Festive Christmas Menu at Manchester's DoubleTree by Hilton: Local Girl Thrilled with Bonus Turkey Dinner

It will come as no surprise to many of you that most meals are of interest to me; indeed, my Twitter timeline consists almost entirely of people who I follow purely because, like me, they are prone to listing details of whatever they have just consumed, ideally with a photograph or two. My very favourite meal of all, however, stands head and shoulders above all others: Christmas dinner, shining like a lovely sprouty beacon at the end of a long wintery corridor; a sturdily shimmering mirage lighting the way through the dark months of the year. I love everything about it: the oft-maligned turkey, the goose-fat roasties, the fruity stuffing, the chipolatas, the honey-roast parsnips, the gravy, the sprouts...oh, especially the SPROUTS. I even like the bit where I sleep fatly on the sofa afterwards: I literally look forward to this meal all year.

So when the email arrived from DoubleTree by Hilton inviting us in to try the new Festive menu, a small corner of Didsbury might just have caught a glimpse of me, running about excitedly, full of the thrilling possibility of an additional, bonus turkey dinner - in NOVEMBER. There are of course plenty of set menus about at this time of year, but the one at DoubleTrees's City Cafe outpost is pleasingly traditional, allowing the hungry and festive diner to choose from the following:

Starters

Parsnip and apple soup
Mosaic of guinea fowl, pistachio, cranberry, plum chutney
Poached salmon , caviar, lemon crème fraîche
Beetroot tarte tatin, goats cheese fritters, balsamic dressing

Main courses
Roast turkey, apricot and chestnut stuffing, roasted vegetables, cranberry sauce
8oz rib eye steak, horseradish mashed potato, onion frites, truffle sauce
Pan fried sea bass, Lyonnaise potatoes, fennel puree, creamed leeks
Chestnut and mushroom pithivier, cranberry chutney, roasted vegetables

Desserts
Cheese cake, hazelnuts, marshmallows
Traditional Christmas pudding, brandy sauce
Dark chocolate ganache, cherry cloud, cherry sorbet
Selection of English cheese, fruit chutney

The restaurant is quiet when we visit on a freezing cold Tuesday night - just as well really, as our table has thoughtfully been set with crackers which we pull loudly and excitedly before squabbling noisily over the prizes (remember this is a full three days before the launch of the Christmas menu on November 30th); it is with no little sorrow that I resist donning my paper hat in a jaunty manner.

And the food is excellent. I start with the soup, which arrives - rather thrillingly - as a pile of grated apple in a dish with the jug of soup on the side; the two are then united at table before my very eyes. This is no mere theatre: keeping the raw apple separate from the hot, creamy soup until the last possible moment means the fruit retains its sweetness and its crunch, cutting through the comforting velvet of the liquid in a manner that leads me to think that I shall do this at home from now on whenever I make soup. Meanwhile, Mr Liz is hoovering up a substantial piece of lightly poached salmon served alongside a little pile of satisfyingly piquant potato salad topped with caviar - a most classy dish, although obviously it would have been made classier still had he put his party hat on.

(NB In this narrative I have omitted the part where Mr Liz stage whispers - with some trepidation - to enquire "whether he can eat the flowers".)

For main, I have the turkey, of course. This is everything this misunderstood bird should be - moist, thickly sliced and nestling in a sea of sticky gravy, and flanked by crunchy roast potatoes and a lovely fruity stuffing. There is even a sausage on the top and a dish of cranberry sauce on the side - perfect. Well, almost perfect - come on DoubleTree, THREE sprouts? I normally serve myself in the region of twenty (although I have, at times, come to regret this). Mr Liz has the steak, which is obviously the more sophisticated dish - tender pink meat with a rich sauce, served with perfect, thin, crunchy onion rings and a pile of horseradish mash. I am amazed that on such a reasonably priced set menu this dish does not come at a supplement - it is quite simply great value. I would have put a little more horseradish in the mash, but that is because I have been known to eat creamed horseradish straight from the jar, so my opinion probably doesn't count here.

We are by now pretty full, but Mr Liz makes room for some Christmas pudding - a spicy little number in a pool of boozy sauce - whilst I toy coquettishly* with a handsome selection of cheese.

*stuff face wildly in the manner of a person who has not eaten for weeks

Head chef Michael Campbell comes out for a chat; he is rightly proud of the menu he has designed, although he did say he might make a few tweaks here and there before the full launch, so it's possible your dinner might differ very slightly from what you see here. All in all, it would be hard to beat this in terms of quality and value for a Christmas do - the menu ends with coffee and mince pies, and costs £19.95 at lunch and £22.50 in the evening. We also felt the wine list was approachable, with an excellent barrel-aged Tempranillo at £21.50 and plenty of others around the same price mark (although I did not permit Mr Liz to look at the prices towards the bottom of the pages, lest he keel over clutching his chest).

