfect. Alternatively Southern Ireland, Donegal. You couldn’t meet nicer people. The weather is dire but the life is simple. I think ideally anywhere awash with ocean/river/lake views where the pace is slow and peaceful would do me. Not necessarily in the middle of nowhere but far enough away from the madding crowd, and with a decent pub. I might even make it to 50!

4. What made you start blogging?

In my own head there are very few things that I’m good at other than beating myself up. One thing I consider myself to be reasonably okay with is words. I’m far more confident with a pen than in real life situations. One bod I consider a best pal has been blogging for donkeys. He encouraged me. I enjoy writing so I thought I’d have a swing at it, and here I am. whether I’m good at it or not for the time being for me is irrelevant. It’s a release and helps me.

5. Who would you say is your greatest influence or idol ?

Biggest influence – not that I saw it but my father who passed away in 2010. My brother who introduced me to Arsenal. My first love and addiction. My sister and my cousin. They introduced me to Madness ( the band, not the state of mind ). Idols – Suggs from Madness, Paul Weller. David Rocastle and Dennis Bergkamp, 2 supremely talented and humble footballers. I’ve been fortunate to watch them grace a football pitch and will always be thankful of that. Sorry I know the question stated idol. Oh and Sid James.

6. What is your favourite movie and why?

My missus would say it’s castaway. Whenever I’m bored Castaway seems to be on. Shawshank Redemption would be up there. Blues Brothers. Stripes, I love Bill Murray. Kingpin?.. No, my favourite film has to be ‘Young Frankenstein’ with Gene Wilder and Marty Feldman. No matter how many times I watch it, and believe me I’ve watched it a lot I end up on the floor in tears. “I-I-I ain’t got no-bo-oo-dee,  and no body cares for me”

7. What cheers you up when you are having a bad day?

Sometimes nothing. Mostly though, my wife, how she puts up with it I’ve no idea. My cat Madge ( as seen below ), my writing, and my friends. footage of Arsenal beating Sperz. If all else fails, stick on Young Frankenstein. If that does nothing. Leave me alone.

8. Why did you choose the name of your blog?

its virtually an anagram of my name, if you remove 7 letters then add 8 new ones. I couldn’t come up with something original and my nickname given to me by a friend is Rollo so it was supposed to be therolloblog but I mistyped it.

9. What 3 words do you think best describe yourself?

Ugly, tired, boring….. On a better day, ugly, funny, considerate

10. What do I like to do in my spare time?

Mainly eat out, go to football, watch bands. I used to read a bit, and go to the pub, socially interact a lot but most of these activities have stopped more recently as I’ve not been at work since a car accident last year. Ooh and write my blog.

11. Which do you prefer, tea or coffee?

Solely to drink neither. I prefer fruit teas such as Lemon or blueberry and apple. If I had to choose though, probably coffee. I could dip my toast in it!

I hope this has enlightened you all. Now what did I have to do next?.. Ahh, the peeps I nominate for a Liebster Award are the following: this could be

Think that’s right. Now 9 people so 9 questions

What’s your favourite city?

Ultimate holiday destination ( whether you have been there or not )?

If you were a herb or spice which would it be and why?

Who would play you in a film about yourself?

If you could go back to any era what era would it be?

If you could change 1 thing about yourself what would it be?

You can rescue 3 things from a burning house, what are they? Not inc people

The last film you watched/last cd you bought or downloaded?

Neil Armstrong setting foot on the moon…True or a lie? Explain briefly

many thanks again to DarkDelilah xx




12 hours 

At 6 I arrive home, with a wave of relief,

Away from the torment, the pain and the grief.

I slip off my shoes, sit down at the table,

Take a deep breath, read the news if I’m able….

At 7, the panic and anguish return,

I feel them already, just starting to burn,

I’m simply not hungry, I know I must eat,

Lethargy wins, I admit to defeat….

By 8 I’m distracted, the cat plays with her toys,

Conversations with loved ones, dull into white noise.

Quite often when here, I wonder how it must be,

The frustration and anger of living with me….

Around 9pm, I try watching TV,

I simply can’t focus, I just want to flee,

My stomach does cartwheels, my palms fill with sweat,

Crashing waves over me, a fish caught in a net….

