Sometimes, a night out just goes perfectly, impossibly right; you look back at it and think that you wouldn't change a thing. And luckily, after a trying week that saw - amongst other things - riots in Manchester and (on a slightly more personal, domestic level) ownership of a nosy, just-can't-leave-it-alone cat with gloss paint all over his face, last night was exactly such an occasion.
First things first: it was our wedding anniversary night out, to celebrate seven years of being married to a man who enjoys making hilarious jokes about how he would get less for armed robbery, and we had chosen to dine at Rhubarb restaurant on West Didsbury's Burton Road. This has been a reliable destination ever since it opened in 2003, but really seems to have raised its game recently - quite rightly leading to nominations for Best Restaurant and Best Chef for Bryn Evans in the upcoming Manchester Food and Drink Awards (you can vote for them here). Here are the highlights of this swaggeringly good evening:
1. Brisk walk Up West to Burton Road - a half hour journey that meant I could now eat with impunity for the rest of the evening. I am wearing some excellent gladiator sandals, a fact that the weather respects as the rain holds off for the entire evening - an event that has happened only twice in Manchester since records began.
2. Quick wine-tasting at Reserve Wines. This is a gem of a wine shop - lovely people, lovely wines, and an irresponsible tendency to tweet about lovely wine-tastings that lure you off your sofa and into the shop's gently smiling mouth.
3. Inaugural visit to Mary and Archie, the new(ish) bar that replaced our beloved Silver Apples on Burton Road; first impressions good (Mr Liz wisely points out it may take further research before we can pronounce a full vedict). We sat in the window, drank bottled Belgian beer, and watched a succession of ill-advised outfits parade past, including a lady in shoes so high she practically had to be carried across some of West Didsbury's rockier road surfaces.
4. Rhubarb. Looking back, I seem to have chosen the three courses with the highest possible saturated fat content (lucky I walked there, eh?) and unsurprisingly, it was all delicious: chicken liver parfait, followed by rump steak, followed by cheese, followed by some whining about having eaten too much. A special mention should go to the steak, procured from Chorlton's Mr Frosty Butcher himself, cooked perfectly, and served with proper big, fat chips - crispy on the outside, fluffy in the middle; a little like a cat coated in gloss paint, in fact. This course was excellent value at £17 - the piece of steak was the size of a small bungalow, and came complete with green beans and the aforementioned chips; no need to spend extra on side dishes here (although obviously, we did, as no-one in their right mind could resist parmesan coated courgettes, surely). The service was lovely, with a special mention to the brave girl who single-handedly wrestled a wasp to the ground while the man at the next table actually ran around in fright, flapping his hands and practically climbing on his chair. All in all a flawless meal - thank you Rhubarb.
5. What? you cry - haven't you had enough nice things happen to you in just one night? Well, just to cap off the perfect evening, we flagged a taxi down and found to our joy that for the first time ever, we'd secured the Hacienda taxi, allowing us to ride home in style, decked out in the classic yellow and black stripes so recently seen on that unfortunate wasp.
So hurrah for the perfect evening; here's to topping it next year when, if my in-depth academic research (Wikipedia) is to be believed, I will be the lucky recipient of a present made entirely of salt - hence the accompanying night out really had better be phenomenally good.
Showing posts with label Pubs in Didsbury. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pubs in Didsbury. Show all posts
Sunday, 14 August 2011
Monday, 25 July 2011
Ben & Jerry's Sundae Festival, Lunch at Giraffe and Other Lovely Things
Like it or not, we are living in an age of increasing political correctness. We have all read the gleeful tabloid articles that loudly ridicule the fact that school-children are no longer allowed to play conkers without the use of protective eye-wear (this was never a problem in my day - we were a sedate, lazy bunch who preferred to sit quietly and swap stickers), and that no-one is permitted to go away a loser on Sports Day (again, never an issue for those of us who spent as much of that dreaded day as possible lurking behind the pavillion trying to avoid any kind of physical exercise.) And whilst these kind of extreme examples are easily mocked, we should all of course celebrate that we live in a time of relative equality, where we are all free to celebrate our own worth and value to the world around us.
And yet. A blatant and unfair example of inequality regularly goes unmentioned, swept under the carpet of shame rather than ever being fully acknowledged or addressed. For, much as it pains me to say it, some weekends are simply much, much better than others. Take the weekend I have just had, for example. A bright, shiny, bullying behemoth of a weekend, there's simply no way that a wet couple of days in February spent marking coursework and doing a bit of ironing could ever compete. It claimed all (ALL!) of this as its own:
1. Friday night drinks at the Fletcher Moss. Shame on those of you at the back who are whispering that this is one of Didsbury's Old Man pubs - just because they don't do cocktails doesn't mean that, ahem, terribly young and fashionable people like myself can't go there. They have an excellent selection of red wines by the glass, lovely staff, and second-hand books to buy, and I will defend its desirability as a Friday-night hot-spot until my dying day (at which point, obviously, I will start drinking in the Royal Oak.)
2. Saturday lunch at Giraffe, Spinningfields. Obviously here I've left out the bit where I watched some cricket in my pyjamas and moved directly to the bit where I polished off a plate of Giraffe's mighty Huevos Rancheros in a new world-record time of 8.7 seconds (although I was aided by a strong following wind.) If you've never had this Mexican-inspired breakfast, I'm at a loss to understand why - tortilla with refried beans, chorizo and eggs, made virtuous and healthy by the addition of some salsa and avocado. They serve this breakfast until 4pm, meaning that you can go and try it, even if you're a student.
3. Saturday night takeaway. Now I know on the face of it, to consume an enormous curry (complete with sundries) on the same day as having lunch at Giraffe might look a little greedy, but I asked Twitter its opinion and it came back with a unanimous "Go For It" verdict. And anyway, we went to Amin, where they do the most amazing reduced fat curries, so in all likelihood I burnt off all the calories simply by going to fetch it (or I would have done, if I hadn't in fact sent Mr Liz.)
4. Sunday at the Ben & Jerry's Sundae Festival, Heaton Park. I wrote about this a couple of weeks ago, suggesting a number of reasons why I thought I might be fabulous; it was actually even better than I'd hoped. The sun shone (thereby allowing those of us with Greek tans to watch imperiously as our countrymen and women turned a fetching shade of pink), the bands were fabulous (especially the Fun Lovin' Criminals who, despite swearing with much gusto, couldn't disguise the fact that they are now, essentially, a bunch of really rather cuddly middle-aged men), and the ice-cream was FREE. I felt really rather ashamed of having consumed five gargantuan cones; until, that is, Mr Liz confessed to having lost count at 8.
In fact, there were only two flaws in the whole weekend. Firstly, Waterstones have sold out of tickets for Caitlin Moran on Thursday, so if you have tickets and want me to be your date, please be in touch. Secondly, on Saturday, we walked all the way to Burton Road in West Didsbury to try new(ish) bar Mary and Archie's, only to find it closed for a private party, forcing me to saunter casually but resentfully past pretending that I hadn't really wanted to go in there anyway.
So next time you're picking a cause to support, rather than going for something obvious, consider that poor little February non-weekend - it needs all of us to help protect it from brilliant, swaggering July triumphs.
And yet. A blatant and unfair example of inequality regularly goes unmentioned, swept under the carpet of shame rather than ever being fully acknowledged or addressed. For, much as it pains me to say it, some weekends are simply much, much better than others. Take the weekend I have just had, for example. A bright, shiny, bullying behemoth of a weekend, there's simply no way that a wet couple of days in February spent marking coursework and doing a bit of ironing could ever compete. It claimed all (ALL!) of this as its own:
1. Friday night drinks at the Fletcher Moss. Shame on those of you at the back who are whispering that this is one of Didsbury's Old Man pubs - just because they don't do cocktails doesn't mean that, ahem, terribly young and fashionable people like myself can't go there. They have an excellent selection of red wines by the glass, lovely staff, and second-hand books to buy, and I will defend its desirability as a Friday-night hot-spot until my dying day (at which point, obviously, I will start drinking in the Royal Oak.)
2. Saturday lunch at Giraffe, Spinningfields. Obviously here I've left out the bit where I watched some cricket in my pyjamas and moved directly to the bit where I polished off a plate of Giraffe's mighty Huevos Rancheros in a new world-record time of 8.7 seconds (although I was aided by a strong following wind.) If you've never had this Mexican-inspired breakfast, I'm at a loss to understand why - tortilla with refried beans, chorizo and eggs, made virtuous and healthy by the addition of some salsa and avocado. They serve this breakfast until 4pm, meaning that you can go and try it, even if you're a student.
3. Saturday night takeaway. Now I know on the face of it, to consume an enormous curry (complete with sundries) on the same day as having lunch at Giraffe might look a little greedy, but I asked Twitter its opinion and it came back with a unanimous "Go For It" verdict. And anyway, we went to Amin, where they do the most amazing reduced fat curries, so in all likelihood I burnt off all the calories simply by going to fetch it (or I would have done, if I hadn't in fact sent Mr Liz.)