So, a good night to really get the festive season underway, and even raise the exciting possibility of squeezing in at least five turkey dinners before the year is out. Although, looking at this, I can't help thinking it would serve me right if they just give me sprouts and horseradish next time I go...

Doubletree by Hilton Manchester is at 1 Piccadilly Place, I Auburn Street, Manchester M1 3DG - just across the pedestrian bridge leading from the train station. The set menu runs until December 23rd.

Flannels Creates - Charity Fashion Auction for Christies has Local Girl Fretting re: Bidding Skills

Now, truth be told, I've always quite fancied going to an auction. And yet, I also find the whole concept a little scary, as a woman brought up on a series of 1970s and 80s sitcoms is wont to do - what if I scratch my nose at the wrong time and accidentally purchase something that costs a million pounds? I am virtually certain I have seen Basil Fawlty, or Del Boy, or someone equally hapless do such a thing, leading to a full half hour of hilarious and uncomfortable wheeling and dealing before the whole thing is eventually ironed out. Or, on a more personal and predictable level, what if I have a couple of speedy Proseccos first, and get carried away with the excitement of the whole thing? The entire scenario is fraught with danger, and thus I have always - despite my interest - stayed away from such a potential hotbed of trouble.

Until now, that is. For this Thursday sees a pretty special auction - to celebrate their 35th birthday, Flannels will be hosting an evening of fundraising at their Manchester Spinningfields branch in aid of The Christie, by showcasing 40 mannequins created by some of the designers available in store and then auctioning off a selection of these bespoke creations: hence the name of the event - Flannels Creates. The evening starts at 7.45 with a champagne reception (take note - just the one glass for me please, lest I start bidding wildly) and ends with live music and more drinks in the Oast House winter Tepee just across the way. There will also be a raffle with prizes including £2,000 to spend at Flannels and a £7,500 Prada handbag, a fashion exhibition, and a goodie bag to take home to soften the blow of not having won the Prada one.

Tickets cost £35 a head, and are available here. The aim is to raise £50,000 to help cancer patients at an institution that is very dear to my own heart - I'm hoping that the worthiness of the cause will negate Mr Liz's wrath when I come home on Thursday night having blown the mortgage money. We all know I'll be the one on the bus, full of champagne, with a hard-won Dolce and Gabbana mannequin tucked under one arm...

Didsbury Wine Club's November Gathering - Cheese and Wine at The Albert Club

There are many, many things that have failed to stand the test of time. That net-lined puffball skirt, for instance, that I spotted on a member of Bananarama c. 1986 and cried and cried for - fortunately my mother knew better, and refused to buy me something so clearly, hideously temporal. But then again, there are some things that simply do not date; take the cheese and wine party, for example. In my head this thrilling food and drink combo is most clearly associated with the 1970s: I suspect I may be thinking of an episode of The Good Life, in which Margot is perhaps wearing some kind of long, satiny dress and handing round pieces of cheese on sticks before Tom and Barbara probably come in wearing dungarees and smelling of pigs.

This may then explain why I was so ridiculously excited to find that this month's outing for the Didsbury Wine Club was to be - *Margot-inspired gasp* - a cheese and wine night. If you've not come across this laudable club before, it is essentially a group of nice, sociable people with a permanent, insatiable sort of thirst, who gather together on a regular basis under the friendly tutelage of Omar, David and Kate (who is new to the team, and has come all the way from California just to have wine with us) to try a range of wines in various locations across Didsbury. This month it was the turn of The Albert Club on Old Lansdowne Road, previously best known to me as the host of a splendid annual beer festival but now forever etched into my memory as the place I went to a cheese and wine party, on a dance floor, behind a curtain.

Anyway, this is what we had, with all wines - as ever - available from West Didsbury's Reserve Wines:

1- Greywacke Sauvignon Blanc 2011: I am definitely more of a red wine person, but this is lovely - as well as the familiar Sauvignon notes of melon and pineapple, this has a deeper, richer, more complex flavour. I comment to Mr Liz that I feel it is vaguely reminiscent of a good Chardonnay, BEFORE being told that 10% of the wine is oak aged in barrels - this time (this ONE time), my *knowledgeable wine face* actually turns out to be a *knowledgeable, accurate, TRIUMPHANT wine face*.