At 10pm, my eyes become increasingly red,

Uncontrollable tears,  as I sit on my bed,

I’m increasingly tired, I’m not able to sleep,

My heart it just races, I continue to weep…..

It’s 11pm now, maybe music will relax,

To help calm the nerves, stop the panic attacks,

Dead still I lay, trying to engage every note,

Avoiding the issue of my now bone dry throat….

At midnight, the quiet should give me some peace,

My minds working overtime, thought processes increase.

Financial, emotional, working life, stress,

Everyone deals with it, I cope with it less….

It’s now 1 am, in an armchair I sit,

Cursing myself, for being so shit,

I can’t sleep, I can’t think, why am I so weak?

A failure, waste of space, the future feels bleak….

By 2am it’s desperate, I feel so awake,

My mindset is dull, but my body just shakes,

Negative thoughts, start to enter my head,

This would be easier, if I was just dead….

As 3am approaches, I’m feeling quite sick,

Popped paracetamols, hoping they’ll do the trick,

Searching my mind,  for the lamest excuse, 

Don’t make me go back there, just give me a noose….

The clock strikes 4am, with pills on the table,

I don’t feel uncomfortable, I feel mentally stable,

My head it is pounding,there’s no lack of control,

But Is this the answer, out of this black hole…..

At 5 I still sit there, staring at the abyss,

No idea what to do, has it really come to this ?

One glass of water, it should be enough,

But for those left behind, it’s not fair, it’s too rough…

6am alarm goes off, despair and my heart sinks,

Where has all the time gone, could do with 40 winks,

Showered, dressed, out the door, on the train and meet a friend,

Smile, wave, laugh, have a joke…… And here we go again!