4. Sunday at the Ben & Jerry's Sundae Festival, Heaton Park. I wrote about this a couple of weeks ago, suggesting a number of reasons why I thought I might be fabulous; it was actually even better than I'd hoped. The sun shone (thereby allowing those of us with Greek tans to watch imperiously as our countrymen and women turned a fetching shade of pink), the bands were fabulous (especially the Fun Lovin' Criminals who, despite swearing with much gusto, couldn't disguise the fact that they are now, essentially, a bunch of really rather cuddly middle-aged men), and the ice-cream was FREE. I felt really rather ashamed of having consumed five gargantuan cones; until, that is, Mr Liz confessed to having lost count at 8.
In fact, there were only two flaws in the whole weekend. Firstly, Waterstones have sold out of tickets for Caitlin Moran on Thursday, so if you have tickets and want me to be your date, please be in touch. Secondly, on Saturday, we walked all the way to Burton Road in West Didsbury to try new(ish) bar Mary and Archie's, only to find it closed for a private party, forcing me to saunter casually but resentfully past pretending that I hadn't really wanted to go in there anyway.
So next time you're picking a cause to support, rather than going for something obvious, consider that poor little February non-weekend - it needs all of us to help protect it from brilliant, swaggering July triumphs.
Saturday, 30 April 2011
Royal Wedding Fun in Didsbury; Even Cynical Husbands Enjoy Themselves
At first, you would be forgiven for thinking that, in this household at least, Friday 29th April 2011 was just any old day. Mr Liz duly brought me a nice cup of tea in bed and rushed downstairs to commandeer the tellybox so that he might pretend to be some kind of fierce sandal-wearing warrior on the trail of some dragon, or bad man, or monkey, or something. I lay in bed, and read an intellectual book about vampires. And then, I remembered.
Seconds later, Mr Liz had been forcibly removed from televisual control, and found himself watching, aghast, as a parade of overdressed toffs and celebrities began to shimmy across the screen. A stream of text messages - "Oh my God! Posh is wearing NAVY" - announced that my fellow wedding-watcher was on her way, armed with pink wine and good shoes. Normal service resumed - Mr Liz driven out of his own living room by presence of wildly over-excited, squawking women - we sat back to enjoy the following schedule:
10am: watching the guests arrive, commenting chiefly on Tara's nose, Posh's teepee and Elton's girth. Perusal of Grazia during dull moments or those featuring Fearne Cotton.
11am: the ceremony. We like the dress, but note that Pippa's maid of honour outfit is remarkably similar to my own wedding dress although, presumably, not purchased from Monsoon. We have a cup of tea and plan to watch the whole ceremony.
11.15: some religious people start doing long readings so we open the pink wine and embark on a sterling sofa picnic - olives, pork pies, crisps, pate and crackers. Somehow, the food and the drink complement each other so perfectly that no-one really notices that the sun is not even approaching the yard-arm. We enjoy how Kate keeps her face looking interested throughout the duration of the ceremony while William is repeatedly caught on camera looking bored - presumably because he doesn't have any pink wine to take the edge off it all.
1.30: I predict that Wills and Kate will kiss twice on the balcony, and am correct. We also enjoy the tiny bridemaid refusing to remove her hands from over her ears or the look of total disgust from her face.
2pm: time to actually leave the house. The long and arduous walk to Didsbury is broken up with a pitstop in the beautiful Airy Fairy Cake Boutique on School Lane, where Laura sells us cupcakes that have pictures of Kate and William on. I should probably mention that at this point I am sporting my wedding tiara, which I have been looking for an excuse to wear for the last seven years; I am under the impression that I look a little like a bride, or a princess, or possibly both.
3.30pm: drinks at The Didsbury. We sit outside and drink Prosecco, and have by this stage been joined by two boys who claim to have no interest whatsoever in the wedding, and yet find they can manage to sit outside a pub drinking beer.
5pm: drinks at The Sanctuary. This place is much improved since its Varsity days, and was very sportingly offering jugs of Pimms for £7.99 a go. We sit in a lovely squashy old sofa and find to our horror that the boys are now embracing the spirit of the occasion and wish to share our Pimms. Cunning friend contrives to pour large quantities of ice-cubes into their waiting glasses rather than much actual Pimms, thus reminding me of one of the key reasons I spend so much time with her.
7pm: it would seem that people who eat their lunch at 11.15 are quite terrifyingly hungry by the early evening, and are forced to accept that eating the cucumber slices from the Pimms jug is no longer sufficient. We choose The Laughing Buddha, a Chinese restaurant that we have never tried before, and are most impressed - we order Banquet C and plough our way through assorted deep-fried starters, hot and sour soup, crispy duck and four main courses (one of which - the Mongolian Lamb - had to be packaged up for taking home lest we actually burst on the premises.) The food is consistently good, and I give it a score of 7.8, docking points largely because the duck was a tiny bit dry, and they gave too much food to people who clearly couldn't say no.
9.30: we walk home our separate ways, and I am in bed at a profoundly sensible hour. If it wasn't likely to bankrupt both the country and me personally, I would suggest one of these Royal Wedding larks at least once a year, possibly more often depending on availability of appropriate personnel.
Seconds later, Mr Liz had been forcibly removed from televisual control, and found himself watching, aghast, as a parade of overdressed toffs and celebrities began to shimmy across the screen. A stream of text messages - "Oh my God! Posh is wearing NAVY" - announced that my fellow wedding-watcher was on her way, armed with pink wine and good shoes. Normal service resumed - Mr Liz driven out of his own living room by presence of wildly over-excited, squawking women - we sat back to enjoy the following schedule:
10am: watching the guests arrive, commenting chiefly on Tara's nose, Posh's teepee and Elton's girth. Perusal of Grazia during dull moments or those featuring Fearne Cotton.
11am: the ceremony. We like the dress, but note that Pippa's maid of honour outfit is remarkably similar to my own wedding dress although, presumably, not purchased from Monsoon. We have a cup of tea and plan to watch the whole ceremony.
11.15: some religious people start doing long readings so we open the pink wine and embark on a sterling sofa picnic - olives, pork pies, crisps, pate and crackers. Somehow, the food and the drink complement each other so perfectly that no-one really notices that the sun is not even approaching the yard-arm. We enjoy how Kate keeps her face looking interested throughout the duration of the ceremony while William is repeatedly caught on camera looking bored - presumably because he doesn't have any pink wine to take the edge off it all.
1.30: I predict that Wills and Kate will kiss twice on the balcony, and am correct. We also enjoy the tiny bridemaid refusing to remove her hands from over her ears or the look of total disgust from her face.
2pm: time to actually leave the house. The long and arduous walk to Didsbury is broken up with a pitstop in the beautiful Airy Fairy Cake Boutique on School Lane, where Laura sells us cupcakes that have pictures of Kate and William on. I should probably mention that at this point I am sporting my wedding tiara, which I have been looking for an excuse to wear for the last seven years; I am under the impression that I look a little like a bride, or a princess, or possibly both.
3.30pm: drinks at The Didsbury. We sit outside and drink Prosecco, and have by this stage been joined by two boys who claim to have no interest whatsoever in the wedding, and yet find they can manage to sit outside a pub drinking beer.
5pm: drinks at The Sanctuary. This place is much improved since its Varsity days, and was very sportingly offering jugs of Pimms for £7.99 a go. We sit in a lovely squashy old sofa and find to our horror that the boys are now embracing the spirit of the occasion and wish to share our Pimms. Cunning friend contrives to pour large quantities of ice-cubes into their waiting glasses rather than much actual Pimms, thus reminding me of one of the key reasons I spend so much time with her.
7pm: it would seem that people who eat their lunch at 11.15 are quite terrifyingly hungry by the early evening, and are forced to accept that eating the cucumber slices from the Pimms jug is no longer sufficient. We choose The Laughing Buddha, a Chinese restaurant that we have never tried before, and are most impressed - we order Banquet C and plough our way through assorted deep-fried starters, hot and sour soup, crispy duck and four main courses (one of which - the Mongolian Lamb - had to be packaged up for taking home lest we actually burst on the premises.) The food is consistently good, and I give it a score of 7.8, docking points largely because the duck was a tiny bit dry, and they gave too much food to people who clearly couldn't say no.
9.30: we walk home our separate ways, and I am in bed at a profoundly sensible hour. If it wasn't likely to bankrupt both the country and me personally, I would suggest one of these Royal Wedding larks at least once a year, possibly more often depending on availability of appropriate personnel.
