And finally, to prove to Dave I'm not dead...

We left home on Friday in persistent drizzle and it took about six hours to get to Oxfordshire. I've not been through the Cotswolds before, it's very pretty countryside and has some gorgous villages. The hotel was an old coaching inn, reputedly haunted by the ghost of a highwayman - his image was everywhere, looking backwards from his horse - so you would for example open the menu and be confronted with a large horse's arse. Nice.

The room was quite comfortable, albeit with a manky old blanket and mysterious stains on the bedspread - judging by the damp patch on the ceiling, they'd had a little accident at some point.

We descended to the bar for a pre-dinner drink - over £6 for two pints. Yeeouch. Still, managed to nab a couple of armchairs in the corner with the bookcase which was full of old editions of things like Keats, and My Family And Other Animals, and so on - the volume that caught my eye (no idea why) was King Solomon's Ring. Upon examination this turned out to be some kind of naturalist's treatise, but the chapter headings made me laugh - they included Pitying Animals and Laughing At Animals. Eh?

Dinner was served by a pretty French waitress and the tallest, thinnest waiter I've ever seen. Who tried to serve us someone else's soup, much to their indignation!

To start with we had pigeon salad with bacon lardons, pine nuts and raspberry jus (which met with my approval in the definition of the word salad stakes, in that it was minimal salad and lots of bits of meat). Never had pigeon before, but it was rather nice, quite dark, bit like venison. Also, overcooked, but hey ho.

For the main course, C. had rump steak with pink peppercorn sauce (which was brown - doesn't that rather defeat the object of using pink peppercorns?) and I had salmon on wilted spinach with langoustine sauce, which was rather violent orange and quite rich - we both agreed our courses were improved for scraping off the majority of the sauce heh. Also, could have done without the standard issue 'lump of cauliflower, pile of radioactive carrots and a few beans' on the side. But still, nice enough.

The raspberry mousse I had for dessert didn't really taste of anything though, on a sad and soggy sponge base. C. had strawberries and cream in a brandy snap basket, which seemed okay, and we had coffees and a very nice bottle of wine (actually in a big silver ice bucket on a stand, which I was possibly over excited about.)

Saturday was the day of the track thing. We started out with the breakfast buffet, where you can basically have whatever you want from huge trays of sausages and bacon and eggs and all sorts, or cereals, or fruit, or even danish pastries. I'd quite like a day in that room, actually...Oh, and the second tallest, thinnest waiter I've ever seen. I think they must be breeding them specially. This one looked like Egon from the Ghostbusters, and I kept expecting him to burst out of the kitchen with a powerpack on his back and Slimer wrapped round his head...

Anyway.

We eventually found the right airfield entrance, after bothering a big American security guard at the wrong one - please don't shoot us sir - and the airfield was ace, full of miles of creepy old deserted hangars. Just begging for an episode of the Avengers. The U Drive track day people were all together, so there were people waiting not only to drive the Caterham and Lotus that C. was booked in for, but also two red Ferraris, silver and yellow Porsches, and Subaru and Mitsubishi rally cars. The Lotus was the prettiest, but boy did the Ferrari make the best noise. If ever there was a noise that could be described as knicker-elastic-snapping, that would be it.

It was misty and cold and windy, but not actually raining which was good. C. went in the Lotus first and then the Caterham, for which he had to take off one of his shoes because the pedals are so close together! He was ranked 83% and 88% respectively, and did not stall (unlike one guy in the Porsche) or drive over the cones (like one guy in the Ferrarri) although he did get lost in the Lotus and get an extra lap out of it...

Afterwards we made our chilly way to Woodstock, and had a steak sandwich in the Marlborough Arms, having managed to bag the leather sofa in front of the log fire. Ahh....We had a walk round afterwards, it's an intensely pretty town full of shops selling shiny things at the price of small council houses. We were going to go into the grounds of Blenhiem Palace, but it was £7.50 for the privelege, so we decided bugger that and went instead to see the Rollrights Stone Circle which was amazing - such weird stones, all pitted and knarled. The sun was setting in a wintry sky (it was only about 3pm at this point!) and it was very peacful, we had the circle to ourselves, despite there having been other people milling about in the layby. We walked around the edge of the field to see the Whispering Knights, and then back over the road to see the King's Stone - very odd shape, gives the impression it's spinning, everything's at an odd angle.

Stopped off in Chipping Norton for a hot chocolate pitstop, then back to the hotel briefly before going in search of dinner. The original intention was to see if we could eat in the place we'd originially been booked ion to stay, as the menu had sounded good, but we couldn't find it in the dark, so follwing my beer radar, we ended up at the Crown and Tuns in Deddington, which is a pub that specialised in pies! It had a log fire, and decent beer (Old Hooky) and I had beef and ale pie. And chips. Mission successful.

Sunday - more breakfast buffet joy (and Egon) and then the trip back, mostly in the pouring rain - although Oxfordshire saw us out in style by snowing on us!!