Mental health is extremely topical at the moment, heightened by various sports stars and celebrities. I think that the stigma attached to having mental health issues doesn’t help the cause but it is gradually becoming easier to climb the wall of despair and isolation, albeit slowly. Personally I prefer to call it mental wealth. Ideally the word mental wouldn’t be mentioned at all but if I just called it wealth I don’t think it would have the same catchiness to it. 
Growing up in my era as a child being called a mental was the worst it got, until you reached the upper echelons of the teenage world. wealthy mentality in day to day life is much easier to deal with than if you haven’t got a pot to urinate into mentally. A cheery disposition may sound like the simplest thing in the world to bring to the table, and it very probably is, if your state of mind has enough wedge in the bank.
I do feel that the stigma that is attached to it scares a lot of people. People don’t want to be labelled under the word “mental”. I don’t, I hold my hands up. I offer no solutions or answers sadly. I’ve no idea where it will end. I decided to write this after a very famous ( for 5 minutes ) journalist spoke out on mental health issues, stating that most people who claim to be depressed are probably just ‘a bit down’. Its exactly that attitude though that makes people afraid to speak out and question whether they have problems coping. So well done Katie. Bravo to you for being intelligent enough to diagnose everyone else and comparing them to you. Quite frankly I’d rather have one or two problems than be a self – idolising cretin.
Is it a fair point that she makes? On some evidence out there, possibly, but, and there is a huge but, then how many people who ride a slippery slope every day say nothing because of that sort of attitude. How many folk out there feel too embarrassed to openly admit to suffering from a variety of depressive states, simply due to a lack of willingness to understand from others. 
The next thing about this post is this, I will apologise now, if it seems disjointed and confusing. I have no idea where this is going, what I’m driving towards. This may sound bizarre but I had no idea how to start this. I’ve thought about it lots. The problem is I don’t have the self confidence or self esteem to believe that I’m good enough to make this a worthwhile piece. I’m not sure if this is a mental health issue. There are probably loads of people reading this, ( ok there’s maybe 10, if I’m lucky ), thinking what is this numpty on. Well I’m pretty sure I’m not seeking attention or help. I doubt I need help. Who decides? if anything I prefer to stay out of the headlines, but that’s another story. I don’t think I accept compliments too well. Call me a nugget, and I will get your point. Call me a star, I will get you a doctor.
People could tell me I was the best writer in the country, and for a few milliseconds I might actually go with it but it wouldn’t last. Sooner or later the thunderstorms overpower the sunshine and it’s back to square one. How do you write a piece on mental health when you don’t believe in your own ability to pull it off. My mind works like a seesaw. Not the best analogy I grant you but I’ve never conveyed to the masses my ability to articulate my thoughts. Tghe fact is I can go from being the Duracell bunny to drowning ferret in a matter of seconds. Getting out of that depressed mindset is the tricky part. 
 I would suggest people ( hopefully ) who know me, see me as a good egg. The sort of bloke who cracks a few funnies, has a bit of a laugh and a few beers and then trots off home to his happy little house to continue with his happy little life. Maybe that’s how I come across. It’s my defence mechanism. Give me a big sombrero and I really could be a fungi. Ok It’s pronounced fun-ghee but give me a break, I’m baring my soul here. Actually scrap that, regardless of the hat I’m not sure I’d look that much like a mushroom…. Am I bothered what people think ? I guess if I’m being honest I am. I know in theory that I shouldn’t give a Hugo, but I think it goes back to my days as a child. Acceptance.
So anyway, I spoke to GB, ( that’s her indoors for any newcomers ), the other day about writing this. She always encourages me, compliments me and tries to push me into putting my best foot forward. Here’s the kicker though. What if, regardless of what I’m told, deep inside, ingrained into my own self being, I feel I have no best foot?… Don’t get me wrong I could take a mean free – kick with my cultured left peg but that’s not what we are talking about is it. On a good day I can bounce out of bed and write a thousand words before my Coco Pops. It’s very rare that I have one of those days though.
I give up far too easily. I know that. Or do I ? For instance in my early days on this planet I survived two life saving heart operations. I’m never going to turn around and say that I wasn’t expected to pull through but the second had its moments. A very quick but heartfelt thank you to the Metropolitan Police. I’ve never said that before but it’s very possible that without their escort I wouldn’t be here today writing this blog. The bottom line is I came through the other side and lived for the main part a very happy childhood. I had a hole in my ticker just for the record. The first op didn’t resolve the problem. The second did. 118 stitches and 39 years on, here we are.
I’m not trying to blame my heart for any of my problems, I blame myself. It’s difficult to talk about my childhood, or at least what I feel, the main contributor was/is, to where I find myself mentally on far too many days. I don’t mind being open enough to admit I feel I was emotionally tormented at school. I have no doubt that others suffered the same fate, some far worse I imagine, but I to this day, struggle to cope with that. It possibly should have galvanised me to be a stronger soul but it broke me in so many ways. When people continually push you down, it becomes more difficult to get back up. Eventually I found it easier to stay down. 
Their problem with me became my problem with me. I started to hate myself. It was all my fault. Seeking acceptance became a major challenge. I would do anything to avoid ridicule, including stealing and trying to buy myself friendships. I always felt people were laughing at me behind my back. At senior school I started playing truant. I’m ashamed to admit I reduced my mum to tears at various stages by refusing to go to school. I love my mother more than anything and even now I regret what I did but I felt I’d rather die than go through that every day. I have an amazing family who if I’d spoken about it, would probably have helped but I didn’t speak out. I became more and more withdrawn. In between regular hospital appointments to Great Ormond Street Hospital, me and mum would visit City Sounds. A dance music shop by Holborn tube station. 
I immersed myself in music for a long time. I very rarely went out after school, instead I chose to listen to the radio and make myself mix tapes, back in the day before CD’s and ITunes. My own company was my best, and at times worst companion. With the amount of vinyl I owned I really should have pushed myself into becoming a DJ. It was something I loved, although I’m not so sure my parents enjoyed the ‘THUMP THUMP THUMP’ day in day out. 
As is always the way with a person lacking any form of confidence or self – esteem, I didn’t chase my dream. I didn’t see the point. I was never going to be good enough was I! It was easier to let someone else take the credit and for me to keep others happy. The way I saw it, if there was no spotlight on me, then hopefully people would forget I was there. Sometimes it’s the greatest escape, while at other times people can actually forget you exist. I’ve never been sure what’s worse.
You are in a pub, and you are a part of a small group. The conversation turns to something which you know little or nothing about. You can’t contribute in any way. This happened to me recently. It very possibly happens quite often in fairness. For a person who feels he/she is not that intellectual ( regardless of whether they possess some excellent qualities ), this is a bit of a nightmare. Again it’s a poor example but I’m having a go. My mind starts to wander, I start to think, 