Thursday, 21 April 2011
Sad Times (but Decent Starters) as Mr J Departs The Didsbury
Anyone who has lived in South Manchester for a considerable period of time is likely to have been to The Didsbury Pub. Set behind its own green towards the East Didsbury end of Wilmslow Road, my first brush with the mighty Didsbury was no doubt in the 1990s as part of a series of deeply unwise "Didsbury Dozen" pub crawls - or thirteen pints in thirteen pubs for the uninitiated. As students we cursed its aloofness, set away as it was from the other pubs and therefore requiring us to WALK, ooh, probably several hundred yards to get back to the main drag; I now realise that this short enforced walk is probably the sole reason I survived ANY Didsbury Dozens at all and live to tell the tale *puts on stern, anti-drink face*
Anyway, as I grew up, so did The Didsbury - or perhaps it was always grown-up and I was just too drunk and over-excited to notice the horrified expressions of the other patrons as I rampaged the premises looking for whatever clue the Maths department had left for their fellow Didsbury Dozeners (they were ALWAYS organised by the Maths students - you really do have to watch the quiet ones.) And then for some reason, I stopped going as often; perhaps newer, shinier places opened up and turned my shallow and superficial preferences away from a pub that was perhaps starting to look a bit tired, a bit...dull.
But then seven years ago, a genial host by the name of Paul Johnson took over, and The Didsbury began to be fun again. As well as being a general all-round top bloke, Mr J is that most rare of things - a pub manager who actually listens to his customers. One staggering summer, he stocked Prosecco by the glass, BECAUSE I ASKED HIM TO. True, I think I was the only one that ever actually ordered it, but then I never claimed to be a businesswoman, and I did gamely try to drink as much of it as I could (ALWAYS helpful, ALWAYS selfless, that's me.) Paul is also a constant presence on Twitter, making the most of social networking's insidious ability to make a sensible girl turn bad - it's a canny manager who tweets about the lovely weather in his beer garden just as an otherwise pure, clean-living sort of girl is leaving work after a hard day.
In short, The Didsbury is now at the heart of the village again, always bustling with cheerful souls having a drink outside or cosying up inside with some of the good-value food. But now, the skies have darkened and the storm clouds are gathering, for Mr J is off to pastures new. In just a few weeks he will be taking over at The Axe & Cleaver in Dunham Massey, a fact that makes me so maudlin that I am tempted to produce a small violin right now and play a mournful solo in his honour. He has made it clear that whilst it's not his decision to leave The Didsbury (should think not!) he is pleased with the pub and the area that he's off to, and promises us that we will always be just as welcome there as at The Didsbury.
After such heart-felt sorrow, it seems a little trite now to review the meal that Mr Liz and I consumed there last night in the company of the ever-fragrant Didsbury Life. So, I will summarise.
Starters: excellent. Meze platter for the "ladies" (no sniggering at the back), chicken skewers for Mr Liz, chicken & honey pate for Mr D-L. All very good, although husband, I notice, quick to finish chicken skewers and start on nearest available dish, namely my meze platter.
Mains: mixed. My barbecue pork shanks with sweet potato chips were fine, as was Mr D-L's salmon. Mr Liz proclaimed the steak in his mixed grill a little chewy (although I noticed he ate every last scrap) but he enjoyed everything else. The only dish that really let us down was the sea bass with herb risotto, offering rice that you could plaster your walls with and fish that, in an emergency, you could resole your shoes with (there's a joke there actually, but I am too classy to stoop so low - you may go there if you wish.)
Puds: again, mixed. The boys ate their choices with enthusiasm (one x boozy mocha ice-cream cake, one x sticky toffee pudding), but the ladies fared less well with their slim-line choices of, ahem, a chocolate brownie and a piece of cheesecake. In truth, the portion sizes here seem to have got a little large, and if someone as greedy as me couldn't eat all her brownie, you may confidently surmise that it was probably big enough to have been laid as the foundation stone in a new-build property of your choice.
Luckily, all this greed was negated by the ten-minute stroll home, after another convivial evening. One can only cry a little at the thought of how many calories the walk home from Dunham Massey will be burning off in a couple of months time...
Good luck in your new venture Mr J; everyone here in Didsbury will miss you.
Anyway, as I grew up, so did The Didsbury - or perhaps it was always grown-up and I was just too drunk and over-excited to notice the horrified expressions of the other patrons as I rampaged the premises looking for whatever clue the Maths department had left for their fellow Didsbury Dozeners (they were ALWAYS organised by the Maths students - you really do have to watch the quiet ones.) And then for some reason, I stopped going as often; perhaps newer, shinier places opened up and turned my shallow and superficial preferences away from a pub that was perhaps starting to look a bit tired, a bit...dull.
But then seven years ago, a genial host by the name of Paul Johnson took over, and The Didsbury began to be fun again. As well as being a general all-round top bloke, Mr J is that most rare of things - a pub manager who actually listens to his customers. One staggering summer, he stocked Prosecco by the glass, BECAUSE I ASKED HIM TO. True, I think I was the only one that ever actually ordered it, but then I never claimed to be a businesswoman, and I did gamely try to drink as much of it as I could (ALWAYS helpful, ALWAYS selfless, that's me.) Paul is also a constant presence on Twitter, making the most of social networking's insidious ability to make a sensible girl turn bad - it's a canny manager who tweets about the lovely weather in his beer garden just as an otherwise pure, clean-living sort of girl is leaving work after a hard day.
In short, The Didsbury is now at the heart of the village again, always bustling with cheerful souls having a drink outside or cosying up inside with some of the good-value food. But now, the skies have darkened and the storm clouds are gathering, for Mr J is off to pastures new. In just a few weeks he will be taking over at The Axe & Cleaver in Dunham Massey, a fact that makes me so maudlin that I am tempted to produce a small violin right now and play a mournful solo in his honour. He has made it clear that whilst it's not his decision to leave The Didsbury (should think not!) he is pleased with the pub and the area that he's off to, and promises us that we will always be just as welcome there as at The Didsbury.
After such heart-felt sorrow, it seems a little trite now to review the meal that Mr Liz and I consumed there last night in the company of the ever-fragrant Didsbury Life. So, I will summarise.
Starters: excellent. Meze platter for the "ladies" (no sniggering at the back), chicken skewers for Mr Liz, chicken & honey pate for Mr D-L. All very good, although husband, I notice, quick to finish chicken skewers and start on nearest available dish, namely my meze platter.
Mains: mixed. My barbecue pork shanks with sweet potato chips were fine, as was Mr D-L's salmon. Mr Liz proclaimed the steak in his mixed grill a little chewy (although I noticed he ate every last scrap) but he enjoyed everything else. The only dish that really let us down was the sea bass with herb risotto, offering rice that you could plaster your walls with and fish that, in an emergency, you could resole your shoes with (there's a joke there actually, but I am too classy to stoop so low - you may go there if you wish.)
Puds: again, mixed. The boys ate their choices with enthusiasm (one x boozy mocha ice-cream cake, one x sticky toffee pudding), but the ladies fared less well with their slim-line choices of, ahem, a chocolate brownie and a piece of cheesecake. In truth, the portion sizes here seem to have got a little large, and if someone as greedy as me couldn't eat all her brownie, you may confidently surmise that it was probably big enough to have been laid as the foundation stone in a new-build property of your choice.
Luckily, all this greed was negated by the ten-minute stroll home, after another convivial evening. One can only cry a little at the thought of how many calories the walk home from Dunham Massey will be burning off in a couple of months time...
Good luck in your new venture Mr J; everyone here in Didsbury will miss you.
Monday, 18 April 2011
Didsbury Dinners Cookbook Launches at The Albert Club, West Didsbury
If there's one thing more enjoyable than eating, it's eating with a clear conscience. I do not always behave with great integrity when it comes to ethically sourced food; indeed, anyone who has been a student in Manchester will know that it's not always easy to even identify what TYPE of animal goes into a kebab, let alone whether it had a happy and fulfilling life.
I am trying to do better, however. I get my vegetables in a box now from Stockley Farm, spending every winter living on cabbage and scraping mud from carrots (which were once so muddy that, to my great surprise, they turned out to be parsnips underneath) rather than scanning the beautifully-washed exotica on the shelves at Sainsbury's, and I try to buy meat from an animal that roamed free and made merry during its reasonably long life. On Saturday morning, for example, I had a long chat with some ace pigs and some unbearably cute lambs at The Artisan Meat Company before going into the shop and purchasing their brethren in sausage, chop and bacon form; the first step, I feel, in facing up to one's carnivorous tendencies.
And now, to make things even easier, comes Didsbury Dinners, a new low-carbon community cookbook that aims to promote food sustainability and make us think about what we actually eat; it's not as worthy as it sounds and doesn't, to Mr Liz's palpable relief, contain nothing but healthy recipes - the sticky toffee pudding, for example, looks pretty good. The book was launched yesterday at The Albert Club in West Didsbury on one of those rare things - a perfect Manchester early-summer day, and the sun shone down on the great and good of the area as they browsed stalls, sampled home-cooked healthy fare, watched people playing on large legumes in a vegetable orchestra (yes, really) and, erm, drank large quantities of beer and wine (I swear the vegetable orchestra thing really happened, and was in no way imagined by myself after sitting in the sun for too long.)
