Monday, 2 August 2010

Where's The Rest Of It?

Without any helpful grandparents in the vicinity, and with two kids who can be slightly bohemian in their sleeping habits, I can count on one and a half hands the number of times my husband and I have been out together of an evening in the last three years.

Being aware that one should be seen to be making an effort we have therefore decided that we should book the odd days holiday and take advantage of the kids being in nursery by having occasional date days as opposed to the more traditional date nights.

Friday was one such day. We try to mark the occasion by indulging in a bit of gluttony and trying out some lovely restaurants in the local area which usually offer a pretty good value business lunch menu.

As I'm partial to the odd celebrity chef we decided to go to Northcote Manor near Preston, home to Nigel Howarth who normally does quite well in the Great British Menu programmes. It was clear from the off that the usual clientele it caters to is, shall we say, north of retirement, and fond of matching their brown sports jackets with their socks. However the welcome was warm and the wine was very nice.

The food was delicious but, as a healthy sized northern lass who likes her carbs, the portions were miniscule. The veg for my main course fitted quite snugly under a two square inch piece of mackerel, which in turn was nearly obscured by the microscopic portion of caviar on top (approximately 7 eggs). We were so hungry that we decided to order cheese and biscuits for our last course hoping to fill up on some bread, however this turned out to comprise two wafer-thin (which of course has to be pronounced Monty Python style) dairylee triangle sized slices of cheese which you could probably have read newsprint through, accompanied by a handful of homemade cheese crisps (bit like posh quavers). Oh and 5 grapes. I laughed so hard when I saw the plate and my husbands naked disappointment that I actually snorted with laughter thereby incurring the disdain of several nearby brown sports jackets. You just can't fake good breeding. Needless to say we had chips for dinner that night.