“What am I doing here?…… Anything I say will sound ridiculous…..I’m lucky to be in their company”…. I remain silent and hope that eventually, the subject will change.
I’d start beating myself up. My mindset tells me I’m not good enough. I try to think of excuses to leave. I want to go home and curl up in a corner. A few drinks later, I’m feeling depressed. While on the outside I’m whistling a happy tune, inside I’m kicking the top ten hit out of myself. Have you ever wandered across a motorway bridge and stopped, Looked down and considered the possibility that in 5 simple steps the pain would be gone. I hasten to add that I’m not talking about thinking about it wistfully because you’ve lost your favourite Climie Fisher album. I’ve been there a few times. 
I think I’m writing this because I don’t like talking about stuff. My weaknesses are there every time I look in the mirror. It’s hard enough to live day to day without having to be constantly reminded by a bloody mirror. Even now I find myself going over and above what’s needed to be a friend. Or am I ? Maybe I’m just trying to be the best person I can be, because if others think highly of me its some consolation for me despising myself. As my best friend, ( GB ), tells me, ‘sometimes you are so busy doing stuff for everyone else you forget about us, you and me’. I know it’s true but even at 41, I still feel if I let my guard down people will dislike me. I won’t be accepted. Not a problem in a good mindset. Hiroshima on a bad day. 
Acceptance. That is my key to the door. It is more than likely that I was accepted by lots of people 25 years ago. On days like today, when it’s 3am and I’m still awake dreading tomorrow it’s hard to believe. I have some fantastic friends who I know at the drop of a sombrero would be there for me. That should be enough shouldn’t it. Some days I’m sure it is, but a lot of the time I feel so empty inside. Like my head is pounding and I can’t shut off the hate valve. Maybe I’m just a bit down. A clown with a frown. If I do wake up tomorrow I hope I’m a little more cheerful. Just for an hour or so.
Please note: I did, and for now I am.

No Glitch At The Flitch Part 2 (A Story of 2 Halves)


Starters, or pre starters to be exact were the Ham Hock & Lincolnshire Poacher Croquettes. They were spot on. Crispy Shells and soft and gooey inside. The cheese really came through. Perfect little quartet. I wish I’d had a bash on the quails eggs though. Maybe next time.

My starter was a Veloute of Pea, with Ravioli of Pork Belly. You could easily slice through the pasta ( or pastor as John Torode would call it ). The Pea Veloute had reL conviction to it, a strong sense of necessity and great consistency. I won’t hold back on this one, it was better than the Super Bowl. Actually, scrap that, I hate American football. I don’t normally do food pictures, but, I wish I had because it tasted better than it looked.. And it looked like Beyoncé , naked on a triangle tower of Ferrero Rocher. For equality purposes, it may have looked like Brad Pitt perched naked on a tub of Toffee flavoured Ben & Jerry ice – cream.

Okay, I saw this picture on Twitter and on reflection I have to concede that no matter good my explanation was, nothing summed it up like the clarity and quality of this photo. Massive cahoonas to @joevans16 for your foresight, photography skills, permission and input into this piece.

CHECK THAT OUT! ( courtesy of ajoevans16 )

This was Jo’s brief summary of the Flitch of Bacon:

“The refurb is excellent. Staff attentive, interactive, and informative about the food. It was evident they enjoyed working there. The food was yummy at a reasonable price, delivered with flawless execution” 

Well said that lady!… Below is the Pan Roasted Stone bass again courtesy of my new official photographer @joevans16 .. Thank you Jo.

For her starter, GB had the Salt Baked Beetroots, with a Golden Beetroot Marmalade, Shortbread and Goats Cheese. I cannot stand Beetroot. GB though loves every ingredient mentioned witching that dish and as a combination they went together like a line in that last song in Grease the musical. You know the one .. ( the “we go together like Rama lama lamma ka dinga da dinga dong” ).. Yes, the one no-one knows what they are singing!… I didn’t taste it but her little boat race lit up as she was eating like fireworks at new year. The empty plate was testament to the food.