The recipes for the book were provided by local eateries and organisations, including Rhubarb Restaurant, Folk Cafe Bar and the Didsbury Village WI (who, incidentally, tried to sign up two friends of mine yesterday, giving them leaflets but simply bestowing upon me a look that said "oh no, I don't think so - you seem MOST unsuitable.") The proceeds will go towards a range of noble things, including a community orchard and subsidised cookery classes, and I like to think that in my own humble way I have contributed to this success, by drinking sustainable pints of Staropramen all afternoon and then calling into Casa Tapas for dinner on the way home for, erm, local Spanish delicacies. Oh well - small steps...
Didsbury Dinners costs £7 - further details available from Didsbury Life. Incidentally, after I'd left, a lady who should know better apparently hit another lady over the head with a small loaf of bread - never say we don't know how to have fun in Didsbury :)
I am trying to do better, however. I get my vegetables in a box now from Stockley Farm, spending every winter living on cabbage and scraping mud from carrots (which were once so muddy that, to my great surprise, they turned out to be parsnips underneath) rather than scanning the beautifully-washed exotica on the shelves at Sainsbury's, and I try to buy meat from an animal that roamed free and made merry during its reasonably long life. On Saturday morning, for example, I had a long chat with some ace pigs and some unbearably cute lambs at The Artisan Meat Company before going into the shop and purchasing their brethren in sausage, chop and bacon form; the first step, I feel, in facing up to one's carnivorous tendencies.
And now, to make things even easier, comes Didsbury Dinners, a new low-carbon community cookbook that aims to promote food sustainability and make us think about what we actually eat; it's not as worthy as it sounds and doesn't, to Mr Liz's palpable relief, contain nothing but healthy recipes - the sticky toffee pudding, for example, looks pretty good. The book was launched yesterday at The Albert Club in West Didsbury on one of those rare things - a perfect Manchester early-summer day, and the sun shone down on the great and good of the area as they browsed stalls, sampled home-cooked healthy fare, watched people playing on large legumes in a vegetable orchestra (yes, really) and, erm, drank large quantities of beer and wine (I swear the vegetable orchestra thing really happened, and was in no way imagined by myself after sitting in the sun for too long.)
The recipes for the book were provided by local eateries and organisations, including Rhubarb Restaurant, Folk Cafe Bar and the Didsbury Village WI (who, incidentally, tried to sign up two friends of mine yesterday, giving them leaflets but simply bestowing upon me a look that said "oh no, I don't think so - you seem MOST unsuitable.") The proceeds will go towards a range of noble things, including a community orchard and subsidised cookery classes, and I like to think that in my own humble way I have contributed to this success, by drinking sustainable pints of Staropramen all afternoon and then calling into Casa Tapas for dinner on the way home for, erm, local Spanish delicacies. Oh well - small steps...
Didsbury Dinners costs £7 - further details available from Didsbury Life. Incidentally, after I'd left, a lady who should know better apparently hit another lady over the head with a small loaf of bread - never say we don't know how to have fun in Didsbury :)
Saturday, 9 April 2011
Summer is Here: Official Proof Gathered in Manchester AND Southport
I am pleased to announce that Summer 2011 is now open. What's that you say? I make this mistake EVERY year, loudly trumpeting about the arrival of summer in April, only for arctic conditions to set in again a week later? Pah - I choose not to hear you, and instead offer the following proof that it is indeed summer:
1. I have been to Southport today. It is ace, by the way, and if you haven't been you should go - as long as you don't mind the fact that the sea is approximately fifteen miles away from the main bit of beach, and are happy to count yourself fortunate to catch even the briefest glimpse of it on the horizon. I have very poor eyesight, but I did shout "I can see the sea", just to pretend and so that I didn't feel too left out.
2. For my lunch, I had a Mr Whippy, the first of the year. FOR LUNCH!
3. I no longer have any skin left between my big and second toes, a classic injury resulting from the first FitFlop wearing excursion of the season.
4. I can no longer fit any food in the fridge as my husband has filled it full of cider.
5. But as well as the cider, there is also a bottle of pink Freixenet. This is exciting because a/ it is mine, and b/ I didn't even know you could GET pink Freixenet.
6. Last night I walked into Didsbury WITHOUT A COAT, wearing cute ballet pumps WITHOUT TIGHTS. Whilst we were there, by the way, we went to the Fat Loaf and sampled the new World Beers list (bravo Fat Loaf for stocking so much Belgian goodness) and then had dinner at Loch Fyne. Further evidence of summer, if you need it, is the fact that both Fat Loaf and Loch Fyne were empty until about 8.30, because the entire rest of the world (except us) was sitting outside the Didsbury. Outside! Till 8.30!
The problem with all of this though, is that not only is it not yet the summer holidays, for me it's not even the Easter holidays for another week. So by the time I may gallivant full-time, no doubt it will be just starting to cloud over...
1. I have been to Southport today. It is ace, by the way, and if you haven't been you should go - as long as you don't mind the fact that the sea is approximately fifteen miles away from the main bit of beach, and are happy to count yourself fortunate to catch even the briefest glimpse of it on the horizon. I have very poor eyesight, but I did shout "I can see the sea", just to pretend and so that I didn't feel too left out.
2. For my lunch, I had a Mr Whippy, the first of the year. FOR LUNCH!
3. I no longer have any skin left between my big and second toes, a classic injury resulting from the first FitFlop wearing excursion of the season.
4. I can no longer fit any food in the fridge as my husband has filled it full of cider.
5. But as well as the cider, there is also a bottle of pink Freixenet. This is exciting because a/ it is mine, and b/ I didn't even know you could GET pink Freixenet.
6. Last night I walked into Didsbury WITHOUT A COAT, wearing cute ballet pumps WITHOUT TIGHTS. Whilst we were there, by the way, we went to the Fat Loaf and sampled the new World Beers list (bravo Fat Loaf for stocking so much Belgian goodness) and then had dinner at Loch Fyne. Further evidence of summer, if you need it, is the fact that both Fat Loaf and Loch Fyne were empty until about 8.30, because the entire rest of the world (except us) was sitting outside the Didsbury. Outside! Till 8.30!
The problem with all of this though, is that not only is it not yet the summer holidays, for me it's not even the Easter holidays for another week. So by the time I may gallivant full-time, no doubt it will be just starting to cloud over...
Thursday, 7 April 2011
Brave Husband Tackles New World Beer List at Fat Loaf, Didsbury
Just when you think you really know someone, they go and surprise you. Regular readers of this blog will know that Mr Liz is a beleaguered soul, forever being forced to go out to glittering places and carouse with his gadabout wife when really he just wants to be left alone to watch Boardwalk Empire and play Call of Duty in the safety of his own home.
And yet, his commitment to this blog knows no bounds. Just this very evening I have received an email from The Fat Loaf, a convivial bar and restaurant in Didsbury that very helpfully lies within walking distance of our abode. They have always had a decent selection of drinks here, but now boast a world beers list that runs to some fifty varieties; hence the email. And Mr Liz, good dear brave Mr Liz, has suggested, no, insisted, that we go as soon as possible, all in the name of research for this very blog (which, as you know, prides itself on its factual accuracy and never EVER makes things up.)
This example of selflessness almost brings a tear to my eye. Yes, all the beers are award winning or highly rated by 'CAMRA', 'The Beer Advocate' or 'Ratebeer.Com'; yes, they have a selection of Belgian beers that comes close to rivalling our beloved Le Trappiste in Altrincham; yes, they will rustle you up a tasty pie to help soak up all that alcohol. But apart from all of this, what does Mr Liz get out of the experience?
So if you see us there tomorrow (yes, he really is that committed) then remember to come up and shake his hand; he is truly a king amongst men. Mr Liz, we salute you.
- The Fat Loaf is at 846 Wilmslow Road, Didsbury; you can show your own husband the list of beers HERE.
And yet, his commitment to this blog knows no bounds. Just this very evening I have received an email from The Fat Loaf, a convivial bar and restaurant in Didsbury that very helpfully lies within walking distance of our abode. They have always had a decent selection of drinks here, but now boast a world beers list that runs to some fifty varieties; hence the email. And Mr Liz, good dear brave Mr Liz, has suggested, no, insisted, that we go as soon as possible, all in the name of research for this very blog (which, as you know, prides itself on its factual accuracy and never EVER makes things up.)
This example of selflessness almost brings a tear to my eye. Yes, all the beers are award winning or highly rated by 'CAMRA', 'The Beer Advocate' or 'Ratebeer.Com'; yes, they have a selection of Belgian beers that comes close to rivalling our beloved Le Trappiste in Altrincham; yes, they will rustle you up a tasty pie to help soak up all that alcohol. But apart from all of this, what does Mr Liz get out of the experience?
So if you see us there tomorrow (yes, he really is that committed) then remember to come up and shake his hand; he is truly a king amongst men. Mr Liz, we salute you.
- The Fat Loaf is at 846 Wilmslow Road, Didsbury; you can show your own husband the list of beers HERE.