2- Chateau Lucas, Lussac St. Emilion 2008: the grapes for this French wine - a blend of Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon - receive constant sun, and it shows in the rich warmth and creamy finish of this highly suppable offering. Even better, it is offered alongside a large platter of a perkily firm cheese that has been bathed twice in Spanish red wine, a custom I plan to adopt myself prior to particularly special occasions.

3- Tabali Reserve Pinot Noir 2011: I love Pinot Noir, and this is no disappointment - this Chilean wine is made by a company that believes in old-school values, hand-picking all the grapes and oak-ageing 20% of them, and has a sultry, smoky taste. The cool night-time climate in the Chilean valleys means that the fruit takes longer to ripen, leading to thicker skins and a drier finish, and the poor soil quality results in a light, mineral flavour. There is no cheese with this wine, but David explains that we are using it as a palate cleanser due to its light, dry qualities; I consider this a reasonable answer, and reluctantly withdraw the angry, cheeseless tantrum that had been brewing. I also briefly consider that it may be some form of punishment implemented by Omar as retribution for the fact that when he asks us to try cheese two with and without the cheese, it transpires that everyone has in fact already eaten all their cheese, the very second it appeared.

4- Pulenta Estate, La Flor Malbec 2011: oh my - the high altitude of Mendoza in Argentina leads to big, fat, juicy grapes, which in turn leads to big, fat, juicy, wine-stained faces, for this is delicious, particularly as it is served with one of my favourite cheeses - Burt's Blue from Altrincham. This is my new favourite combination-for-life, and added to the fact that the cheesy platters also contain fresh figs, there is a serious chance that I may weep tears of sheer food joy.

5- Juan Gil 4 Meses 2011: last up is a real big-hitter - an Old World wine made from 100% Monastrell grape, but in a New World style that results in a wine clocking in at 15% ABV but remaining seriously drinkable. This is another great pairing, partnered with an 18-month-matured French Comté that perfectly complements the hefty swagger of the wine.

Amongst all this quaffing and scoffing, there is time for a quick cheesy joke competition (which is won by a lady who tells a great joke about the best cheese for hiding a horse), and much informal chat and erudition from the wine team. All in all, the night is pretty much perfect, and offers ludicrous value at £15 a head for frankly vast quantities of excellent food and drink and really lovely company. Obviously, for this to have been done properly, the cheese sticks should really have been served poking becomingly from an orange dressed up in tin foil to resemble a hedgehog, but you can't have everything - I shall offer this expert feedback so that this small glitch may be corrected next time...

- Find out more about the Didsbury Wine Club (and their new sister club in Chorlton) by visiting their website here - and don't forget to nake the point about the cheesy hedgehog. All cheeses were supplied by The Cheese Hamlet in Didsbury Village.

The Ski Club, Manchester: Guest Blogger Rests Aching Limbs after Hard Day Skiing Round Spinningfields

Now, much as this blog may occasionally suggest otherwise, I am not a terribly proficient drinker; indeed, for every sighting of me opening a bottle of prosecco or deliberating over a cocktail, there are at least ten markedly less glamorous times when I am to be found in the kitchen, making a nice cup of chamomile tea. But if there's one girl who really knows her way round a drinks cabinet it's the Liquor Chick, so who better to send along to Manchester's latest pop-up bar, The Ski Club, to investigate this year's winter warmers in a little more detail...

You’d think that on a skiing holiday the main desire would be to ski, but many skiers look forward to something else just as much: the après ski. Yes, that reward for all the *ahem* hard work you’ve been doing on the slopes. A place to rest your aching legs, sit in front of a log fire and socialise wearing clothing that you wouldn’t ever dream of walking into a bar on a night out in the city. But that’s all part of the fun of après ski.

This is exactly what Heart Soul Rock & Roll, experts in innovative pop up bars, are endeavouring to bring to the city of Manchester.

The Ski Club opened its door to a thirsty public at the start of this month, and I was lucky enough to go and sample some of what they are offering on a special bloggers' preview night.

Now, cocktails are my speciality and it has to be said that there was one that truly won my heart...THE BRANDY BLAZER. A mixture of cognac, Grand Marnier orange Cognac, apple brandy, Canadian maple syrup, cinnamon stick and nutmeg. This is the PERFECT winter warmer *plans a selfless day out Christmas shopping and a stop off at Ski Club to revive my aching legs and thaw out*. This is also EXACTLY the type of thing I would order on a ski holiday and is a PERFECT match for this venue.