Mains, it was a Sunday. I had the Pork, purchased so locally it could have walked over to the plate. Served with a chestnut stuffing, Apple Sauce and extra roasties for moi. There was also a carrot swede and carrot ( I think ) fusion with cinnamon inspiration. You also had your compulsory Broccoli and I believe Mange Tout but don’t hold me to that. 3 things on this plate hit me like a 10lb sledgehammer. The Stuffing was just ridiculous. I could have eaten a bowl of that on its own. It had a flavour of Black Pudding almost. Better still it wasn’t a stodgy stuffing. Your knife ran through it. Then you had the gravy!… Oh dear the gravy. Sorry that should be Oh dear lord the gravy. The gravy had flavour deeper than the River Roding ( keep it local ). Next time I visit the Fitch of B a on I am having a pint of Pork gravy!

The gravy had to be going some to outshine the Tenderness of the Pork. It was level pegging it the meat was as succulent as it could be. Slightly pink it packed more punch than a Mike Tyson uppercut, although that is not an experiment I’d be willing to put to the test. The Flitch doesn’t do half measures on your food either. There was a lot of meat on the plate. Interestingly, not enough to deter one from having a dessert.

The treacle went for Beef, it was serve pink and was almost flawless. The only reason I say almost was the missing Horseradish sauce GB loves her Horseradish Sauce and so we sent out a search party. Ok what I mean is we asked one of the many staff. Within an instant a disaster was averted. Horseradish upon us it was all systems go. I tried a slither of Beef. It was melt in your mouth stuff. The red wine gravy complemented it perfectly. I’m not a fan of Cauliflower Cheese but I have it on good authority from my beloved that it delivered on both flavour and texture. Creamy but with a little bite.
So we arrive at dessert. Apple Tart Tatin (for 2) served with a very tasty vanilla ice cream on top. It was sticky, can it be too sticky? My teeth told me to be careful of fillings. It was very sweet, but it was lovely. The apple and the ice cream on the same spoon were simply meant to be. GB thought dessert was lovely but that there was too much of it possibly. She did have the bigger half ( apparently ). I beg to differ, and I could have eaten it again.

Overall several things stand out about the FOB. The first being value for money. The Flitch certainly don’t scrimp on portion size in an attempt to save/make money. The produce is mostly gathered within the Essex and Suffolk borders, or within close proximity (Sussex, Hampshire), so provenance is not in question. The meat is so local you could throw a stone from the pub window and possibly hit a pheasant. Please note I am not suggesting that as a  viable or sporting option!

Of course it would be remiss of me to not mention the staff. The service we were given was second to none. Studious in their approach, I could only elucidate this better by saying it was almost as if they were walking to a floor plan. All provided service with a smile, and while we were served by maybe 5 different members of staff, each of them I’m sure were equipped to answer any questions we had relating to the food, wine or history of the FOB. As Jo put it, it was evident the staff were happy to be there. Teal gave us a brief history as to why the pub is so called and about the Flitch trials. Alan recommended a glass of one of the finest Riojas I’ve ever had the pleasure to drink. For the record it was a Marques de Reinosa Rioja 2013. Then there was Jordan who spoke excitedly about the ambition and dynamic that the owners are trying to create.

I’ve not even mentioned the chefs. Danny Gill take a bow squire!

This was one of the best meals I’ve had in ages. I rate Tredwells as the best Sunday Roast in Londinium. Essex now has a roast to match it. Simply put there cannot be a better Sunday dinner in this neck of the woods, or even this side of Epping Forest. The Flitch delivered on all fronts and passed its own trial of Little Dunmow. If the food continues to be this good going forward then Mr. Clifford should be one happy restaurant owner, and his tracky bottoms and hoody look will be forgiven.

My missus has a habit of bumping into well known chefs. Sunday was no different. She was spot on with her words to you though Mr.Clifford, they are doing you proud in there!

You REALLY need to visit people. You’ve no idea what you are missing!

No Glitch At The Flitch (A Story of 2 Halves)

 They say you learn something new everyday. Well I have to confess that, yesterday, (all my troubles seemed so far away ), sorry, couldn’t resist. I have to confess ( but only once ) that on this particular Sunday in February  I was overwashed by new information. I felt like I should be laying down after taking onboard so much new material. Of course when one is sitting in a restaurant this isn’t always the done thing, and so I remained upright but ever so slightly in awe of those lucky enough to live in the hamlet that is Little Dunmow, on the Essex Riviera. All will be revealed, I will be like a dreamboy doing the full monty, revealing all, but without the muscles, confidence and egotistical persona!