Saturday, 26 March 2011
Friday Night Date Night at Jem&I, Didsbury
There are, of course, innumerable advantages to being married. You no longer have to brave the shark-infested waters that constitute the world of dating, and no more face the humiliation of ringing up the local curryhouse and ordering a takeaway for one (SO hard to resist the urge to add that actually you're terribly popular, and just happen to be on your own tonight, for one night only, honestly...)
And gone are the hideous days of early courtship, where you have to be on your best behaviour at ALL times and maintain a constant facade of perfection, an endless toil of cultivating artfully tousled bed-hair rather than random peaks and troughs, and pretending that you really don't need glasses at all and haven't really just fallen over the cat because you can't see where you're going.
No, I would not willingly go back to singledom (I would have to make my own tea in the morning, for one thing) - and yet I do occasionally miss the fun of getting dressed up and going out on a date. Thus, for one week only (sadly), Friday Night Wine Night has mutated from its usual lying-on-the-sofa-in-pyjamas-drinking-Sainsburys-Merlot format into a lovely, shimmering, glamorous cousin - Friday Night Date Night.
Mr and Mrs Liz began their date in the best possible fashion - cocktails. I mean, I had no choice - the fact that I was wearing a dress with proper jewels and sequins and everything practically dictated this course of action, although Mr Liz did look a little longingly at all the old blokes drinking pints in The Dog & Partridge as I dragged him past. We went to The Sanctuary in the heart of Didsbury, a nice unpretentious sort of place that very sportingly offers cocktails at 2 for £7 even on a Friday night.
Our main destination was Jem&I, one of our favourite restaurants in the area - a bustling, cheery place serving modern European fare in refreshingly generous portions. We started with a plate of bread, olives and humous while we perused the menu (when will I ever learn about stuffing myself with bread before the really good stuff arrives? When?), and then went for Chicken Liver Parfait (me) and Portobello Mushrooms with Camembert (my date). Both were excellent, the only complaint being that the balsamic dressing on the accompanying salads was very hard to remove from one's chin once it had properly adhered.
We both chose steak for mains (date night - he was paying), Mr Liz going for the Pan Fried Sirloin Steak with Au Poivre Sauce from the main menu and me for the Fillet Steak with Wild Mushrooms and Truffle Sauce from the specials board. The steak was of the highest quality, soft as butter, and we had no complaints about the sauces, potatoes or vegetables - all were delicious. But. They'd simply got our requests the wrong way round - I'd asked for my fillet rare and got medium, and Mr Liz had asked for medium and got rare. This raised a dilemma - I'm not one for sending food back when it still arrives in a perfectly delicious form, but equally, if you've ordered forty quid's worth of steak I think you can expect them to get it right.
Luckily, or unluckily, the dilemma didn't materialise, because the restaurant was by now absolutely packed and the staff were rushed off their feet. Tucked away in our little corner, nobody thought to come and ask us if our meals were alright, and I just couldn't catch anyone's eye to get them to come over. So we ate the steak, and very nice it was too. But when our plates were finally cleared a good while after we'd finished and I mentioned what had happened, our comments were met with little interest.
This is a shame, for Jem&I really does serve some of the best food in South Manchester, and should therefore rightly expect to be busy on a Friday night. We still loved it, and we'll still eat here again, but it did slightly mar what was otherwise a great night out. And who knows - I might even marry this one if he keeps up this kind of treatment...
And gone are the hideous days of early courtship, where you have to be on your best behaviour at ALL times and maintain a constant facade of perfection, an endless toil of cultivating artfully tousled bed-hair rather than random peaks and troughs, and pretending that you really don't need glasses at all and haven't really just fallen over the cat because you can't see where you're going.
No, I would not willingly go back to singledom (I would have to make my own tea in the morning, for one thing) - and yet I do occasionally miss the fun of getting dressed up and going out on a date. Thus, for one week only (sadly), Friday Night Wine Night has mutated from its usual lying-on-the-sofa-in-pyjamas-drinking-Sainsburys-Merlot format into a lovely, shimmering, glamorous cousin - Friday Night Date Night.
Mr and Mrs Liz began their date in the best possible fashion - cocktails. I mean, I had no choice - the fact that I was wearing a dress with proper jewels and sequins and everything practically dictated this course of action, although Mr Liz did look a little longingly at all the old blokes drinking pints in The Dog & Partridge as I dragged him past. We went to The Sanctuary in the heart of Didsbury, a nice unpretentious sort of place that very sportingly offers cocktails at 2 for £7 even on a Friday night.
Our main destination was Jem&I, one of our favourite restaurants in the area - a bustling, cheery place serving modern European fare in refreshingly generous portions. We started with a plate of bread, olives and humous while we perused the menu (when will I ever learn about stuffing myself with bread before the really good stuff arrives? When?), and then went for Chicken Liver Parfait (me) and Portobello Mushrooms with Camembert (my date). Both were excellent, the only complaint being that the balsamic dressing on the accompanying salads was very hard to remove from one's chin once it had properly adhered.
We both chose steak for mains (date night - he was paying), Mr Liz going for the Pan Fried Sirloin Steak with Au Poivre Sauce from the main menu and me for the Fillet Steak with Wild Mushrooms and Truffle Sauce from the specials board. The steak was of the highest quality, soft as butter, and we had no complaints about the sauces, potatoes or vegetables - all were delicious. But. They'd simply got our requests the wrong way round - I'd asked for my fillet rare and got medium, and Mr Liz had asked for medium and got rare. This raised a dilemma - I'm not one for sending food back when it still arrives in a perfectly delicious form, but equally, if you've ordered forty quid's worth of steak I think you can expect them to get it right.
Luckily, or unluckily, the dilemma didn't materialise, because the restaurant was by now absolutely packed and the staff were rushed off their feet. Tucked away in our little corner, nobody thought to come and ask us if our meals were alright, and I just couldn't catch anyone's eye to get them to come over. So we ate the steak, and very nice it was too. But when our plates were finally cleared a good while after we'd finished and I mentioned what had happened, our comments were met with little interest.
This is a shame, for Jem&I really does serve some of the best food in South Manchester, and should therefore rightly expect to be busy on a Friday night. We still loved it, and we'll still eat here again, but it did slightly mar what was otherwise a great night out. And who knows - I might even marry this one if he keeps up this kind of treatment...
Monday, 21 February 2011
Cask Ale Festival and St Patrick's Day Celebrations at The Didsbury
On the table in our living room lies a small brochure, a seemingly unassuming, unprepossessing little affair which we picked up in The Didsbury last week. Yet do not be fooled by its modest exterior; indeed, so momentous are its contents that every so often Mr Liz is forced to pick it up, caress the cover, and check that the words inside still send the same, joyous message. For the Chef & Brewer "This Season" booklet contains the following boy-friendly information:
1. This year's Cask Festival runs until Tuesday 29th March, offering thirsty punters the chance to try a selection of ales from around the country. The line-up changes every week; this is week two, so while the bad news is that some of you will have irretrievably missed out on week one, the good news is that you may be able to get your hands on Black Sheep Best Bitter (not specified in the brochure but undoubtedly made from real sheep), Everards Tiger Best Bitter (brewed from actual Tiggers - not bouncing now, eh?) or Caledonian Over the Bar (made from, oh, er, Scottish things.)
This is obviously a stellar array of beery talent, and I can identify only two possible flies in the ointment (Flies in the Ointment Best Bitter...now there's a thought...) Firstly, a tearful Mr Liz has already discovered that not all the beers are on when they should be, and secondly - and more importantly - I don't really like cask ale. However, as The Didsbury will provide gallant ladies with a large glass of very nice house red for £3.75 I will kindly agree to tag along.
2. After the success of the Burns' Night Supper, we're off to fly the flag for St Patrick, patron saint of Ireland, yes, but more famously the patron saint of Guinness and frankly drinking more than is good for you and running about Didsbury in a giant leprechaun-style felt hat. The St Patrick's Day taster evening is available between Sunday 13th and Tuesday 15th March, and promises the following for just £17.99 per person:
- Oven baked salmon with whiskey cream sauce
- Seared scallops with pan-fried white pudding and garden pea puree
- Irish Beef & Stout Pie (I assume the latter refers to its alcohol content rather than the pie's portly frame) served with colcannon
- Lime meringue pie
- Irish Coffee
You can even pretend it's not a school night and add a bottle of wine for just eight quid if you're not convinced that there's quite enough alcohol in the menu already.
Full details of both events can be found on The Didsbury's website; or, you could pop in and pick up a copy of the brochure for yourself - I'm trying to convince Mr Liz that looking at the pictures of beer in the booklet is almost as good as going out and actually drinking them...
1. This year's Cask Festival runs until Tuesday 29th March, offering thirsty punters the chance to try a selection of ales from around the country. The line-up changes every week; this is week two, so while the bad news is that some of you will have irretrievably missed out on week one, the good news is that you may be able to get your hands on Black Sheep Best Bitter (not specified in the brochure but undoubtedly made from real sheep), Everards Tiger Best Bitter (brewed from actual Tiggers - not bouncing now, eh?) or Caledonian Over the Bar (made from, oh, er, Scottish things.)