Oh, and we parked next to an Aston Vantage in Exeter services...

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So - is that like really small slices, or oriental?

Perusing the web for accommodation for an upcoming jaunt to Oxfordshire, I've just discovered one place offers on its menu "Beef and Ale Pie - chinks of beef in rich sauce with crusty puff pastry top."

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Meh.

Is this a cold I see before me? Actually, it appears to be more like tonsilitis, and I consequently spent about four days lying on the sofa occasionally whimpering pitifully if it looked like being of any use.

(On day one, I put the duvet on the sofa, inserted a hot water bottle, arranged a couple of cushions. Left the room to make something to eat, came back, and the cat had inserted herself under the duvet at the hot water bottle end. Hmph.)

Anyway, went back to work when the alternative was being dragged kicking and scraming to the doctor.

So what else is new and exciting? Well, went to the Trengilly Wartha for dinner with some friends last Saturday, lamb shank and mash, very nice too. The downside being the table of hoorays across from us that found themselves hysterical.

Why is it some people just cannot talk quietly? What makes them think the entire bar is interested in their conversation? Also, there were halogen lights on runners above us, and they decided they didn't like the spotlight on them. Fair enough, but they swung it round so it was pointing directly into my face. And when I said "yeah, thanks for that," holding up my hands to avoid blindness, they moved it away with very bad grace. When the waitress came to see if she could help, they said "We can't point it that way because she doesn't like it," pointing at me. You do that again sweetcheeks, I'll bite it off.

In other news, I have grated my thumb knuckle. Ow.

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Harveys Wharf

Harveys Wharf, Discovery Quay, Falmouth

You go in through a bar area with red leather banquettes, to a dining area that I should think is lovely during the day, as one wall is glass looking out over the harbour. The noise level was very high - popular place on a Saturday night - but it did mean you had to almost shout across the table to make yourself heard, and also the waiter had trouble hearing what we were ordering.

As a starter I had the potted shrimps - now I've had these elsewhere, and I'm fairly sure they're meant to taste of more than just the butter they were embedded in. It was a huge pot, relatively speaking, therefore very, very sickly. And why is it when a place offers something in this line that they never, ever provide enough bread to go with it? What am I supposed to do with the rest, smear it on my thighs? Don't answer that.

C. had ribbons of smoked salmon, which looked nice though.

For the main course, we both had rib eye steaks, and the waiter did his best to convince us we wanted a sauce with it - "but it really makes it" -"a red wine sauce? peppercorn?", "why don't you share one?" No, really, we don't want a sauce, we just want a nicely cooked steak, if it's all the same to you.

They were good though, when they came - I had mine medium rare, and it was lovely. If a bit fatty. I left a pattern of chewed fatty bits along the edge of my plate (yes, I know, lovely). Either C's steak was better, or he just ate the fat, but all his disappeared. The chips were nice, crisp and fluffy. It also came with a tangle of watercress, which I'm sure is a bonus if you like watercress.

C. had a chocolate caramel sundae for dessert, which seemed to go down well, and a hot chocolate, and I had a black coffee to finish off. All that, and a bottle of very nice wine for £60-something.

Oh, and when they brought the jug of water I asked for, the waiter said "would you like to keep hold of it?" and seemed faintly surprised when I said yes. I felt like saying, why, are we supposed to share? Apparently so, as he was doling it out a glass at a time to the couple on the next table, just wandering up and down with the jug. I'd like to pour my own when I need it, if it's all the same to you...

The loos were bright and clean, which is always a bonus. I set a lot of store on the state of a place's loos. Although the black and white chequered floor and walls were a little alarming - I thought I'd wandered into some deadly Dr Who booby trap, in danger of electrification if I trod on the wrong square...

So - pretty good. I'd go again, but I think I'd want to sit in the bar area, and I'd go straight for the main course.

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Clun and the Waterdine

Our 1st wedding anniversary!

Walked around Clun, up to the castle and round the village. The castle is having work done on it, with men and scaffolding so didn't like to go too close and ferret around. Bought a couple of cards and a PD James in the antique shop, and walked up to the church. Looked at the ducks on the river (also the Clun) and took a picture of the 14th century packhorse bridge.

Drove down to Llanfair Waterdine to suss out where the restaurant is for this evening - just as well as we completely missed it the first time through, it having a teeny-tiny sign behind a climbing rose painted the same colour as the building.

Drove up through Leintwardine to Craven Arms and went into Harry Tuffins, which is the local supermarket chain. And I use the term 'local' advisedly. Mind you, it did have Blue Dragon oyster sauce which Cornwall appears to have stopped selling completely, so yay.

Back to the cottage for packing and clearing up before going out this evening. Made pasta to eat on the journey back tomorrow before realising that we actually have nothing to eat it *with*. Oops. Still, it'll do for dinner when we get back, yes?