It began in the Molton Brown store over at Freeport Designer Village in Braintree. Mid to late afternoon. GB, (that’s her indoors ), has just discovered, that what we thought was a discontinued line many moons ago, is actually alive, well and still available. Not only is it sitting there, staring at us with those deep blue, buy me eyes, but it’s also nearly 30% cheaper than your normal Molton Brown shower gels. 

I feel it my duty to disclose to you,  that when approximately 2 years ago, my good lady was told in store that “Wild Indigo” body wash was no longer available, it was the 1st time I had seen a woman reduced to tears by a shower related product ( no sniggering at the back ). To this day the Fairy Liquid ‘Strawberry Fresh’ incident remains a closely guarded secret. Spread the word about the blog though and who knows what might happen!… Only joking, what happens in Leamington Spa, stays in Leamington Spa.

So, after a brief shopping excursion which included a near death experience with a lady on her ‘handling a pushchair’ exam, GB and I are sitting in the Flitch of Bacon in Little Dunmow. I am exaggerating the pushchair story ever so slightly. I did however learn ( new bit of knowledge no.2 ) that it’s possible for a person to control a pushchair ( badly ) and a mobile phone without even looking up. That is of course providing they use your leg as a “Not Beyond This Point” sign.

 I didn’t mind swiftly moving as this oblivious young lady just reversed back without a brief check. I gave her a glance on my 2nd move, as if to say “hello?” As she basically proceeded to twist the kid laden chair towards my legs again. The third time though got my goat as even when I moved to 1 side, the chair crashed into my skinny and unarmed leg. Still no response as she continued straight past me, phone in hand, no doubt checking her Facebook page for updates on TOWIE. I should add that this woman unequivocally failed her pushchair exam!.. How? She only had 2 minors, but her lack of control made it a serious!

Now, this is shaping up as a long blog, I apologise, I can go on a bit. In fact I’m going to split this blog into 2 halves. It’s a lobster bisque but I have to take a chance, it’s simply not compact enough. I take back what I said about blogs being easy!

This next bit of new knowledge though is as fascinating as it is important. While sitting, waiting for our mains, wifey and I were discussing the name of the place. With the dog and bone banished from the table, we were left in wonderment, as checking Google was not an option. In the end it was a young lady, Teal that enlightened us. The Flitch Trials of Little Dunmow can be traced back to the start of the 12th century. 

Flitch Trials 
Nominated couples ( you apply, you aren’t just picked at random ), are cross – examined by a selected jury to try and prove that for the past year and a day, the couple in question have not regretted being married. It’s fair to say that not too many passed the test. On such occasion that a winner(s) was found ( possibly telling the odd porky ), their reward was a flitch of bacon. A flitch of bacon is the whole side of a hog. Salted and cured. So now you know!… I have to be honest, I thought that was pretty amazing knowing that stuff like that still goes on. It takes place every 4 years, like the Olympics but without the drugs cheats. It just so happens that it’s that time again. July this year!.. I was going to enter myself and GB. She said no, and I said why not?.. It ended in a heated debate.. That’s us out! 
Now I remember why I started this blog. We went out for some food. I got the thumbs up from GB to choose where we went and luckily the FOB had a table available. I like Daniel Clifford. He comes across as a humble fellow with exceptional cooking skills. I was hoping that transferred to his new project. Well, hopefully you are still with me to find out what it was like in part 2 of this most lofty of blogs.

You walk into a light and inviting environment. Newly renovated, the bar area has a lovely old log burner. The decor is mainly white/stone and a beautiful dark green with nice light furniture. A couple of 2 seater sofas and big old wing back chair are located in the corner or you can sit at the bar, dependent on available stalls. A small quarter moon serves 4 real ales including Hopheads DarkStar. A lovely beer anytime of the year. For lager lovers Estrella is on tap. GB went straight for the wine. A New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. Very light and crisp, but not that I’m in the know when it comes to wine, it could have been a tad colder for me personally. Saying that 4 glasses later something tells me it wasn’t that bad.