This is obviously a stellar array of beery talent, and I can identify only two possible flies in the ointment (Flies in the Ointment Best Bitter...now there's a thought...) Firstly, a tearful Mr Liz has already discovered that not all the beers are on when they should be, and secondly - and more importantly - I don't really like cask ale. However, as The Didsbury will provide gallant ladies with a large glass of very nice house red for £3.75 I will kindly agree to tag along.
2. After the success of the Burns' Night Supper, we're off to fly the flag for St Patrick, patron saint of Ireland, yes, but more famously the patron saint of Guinness and frankly drinking more than is good for you and running about Didsbury in a giant leprechaun-style felt hat. The St Patrick's Day taster evening is available between Sunday 13th and Tuesday 15th March, and promises the following for just £17.99 per person:
- Oven baked salmon with whiskey cream sauce
- Seared scallops with pan-fried white pudding and garden pea puree
- Irish Beef & Stout Pie (I assume the latter refers to its alcohol content rather than the pie's portly frame) served with colcannon
- Lime meringue pie
- Irish Coffee
You can even pretend it's not a school night and add a bottle of wine for just eight quid if you're not convinced that there's quite enough alcohol in the menu already.
Full details of both events can be found on The Didsbury's website; or, you could pop in and pick up a copy of the brochure for yourself - I'm trying to convince Mr Liz that looking at the pictures of beer in the booklet is almost as good as going out and actually drinking them...
Saturday, 19 February 2011
Curry Night at The Didsbury
Obviously, a CPD - Continuing Professional Development - day provides the chance for the sharing of ideas and good practice, and the discussion of effective strategies for future improvement. It also provides a day off timetable, thereby opening up a hitherto unavailable treat: Thursday Curry Night at The Didsbury. As you no doubt already know, I am a principled soul, and one of my unwavering tenets is not to eat curry on a school night, on the basis that I am partial to garlic naan and it's simply not fair to inflict that upon any student who may rashly summon me over to check their work the following morning.
Mr Liz has for some time been looking sorrowfully at the menu for Curry Night, with the air of a man who has undergone great hardship and suffering in a cruel, unfeeling world. So he was most keen to exploit the chance to finally give it a try; indeed, the speed with which he selected his chosen dishes from the aforementioned menu suggested that he had already mentally pre-ordered, many times, just in case the opportunity should ever arise. The way it works is this: for £9.99 each, you may choose two small curries from the menu, which are then served with rice, naan and two onion bhaji, as well as a drink (wine, Cobra or - Mr Liz scoffed at this - a soft drink.)
I chose Butternut Squash Dhansak and Achari Chicken for my two dishes, while my husband went for Beef Curry and - he can't help copying me - Achari Chicken. All the curries were good, and although the dishes looked small when they arrived we found that they were actually very filling - I was forced to leave most of my naan, and this fact, in conjunction with one of my curries being made of actual vegetables, probably means I actually lost a little weight over the course of the evening (what with the walk to and from the car and everything.)
I am still generally sceptical about the whole concept of eating curry in a pub, particularly in an area that is so well served with amazingly good curry houses. Yet Curry Night does offer very good value for money in nicely convivial surroundings, and the number of people partaking of the offer (on a school night! a school night!) suggests that many others agree. More details on The Didsbury's website; you won't see me there on a Thursday for a while, but I do suspect Mr Liz is already checking my diary for my next CPD day...
Mr Liz has for some time been looking sorrowfully at the menu for Curry Night, with the air of a man who has undergone great hardship and suffering in a cruel, unfeeling world. So he was most keen to exploit the chance to finally give it a try; indeed, the speed with which he selected his chosen dishes from the aforementioned menu suggested that he had already mentally pre-ordered, many times, just in case the opportunity should ever arise. The way it works is this: for £9.99 each, you may choose two small curries from the menu, which are then served with rice, naan and two onion bhaji, as well as a drink (wine, Cobra or - Mr Liz scoffed at this - a soft drink.)
I chose Butternut Squash Dhansak and Achari Chicken for my two dishes, while my husband went for Beef Curry and - he can't help copying me - Achari Chicken. All the curries were good, and although the dishes looked small when they arrived we found that they were actually very filling - I was forced to leave most of my naan, and this fact, in conjunction with one of my curries being made of actual vegetables, probably means I actually lost a little weight over the course of the evening (what with the walk to and from the car and everything.)
I am still generally sceptical about the whole concept of eating curry in a pub, particularly in an area that is so well served with amazingly good curry houses. Yet Curry Night does offer very good value for money in nicely convivial surroundings, and the number of people partaking of the offer (on a school night! a school night!) suggests that many others agree. More details on The Didsbury's website; you won't see me there on a Thursday for a while, but I do suspect Mr Liz is already checking my diary for my next CPD day...
Saturday, 22 January 2011
Accidental Lunch at The Didsbury Yields Unexpected Pie Triumph
I think it can be generally agreed that shopping is a tiring business. Not only do you have to walk from your house to the car, and then from the carpark to the shops, but factor in that you are wearing FitFlop boots and have purchased three pairs of Office shoes and two bottles of pink champagne that your husband refuses to carry, and you are pretty much looking at full-on exhaustion.
Thus it was that we accidentally ended up stopping off at The Didsbury for lunch on the way home; it just looked so inviting, and as I was by now dangerously thin from carrying the heavy bags etc it made sense to call in for an enormous meal. The Didsbury is always busy, and our visit didn't get off to the most auspicious start - we waited for five minutes to be seated as a number of staff ran around with plates, resolutely ignoring us, and then were sent to the least desirable table in the whole place.
Spotting that a tantrum was fast approaching, Mr Liz quickly distracted me with the menu, and more specifically the excellent value lunch deal, and then indeed all was well. Monday to Saturday, between 12 and 5pm, you can choose from selected main dishes priced between £4.99 and £6.49, and then pick a starter or dessert for just £2; otherwise I would never have had a starter - I am due at a dinner party in a shade over three hours and currently feel like a wafer thin mint would tip me over the edge.
Still, at £2 a throw it would be rude not to, so I had the chicken and honey pate and Mr Liz went for the stilton mushrooms; both were delicious, with a tell-tale blob of stilton, cream and peppercorn sauce remaining in the centre of the table throughout our meal as sadly incontrovertible evidence of my mushroom thievery. This being The Didsbury, portion control had gone wildy awry, with generous piles of light-as-a-feather toast meaning that I was more or less full by the time the waitress removed our plates (with barely a glance at the greedy-girl mushroom splodge - very professional.)
Luckily I had only ordered a modest, low-fat main course. Oh no, wait, I've actually ordered the world's biggest plate of food - steak and ale pie with chips, veg and gravy. Now, my husband reckons himself something of a pie expert, hailing as he does from up near Wigan; indeed, he asked that he be referred to in this post as a "pie witness", with a smirk on his face that suggested he was most pleased with this rather lame witticism. He proclaimed The Didsbury pie a triumph - a proper, free-standing, pastry-all-the-way-round-none-of-this-pie-in-a-pot-with-just-pastry-on-the-top nonsense, and filled with a richly unctious mix of tender meat and sticky gravy. You can also tell a lot about a pub by the quality of its vegetables, many of which are mushy, watery specimens, but my carrots were nicely al dente and the broccoli and cauliflower still had a good bit of bite (I suspect this may be the reason my husband married me - eat all the vegetables and leave half the pie for hungry boys to hoover up.)
All in all, the meal was excellent value at £8.49 a head, even though it has made my trousers a little too tight. Still, three hours is a long time - I'm sure I'll be able to manage another few courses by then, although I might just go and seek out some loose-waisted trousers, just in case.
Thus it was that we accidentally ended up stopping off at The Didsbury for lunch on the way home; it just looked so inviting, and as I was by now dangerously thin from carrying the heavy bags etc it made sense to call in for an enormous meal. The Didsbury is always busy, and our visit didn't get off to the most auspicious start - we waited for five minutes to be seated as a number of staff ran around with plates, resolutely ignoring us, and then were sent to the least desirable table in the whole place.
Spotting that a tantrum was fast approaching, Mr Liz quickly distracted me with the menu, and more specifically the excellent value lunch deal, and then indeed all was well. Monday to Saturday, between 12 and 5pm, you can choose from selected main dishes priced between £4.99 and £6.49, and then pick a starter or dessert for just £2; otherwise I would never have had a starter - I am due at a dinner party in a shade over three hours and currently feel like a wafer thin mint would tip me over the edge.
Still, at £2 a throw it would be rude not to, so I had the chicken and honey pate and Mr Liz went for the stilton mushrooms; both were delicious, with a tell-tale blob of stilton, cream and peppercorn sauce remaining in the centre of the table throughout our meal as sadly incontrovertible evidence of my mushroom thievery. This being The Didsbury, portion control had gone wildy awry, with generous piles of light-as-a-feather toast meaning that I was more or less full by the time the waitress removed our plates (with barely a glance at the greedy-girl mushroom splodge - very professional.)