Drove back to the Waterdine for seven thirty. It used to be an old pub and is several hundred years old. We were directed to armchairs in the bar area where we selected a bottle of wine (Argentinian Chardonnay. Which was excelent. What do you mean did I just point at the one that said chardonnay and wasn't the cheapest?). They brought us appetisers of a teeny tiny hot cheese biscuity thing, straight from the oven, and a puff pastry smoked salmon thing. And a little pot of olives.

The (female) owner appeared and proceeded to bray loudly and at length at the couple behind us (the only others in the bar, and I think they were staying there) about how she went to Anthony's villa in March and wasn't it simply wonderful. Now, fair play, she can talk about what she wants, but this was so loud we'd have had to raise our voices to talk ourselves. And there was /no/ other noise in the room, and she was standing just in front of them. And she didn't draw breath for five minutes. When the other couple's table was ready and they disappeared (not having been able to eat their appetisers due to being talked at) we heaved a sigh of relief. Then she reappeared and came to talk at to us. Mercifully shorter but just as loud, and obviously not actually interested in anything we had to say, just making her presence felt.

We moved into the dining room (lovely little vases of fresh wild and garden flowers everywhere). It was a reasonably small room, and there were two other couples besides us. Two. There was a deathly hush over the room for a lot of the evening. The couple in the far corner conversed occasionally in whispers, and the older posher couple behind us (think retired Major, in fact we'd decided the whole place was ideal for a episode of Midsommer Murders) talked at normal volume which I was immensely admiring of and Chris found very irritating. We sort of murmured on a level in between. But seriously, it could have done with some background music or something.

Our starters arrived - Chris had Cornish crab with crispy salad (which appered to be the small bits of cucumber and tomato on top of the crab tower). I had smoked haddock mousse with cucumber and dill. Now the salmon mousse we'd had at the cottage had been fantastic, and I suppose I was expecting something like that. What arrived, was a rounded mound of bright yellow something, in a lake of equally yellow something, all flecked with green dill strands (one of which I discovered plastered to a tooth much, much later). I took a bite. Only, it wasn't a bite, because this had the consistency of very wet scrambled egg. So fortunately (or I don't know what I'd have done, because it didn't come with anything) there was bread on the table, and I mopped it up with that. It was - yellow, is about all I can say. And slightly fishy. And the texture was truely foul.

So the mains arrived, I had confit of salmon (I'm not entirely sure what confit means*, but I'm reasonably certain it doesn't translate as 'a piece') with onion risotto and creamed leeks and saffron sauce. The first mouthful gave the impression of a rather chlorine-y taste, which I thought for a heartsinking moment was the fish, but tracked down to the saffron sauce. So the generously sized salmon was nice enough, and the (very) little mounds of creamed leeks were ok. The risotto was rather claggy and not the best I've ever had, but hey, it was edible.

Chris had loin of Gloucester Old Spot pork, which I thought was a bit tough and overdone, but he liked. Oh, the crackling was fantastic though. Celeriac mash, roast new potatoes and marjoram sauce. He gave it the seal of approval, but said there could have been more of it.

I had been going to have the crisp lemon tart with cassis sorbet, but when this was delivered to the couple behind us it looked like the sorbet was just a drizzle of purple round the outside. This obviously came as a surprise to the lady as well, as she queried it, and it turned out the waitress (or the chef, presumably, unless he'd gone to bed by this point) had forgotten it. So it arrived rather forlorn in a little metal cup. But I'd gone off the idea by then, and plumped for the iced strawberry parfait with strawberry and balsamic tart. The tart was a brandy snap basket with chopped strawberries (in a balsamic something, doubtless) and the parfait was indeed iced, so much so I thought I was going to break the plate getting the spoon through it. It was okay. The whole meal was okay, which is a shame, as at each point it had the potential to have been fantastic.

Chris had almond chocolate brownie with white chocolate ice cream, which disappeared reasonably fast so must have been good.

We went back to the bar/lounge for coffee, and were given squares of something dark chocolatey with bits of fruit in to go with it.

As soon as I'd put down my coffee cup the waitress/barmaid appeared and asked if we wanted anything else from the bar. I'd barely fnished saying no when she said 'oh I'll get you the bill then we can close up'. Erm. Okay, we'll be off then. Ten pm it was. Bye.

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* Confit (French) is a generic term for various kinds of food that have been immersed in a substance for both flavor and preservation. Sealed and stored in a cool place, confit can last for several months, and can be reheated to extend its useful life. Well I'm fairly sure it wasn't that.

Adventures In Catering

I have just purchased a prawn and cucumber roll from the canteen deli bar.

Firstly, I had to shout at her to stop her putting evil NHS marge in it, despite having just asked me if I wanted it and received the clear answer 'no'.

Then she handed me a box that turned out to have a bottom completely coated in mayonnaise (not as much fun as it sounds).

Finally, I get the roll back to the office only to discover it contains, delicately balanced upon the prawns, precisely two slices of cucumber.

I'm not sure whether to eat them or frame them.