As you walk round past the bar and into the main restaurant area the same colour scheme continues with some burgundy thrown in for good measure. At the back and to the left is a very loud and somewhat out of place butterfly patterned wallpaper. There are some nice spotted old skool banquettes and while there isn’t much room to manoeuvre the staff are fleet of foot and balanced enough to negotiate the twists and turns without leaving you waiting. I should say at this point it’s very possible that if in the near future you take my advice and visit The Flitch of Bacon the decor may have changed yet again as the owners seek an excellent environment in which all can enjoy the exquisite food on offer.

We got a short tour of the  outside space. There are three huge smokers, and I’m not talking about 7ft tall guys puffing on a packet of bensons. Fully ready for the summer, they look the business. Also, out of the side door are 3 individual kennels for those that wish to park the dog up for a bit while indulging in a wee pint and a cheeky bit of lunch or(and?) dinner. I guess though the piece de resistance is the old green Citroen H van fully restored and stocked up with fridges, washing basin and a serving hatch. Be a shame to get it dirty such was its spotlessly clean look. It does need to be seen to be believed. 

I nearly forgot. We didn’t see them,but above the pub is 3 rooms to rest your weary head after you’ve eaten and drunk yourself merry at the trials!… If they are remotely like the downstairs area you should be in for a treat.

Part one is done… Part two will be with you in a jiffy..safer to read that way!




Rowleys, Restaurant with the cure

I think it’s fair to say that these days in London, and this is just my humble opinion, if you want a top notch steak in 2016, ( I nearly said 15 there, how quickly time passes us by ), most would look no further than a Hawksmoor or Goodman Restaurant. I’m not suggesting that there aren’t others pulling on their shirt tails, just that at this moment in time, these two names stand out as the daddies for carnivorous consumers. No point in lying, I’ve never been to either. I’ve gone to book in the past but quite often, the funds aren’t there or it’s simply the case that there isn’t the space in the diary. If you go with what you read in your foodie mags/blogs and vlogs you may find it hard to come across a better option. 

The thing is, if these are the modern day daddies, what was there before? Who was the uncle or the granddaddy from which these guys got their inspiration? …The answer to this is unknown to me, mainly because I’m a bit lapse on the research front but I’m doing this for free so give a man a break. I will though take a little shot at naming a couple of them. The beefeater and Harvester chain, ( come on!.. Free salad )..I’m just yanking your chain as our cousins across the pond might say. 

For a start there is Langans in Stratton Street. A great restaurant with a quality menu, and a great, and colourful history. It’s also home of my first foodie faux pas. I was a kid, just a whipper when taking my now wife out for a posh meal. As the waiter offered me veg, I, trying to be cool, put my hand up stopping him. “No thanks, no broccoli for me”… His reply without batting an eyelid “very well sir, but it’s actually courgette”.. Of course I love courgette, but I had made my bed, and I had to lye in it, with only carrots and green beans for company. I also went there for my 30th birthday. No real tales to tell about that, not in print anyway, suffice to say it was an unforgettable birthday. 

Then we have Rowleys restaurant in Jermyn Street, ST James’s.. If Langans is your uncle that turns up at your party and is a little loud, Rowleys is the rich grandad that sits in the corner minding his own business, not needing to talk of his abundant riches. On the night I met her indoors, (GB as she is known thanks to a nickname given to her by 2 of our closest friends ), she had actually been for a night out at Rowleys with her local darts team. GB was then being dropped off at an 18th birthday party in Forest Gate, which is virtually the same in stature and society circles. In the past we had spoken about the place (Rowleys, not Forest Gate) and I’m sure we have eaten there once before but until we went there recently, after our visit to the “Crime Exhibition” at the Museum Of London, I’d never realised what a splendid building it was.

So it was fortunas edwardo, and with some consideration on GBs part that on this, our 14th wedding anniversary, we found ourselves sitting at a table near the rear of the restaurant. To our left was a beautiful white spiral staircase, to our right, table after table of satisfied diners. What a fantastic setting for a celebratory meal. A magnificent dining room steeped in history. This building for a long period was home to the now famous Walls Meat business, ( think of the advert where the dog says “sausages” ). I had agreed to let GB take care of arrangements for the special day, and she hadn’t let us down. 