Luckily I had only ordered a modest, low-fat main course. Oh no, wait, I've actually ordered the world's biggest plate of food - steak and ale pie with chips, veg and gravy. Now, my husband reckons himself something of a pie expert, hailing as he does from up near Wigan; indeed, he asked that he be referred to in this post as a "pie witness", with a smirk on his face that suggested he was most pleased with this rather lame witticism. He proclaimed The Didsbury pie a triumph - a proper, free-standing, pastry-all-the-way-round-none-of-this-pie-in-a-pot-with-just-pastry-on-the-top nonsense, and filled with a richly unctious mix of tender meat and sticky gravy. You can also tell a lot about a pub by the quality of its vegetables, many of which are mushy, watery specimens, but my carrots were nicely al dente and the broccoli and cauliflower still had a good bit of bite (I suspect this may be the reason my husband married me - eat all the vegetables and leave half the pie for hungry boys to hoover up.)
All in all, the meal was excellent value at £8.49 a head, even though it has made my trousers a little too tight. Still, three hours is a long time - I'm sure I'll be able to manage another few courses by then, although I might just go and seek out some loose-waisted trousers, just in case.
Saturday, 27 November 2010
The Best Real Fire Pubs in Manchester, But NO SNOW - Gah
While I write this post, the whole of the UK is enjoying the earliest proper snow for, ooh, donkey's years. Children are rushing, rosy cheeked, to the tops of nearby hills in order that they might sled down the other side; bescarfed adults are cupping their frost-bitten hands around convenient glasses of warming mulled wine; cats are stretching lazily in front of the fire while outside a muffled carpet of white perfection wipes away the harsh modernity of everyday living. And throughout all pervades the calmness that only the knowledge that your school/college/workplace will be shut on Monday can bring.
Oh, wait. All except Manchester. We have no snow. At all. I have spent a fretful day keeping one eye on the sky, which has remained a stubborn shade of bright blue, and one eye on Twitter, where friends in other parts of the country have been merrily posting pictures of themselves larking about in attractive knitwear. This is most unfair, for I would like nothing more than to wrap up warm, trudge through the snow, and take refuge in a welcoming hostelry where I will be plied with warming hot toddies. So to that end, I am going to PRETEND there is a winter wonderland outside rather than a row of wheelie bins, and post my favourite real fire pubs anyway.
1. The Didsbury, Didsbury. Obviously this is a great pub at any time of year, but becomes a particularly attractive prospect when the weather is cold - be prepared to push, shove and generally play dirty in order to bag the seats by the fire.
2. The Metropolitan, West Didsbury. A couple of provisos with this one: drinks are dear, and although the fire IS glorious, it is quite phenomenally, ridiculously hot - hapless young women have been known to singe their eyebrows by venturing too close to its flamy charms.
3. Horse and Jockey, Chorlton. A local favourite that has survived a recent overhaul to retain its traditional charms: open fires and the kind of low beams that anyone over four feet tall has trouble avoiding *rubs head*
4. The Crown Inn, Stockport. I'm not always in a hurry to recommend a night out in Stockers, but if you have boys in tow this is an excellent choice - CAMRA Greater Manchester Regional Pub of the Year 2008, no less.
5. The Britons Protection, Manchester. On a balmy summer evening you may find yourself queueing up amongst an impatient crowd of impeccably shod stick creatures to pay a tenner for a cocktail at Cloud 23; in the winter you'd be far better cosying up in this charming boozer just across the road.
So surely a light dusting isn't too much to ask? Frankly, if it doesn't snow tonight I'm simply going to don my mittens and my overpriced sheepskin boots and go and sit by a fire somewhere anyway. Woe betide ANYONE who gets in my way...
Oh, wait. All except Manchester. We have no snow. At all. I have spent a fretful day keeping one eye on the sky, which has remained a stubborn shade of bright blue, and one eye on Twitter, where friends in other parts of the country have been merrily posting pictures of themselves larking about in attractive knitwear. This is most unfair, for I would like nothing more than to wrap up warm, trudge through the snow, and take refuge in a welcoming hostelry where I will be plied with warming hot toddies. So to that end, I am going to PRETEND there is a winter wonderland outside rather than a row of wheelie bins, and post my favourite real fire pubs anyway.
1. The Didsbury, Didsbury. Obviously this is a great pub at any time of year, but becomes a particularly attractive prospect when the weather is cold - be prepared to push, shove and generally play dirty in order to bag the seats by the fire.
2. The Metropolitan, West Didsbury. A couple of provisos with this one: drinks are dear, and although the fire IS glorious, it is quite phenomenally, ridiculously hot - hapless young women have been known to singe their eyebrows by venturing too close to its flamy charms.
3. Horse and Jockey, Chorlton. A local favourite that has survived a recent overhaul to retain its traditional charms: open fires and the kind of low beams that anyone over four feet tall has trouble avoiding *rubs head*
4. The Crown Inn, Stockport. I'm not always in a hurry to recommend a night out in Stockers, but if you have boys in tow this is an excellent choice - CAMRA Greater Manchester Regional Pub of the Year 2008, no less.
5. The Britons Protection, Manchester. On a balmy summer evening you may find yourself queueing up amongst an impatient crowd of impeccably shod stick creatures to pay a tenner for a cocktail at Cloud 23; in the winter you'd be far better cosying up in this charming boozer just across the road.
So surely a light dusting isn't too much to ask? Frankly, if it doesn't snow tonight I'm simply going to don my mittens and my overpriced sheepskin boots and go and sit by a fire somewhere anyway. Woe betide ANYONE who gets in my way...
Saturday, 9 October 2010
Forthcoming Niceties at Pinchjo's and The Didsbury
Now, there are only so many hours in a day, and a distressing number of those are spent at work, so some prioritising may be in order. As well as the flurry of festivals previously discussed, I also need to contend with the following:
1. Pinchjo's tapas restaurant on Burton Road in West Didsbury is offering something called Sound Scape every Sunday evening from 5pm, where £10 buys you all you can eat. This seems all well and good, until you realise exactly how much marking and general boringness must be completed before Monday morning comes. Will those essays go into work with a few Prosecco smears on them? Will the husband find himself without clean pants? Until I've tried it, it's difficult to be certain how far-reaching the effects of Sundays at Pinchjo's could be.
2. Game Taster Menu at The Didsbury. Five courses of gamey goodness including a glass of wine for £18.99 a head? Yes please. Only on Mon 11th, Tues 12th, Mon 25th and Tue 26th October? Gah. That'll be a ridiculously late table for two then please.
3. Autumn TV. Hurrah for the new season schedules! Hurroo to it all being on at the same time - David Tennant vs Downton Abbey vs Crime Thing with Aidan Gillen - all at 9pm tomorrow! Whitechapel vs doublebill of all new America's Next Top Model at 9pm on Monday! How one is supposed to fit one's work and social commitments round all of this is a mystery - it's all well and good Sky-Plussing everything, but you try facing down an angry boy when the hard drive has crashed because it's got nine hours of Tyra Banks on it...
1. Pinchjo's tapas restaurant on Burton Road in West Didsbury is offering something called Sound Scape every Sunday evening from 5pm, where £10 buys you all you can eat. This seems all well and good, until you realise exactly how much marking and general boringness must be completed before Monday morning comes. Will those essays go into work with a few Prosecco smears on them? Will the husband find himself without clean pants? Until I've tried it, it's difficult to be certain how far-reaching the effects of Sundays at Pinchjo's could be.
2. Game Taster Menu at The Didsbury. Five courses of gamey goodness including a glass of wine for £18.99 a head? Yes please. Only on Mon 11th, Tues 12th, Mon 25th and Tue 26th October? Gah. That'll be a ridiculously late table for two then please.
3. Autumn TV. Hurrah for the new season schedules! Hurroo to it all being on at the same time - David Tennant vs Downton Abbey vs Crime Thing with Aidan Gillen - all at 9pm tomorrow! Whitechapel vs doublebill of all new America's Next Top Model at 9pm on Monday! How one is supposed to fit one's work and social commitments round all of this is a mystery - it's all well and good Sky-Plussing everything, but you try facing down an angry boy when the hard drive has crashed because it's got nine hours of Tyra Banks on it...
Friday, 6 August 2010
The Didsbury Pub Reopens After Refurbishment...and WE APPROVE!
As documented just two days ago, I'm quite resistant to change. Thus, upon hearing the news that The Didsbury pub was to close for ten days for a refurbishment, my despair was twofold. Firstly, who would serve me Prosecco during that dangerously long ten day window? And secondly, please don't change it, because I like it the way it is! I like that the tables are rickety and covered with candle wax; I like that the carpet is a little bit sticky and has been here since 1947; I LIKE IT HOW IT IS!