You have to hope in the circumstances it won’t be grandeur over grub. I’m pleased to say it wasn’t. GB had the beetroot salad. I went for the old faithful, soup, more precisely Pumpkin Soup. I like my soup. Happy to say Rowleys version didn’t let me down. The loop the loop was hot, but not scolding hot like it can be sometimes. You know the type I mean, you end up blowing on it for half an hour trying to cool the bugger down. I suppose, it was above lukewarm but below lip burning temperature. The beetroot salad looked good enough to eat, and that’s precisely what ensued. No complaints on the starters.

On our way to Rowleys, GB and I both confessed to a lack of hunger. How things change!

When you visit Rowleys there are some quality choices food wise. For us two though it was an easy decision. Chateaubriand all the way squire! … With a side of spinach and as many fries as one can handle you simply cannot go wrong with this option. I think the spinach was my way of trying to incorporate “healthy” into the mains, but I probably had too many chips to do that justice. The wife had lots of chips as well. Sadly quite a few of them ended up sprayed across the floor in one of those duck your head down moments we all have now and again. You know, the one when your knife slips and thrashes the contents of your plate to surburbia and back. Luckily these potato laden rude boys were like the coca – cola in Pizza Hut, unlimited!

I’m still thinking about that beef as I’m writing this…and It was over 2 weeks ago!

Served up on a small tripod shaped warming plate ( I don’t know how else to describe it ), the beef just fell apart. I might be dribbling. With a ( very ) small token gesture of salad, and a little spinach it was heavenly. I’m not stating its new age cooking beyond the realms of a mere mortal, but what it is, most definitely is straight forward British cooking at a bloody ( medium rare ) good standard!… It was food I could eat every day, or at least I could if ….

  • I lived and worked nearby
  • Had a pocketful of wonga ( that’s money, not a tiny version of a loan company )
  • Was able to survive on just high grade steak and chips 24/7

I’m sure there are other reasons but for now, those are enough. Rowleys provided us with a Chateaubriand. 2 years ago a favourite eatery of ours served us up a truffle covered Mac’n’Cheese with our Beef. It was all lovely but the M’a’C was wasted and unnecessary. It was one of the new kids on the block, and is a place for indulgence. Rowleys served up enough food, well cooked delicious food. The correct amount for 2 people

 This is where I go back to the granddaddy analogy. If Mac’n’Cheese place was the kid coming of age, then Rowleys is the understated glamorous old girl in the wing-backed Chesterfield armchair whispering stories of days gone by. Not needing the attention, but receiving it nonetheless, her stories are there for all to see. People are fascinated by her, and rightly so. She still looks elegant but with a playful glint in her eye. Give the lady a sherry, she will sip it, restful and calm. Crack open the tequila and the quiet dame will not look out of place partying all night. That’s for me sums up Rowleys very nicely.

Rowleys Restaurant
Desserts. Straight forward. GB had the sorbet. Gingerbread I believe was one flavour and the other was possibly pistachio, but its debatable. We have confirmation on the gingerbread front. It was hard to forget, it was that tasty.while I went for the blood orange posset with jelly and shortbread. The sorbet was exquisite and the posset was very nice. The jelly didn’t win me over but overall It was a nice finish to the meal.  Ooh and a quick high five for the shortbread. Awesome. 

Throw in a cheeky Irish coffee and we were dandy. The two of us had split a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc between us, a Mount Franklin Marlborough. I have to say while you can argue it didn’t suit the food it still hit the spot for us. We concluded the evening with a glass of what you would class as a house white from Francais. No problems with that. I had trouble finishing what was a large glass but luckily GB was at hand to help me out. That’s why I married her!

An amazing night in a legend of a restaurant. Rowleys we salute you!

in case you were wondering about the title of piece. Rowleys opened in 1976, the same year that Robert Smith formed well known band The Cure. Just for trivial purposes I looked it up, and Mr. Smith is the only original member left in said band, but like Rowleys, in an ever changing world he is still a constant that works. 

This piece is dedicated to my uncle who was a top man. He would have loved the no nonsense approach of Rowleys. Short on height but not in heart, you will be missed UJ. X