I needn't have worried, of course. The refurbishment has been done tastefully and unobtrusively, meaning the pub looks the same but just a bit, well, nicer. The biggest changes are as you go in - a new door with the Chef and Brewer logo etched into it, and two enormous armchairs lurking in the entrance, ready to pounce on unwary customers (I noticed my husband suffered a dangerous fall into one of them on the way out; too much beer, or perhaps the floor is treacherously slippy just there.)
The rest of the pub is fresh and bright, but retaining the cosy feel that The Didsbury has always done best. Upstairs (I never even KNEW there was an upstairs until about a month ago) has been done up to the same standard, meaning that at busy times you can take your drink up to a quiet table without feeling like you've been exiled (remember the scary basement overspill at The Great Kathmandu?), although there is no bar up there at present (never fear - think of the exercise you'll get going up and down the stairs.)
Last night's "soft launch" had a real buzz about it, full of happy punters relieved to see their favourite pub hadn't become a wine bar or Wacky Warehouse while their backs were turned, and lovely cheery staff who seemed genuinely pleased to be working in such a nice environment. The excellent food menu remains as it was (although we sampled it again, just to be sure); the Barbecue Pork Shanks were so good I had to be physically restrained from licking my plate, and my husband's Great British Fish and Chips was so generously portioned that he had to LEAVE SOME, not because he didn't like it (he did) but because he was full (big girl).
So thanks to Paul and Paula for making us so welcome - the pub is fully reopened from today, so you should really pop down and see what they've done. Also thanks to Pete and Helen for such excellent company; your head ALWAYS knows when you've been out drinking with Didsbury Life.
- The Didsbury is at 852 Wilmslow Road, Didsbury, Manchester M20 2SG; tel 0161 445 5389; http://www.thedidsbury.co.uk
- Didsbury Life are at 212 Burton Road, West Didsbury, Manchester; tel 0161 445 7759; http://www.didsburylife.com
I needn't have worried, of course. The refurbishment has been done tastefully and unobtrusively, meaning the pub looks the same but just a bit, well, nicer. The biggest changes are as you go in - a new door with the Chef and Brewer logo etched into it, and two enormous armchairs lurking in the entrance, ready to pounce on unwary customers (I noticed my husband suffered a dangerous fall into one of them on the way out; too much beer, or perhaps the floor is treacherously slippy just there.)
The rest of the pub is fresh and bright, but retaining the cosy feel that The Didsbury has always done best. Upstairs (I never even KNEW there was an upstairs until about a month ago) has been done up to the same standard, meaning that at busy times you can take your drink up to a quiet table without feeling like you've been exiled (remember the scary basement overspill at The Great Kathmandu?), although there is no bar up there at present (never fear - think of the exercise you'll get going up and down the stairs.)
Last night's "soft launch" had a real buzz about it, full of happy punters relieved to see their favourite pub hadn't become a wine bar or Wacky Warehouse while their backs were turned, and lovely cheery staff who seemed genuinely pleased to be working in such a nice environment. The excellent food menu remains as it was (although we sampled it again, just to be sure); the Barbecue Pork Shanks were so good I had to be physically restrained from licking my plate, and my husband's Great British Fish and Chips was so generously portioned that he had to LEAVE SOME, not because he didn't like it (he did) but because he was full (big girl).
So thanks to Paul and Paula for making us so welcome - the pub is fully reopened from today, so you should really pop down and see what they've done. Also thanks to Pete and Helen for such excellent company; your head ALWAYS knows when you've been out drinking with Didsbury Life.
- The Didsbury is at 852 Wilmslow Road, Didsbury, Manchester M20 2SG; tel 0161 445 5389; http://www.thedidsbury.co.uk
- Didsbury Life are at 212 Burton Road, West Didsbury, Manchester; tel 0161 445 7759; http://www.didsburylife.com
Sunday, 28 February 2010
Top Curry at The Third Eye, Didsbury
When I was a student I lived in Rusholme, in a big drafty flat with luridly coloured mould growing up one wall and a small family of mice living in the kitchen. I also had a profound dislike for curry. I was the one who would shame-facedly order chicken and chips off the English menu, flinching slightly if anyone else's jalfrezi came near me, feeling left out and miserable.
By the time I moved out of Rusholme four years later, I was of course a curry convert, and my obsession is now such that I have to have my fix at least once a week lest withdrawal symptoms begin. I must admit to hardly ever going to Rusholme these days, although if I ever drive along that section of Wilmslow Road I am practically slavering by the time I've driven out again. The main problem with Rusholme, I find, is that I am too stupid to actually remember which curry houses there are the best ones; in other words, I get confused by the array of neon-lit facades and lose the ability to recall which might be my favourite.
Luckily, South Manchester is well served with curry houses. Last night I was out with a friend known both for his fearsome drinking ability and his great love of curry, so walking into Didsbury seemed a sensible option. Despite the cold and the drizzle, Didsbury was busier than I've seen it for a while; we started at The Fletcher Moss, which is always pleasantly buzzy but was particularly cheery last night, full of affable types drinking pints of mild and perusing the books that are always on sale here in aid of Francis House Hospice (honestly, you wouldn't believe the amount of rubbish I've bought here during a night out).
Our next venue, The Dog and Partridge, was less enjoyable: the combination of a sulky barmaid with a large table of braying loudmouths next to us meant the atmosphere was a little less convivial. I do recall having a quite detailed conversation here about my theory of Brian May - that he would have been taken a lot more seriously a whole lot earlier if he'd only cut his hair. Thoughts on this please?
Our final destination was The Third Eye, where they found us a table immediately and plied us with poppadoms in that sneaky way that curry houses have. The food here is excellent, and while it used to be a slightly poor second to the mighty Great Kathmandu in terms of local Nepalese restaurants, it has now not only caught up but apparently overtaken the Kathmandu if recent reviews are to be believed.
I had the Chicken Pakoda Fritters to start but actually ended up eating most of my husband's Paneer Chilli as well, and then the Makhan Fish for main (with the calories of the rich creamy sauce completely atoned for by my selection of fish rather than meat, obviously). The real star of the table, however, was the humble Vegetable Rice - we ordered two portions between the three of us, but the mountain of rice that arrived would easily have fed about six people. As the plate ended up next to me on the table (fools!) I was able to fork out all the highlights - enormous pieces of silky aubergine, cashew nuts, great lumps of cauliflower etc - with relatively little chance of discovery or retribution.
The bill was £55 for the three of us - pretty reasonable for such a repast, and no need for a taxi home. The rate I'm going, I may never end up leaving South Manchester again...I will try to do better, I promise.
By the time I moved out of Rusholme four years later, I was of course a curry convert, and my obsession is now such that I have to have my fix at least once a week lest withdrawal symptoms begin. I must admit to hardly ever going to Rusholme these days, although if I ever drive along that section of Wilmslow Road I am practically slavering by the time I've driven out again. The main problem with Rusholme, I find, is that I am too stupid to actually remember which curry houses there are the best ones; in other words, I get confused by the array of neon-lit facades and lose the ability to recall which might be my favourite.
Luckily, South Manchester is well served with curry houses. Last night I was out with a friend known both for his fearsome drinking ability and his great love of curry, so walking into Didsbury seemed a sensible option. Despite the cold and the drizzle, Didsbury was busier than I've seen it for a while; we started at The Fletcher Moss, which is always pleasantly buzzy but was particularly cheery last night, full of affable types drinking pints of mild and perusing the books that are always on sale here in aid of Francis House Hospice (honestly, you wouldn't believe the amount of rubbish I've bought here during a night out).
Our next venue, The Dog and Partridge, was less enjoyable: the combination of a sulky barmaid with a large table of braying loudmouths next to us meant the atmosphere was a little less convivial. I do recall having a quite detailed conversation here about my theory of Brian May - that he would have been taken a lot more seriously a whole lot earlier if he'd only cut his hair. Thoughts on this please?
Our final destination was The Third Eye, where they found us a table immediately and plied us with poppadoms in that sneaky way that curry houses have. The food here is excellent, and while it used to be a slightly poor second to the mighty Great Kathmandu in terms of local Nepalese restaurants, it has now not only caught up but apparently overtaken the Kathmandu if recent reviews are to be believed.
I had the Chicken Pakoda Fritters to start but actually ended up eating most of my husband's Paneer Chilli as well, and then the Makhan Fish for main (with the calories of the rich creamy sauce completely atoned for by my selection of fish rather than meat, obviously). The real star of the table, however, was the humble Vegetable Rice - we ordered two portions between the three of us, but the mountain of rice that arrived would easily have fed about six people. As the plate ended up next to me on the table (fools!) I was able to fork out all the highlights - enormous pieces of silky aubergine, cashew nuts, great lumps of cauliflower etc - with relatively little chance of discovery or retribution.
The bill was £55 for the three of us - pretty reasonable for such a repast, and no need for a taxi home. The rate I'm going, I may never end up leaving South Manchester again...I will try to do better, I promise.
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