We were also lucky enough to try the Ski Club Punch Bowl, a GIGANTIC specimen, serving up to 6 people. It contained Grand Marnier orange Cognac, Chambord French Black raspberry liqueur, fruity red wine, a hint of plum bitters and fresh Clementine juice. Effectively it was like a rather large, but cold, mulled wine. At £45 it is reasonable for the amount you get.

A few of the cocktails on the menu are reflective of the uniqueness that Heart Soul Rock & Roll strive to achieve, and if they get the amount of ingredients right, they could bring extra creativity to the cocktail scene of Manchester. For example, I tried the Port & Starboard cocktail, nothing like the traditional Port and Starboard which contains Creme de Menthe and Grenadine... No, THIS cocktail contains Graham’s 6 Grapes Port, raspberries, Chambord, brandy, Clementine juice and is garnished with blue cheese. This cocktail excited me as I am partial to bit of port, a perfect seasonal drink *raises glass* ‘all in the name of Christmas’. Cheese and port always provides a special finishing touch to the festivities at this time of season, so as a cocktail this is a really appealing and fresh idea; unfortunately there was a little too much Chambord and too many raspberries in this, so it was very hard to taste the port. The raspberry flavour overpowered the rest of the drink and as a result did not correlate with the name of the drink. The blue cheese also did therefore not accompany it very well.

The food was good and very reflective of the type of thing you would want from a bar in the cold weather; traditional après-ski bars tend to sell simple yet tasty snacks. I would particularly recommend the cheese fondue *wonders how she can bribe a home delivery on a dull school night*. There are lots of amazing food packages available too.

The Ski Club attempts to bring the décor and ambiance of a vintage inspired ski chalet; with Scandinavian G-Plan furniture, alpine scenes, furs and retro lighting. The retro vibe it brings creates a relaxing feeling, ideal after a hard day ‘on the slopes’ *thinks of a way to emulate the results of a day of skiing in order to justify consuming everything on the Ski Club menu next weekend*. The concept of this winter bar is fresh, unique and brings something that Manchester has never been seen before. As a skier myself, there were little niggles that didn’t quite fit. But it is an indoor pop up bar after all and it would be unrealistic to expect it to be perfectly executed in every way. This is a great addition to the city and I’ll definitely be paying a few visits over the forthcoming months *roots in the loft for ski poles*

- The Ski Club can be found on the first floor of Quay House, Off Hardman Square, Spinningfields, Manchester, M3 3JE.

The Restaurant Bar and Grill, Manchester: Mr Liz Becomes an Oyster Convert

So. When I originally rescued Mr Liz from Wiganer bachelordom - now more than a decade ago - our individual food terrains were clearly and unmistakably delineated. Sure there was some common ground (we both put on about a stone in our first month together, due almost entirely to a shared and slightly shameful love of the baked bean and cheese toastie as a Sunday morning breakfast), but many of my most favourite food items were met with suspicion, incomprehension or occasionally downright terror on Mr Liz's part. I mean, he even claimed not to like peanut butter - he was lucky I kept him on to be quite honest.

Anyway, over the years he has gradually got braver and/or greedier, embracing an ever wider field of food items and leaving me with less and less to call my own, until now - finally, tragically - the last bastion has fallen. Mr Liz likes oysters.

And The Restaurant Bar and Grill on John Dalton Street is entirely to blame. We dined there last Saturday night courtesy of Manchester Confidential, and were treated to such a virtuoso display of skillful and sensitive cooking that I felt thoroughly ashamed to have never eaten here before - I think somehow the very size of the place had put me off, its three vast floors looming intimidatingly over the old-fashioned charms of this Manchester street, all modern and shiny and fashionable. I feel silly now, for although it is modern and shiny and fashionable, it is also friendly and welcoming, and if you are lucky enough to get a window seat on the first floor then the views are spectacular - I spend the evening torn between admiring the beauty of the food on the table and the twinkly allure of the Christmas lights outside.

In the end, of course, the food wins the day. I start with the aforementioned oysters - six plump beauties lounging seductively in their ice bath, just waiting for a hungry blogger to apply a little tabasco to each one and scoff the lot. Mais non - for Mr Liz is already looking at them with some interest, and plucks up the courage to try one; this I permit, for after all, this noble act of generosity will still leave me five. Except, quite rightly, he loves them - a good, fresh oyster is pretty much unbeatable, and we end up splitting them fifty-fifty; not an entirely bad thing in the end, as he is then morally obliged to give me one of his crispy duck spring rolls. These are enormous fat parcels, generously packed with meat and served with a little Thai salad and some good, sticky dipping sauce - truth be told, they make an excellent foil to the slippery saltiness of the oysters, and I learn a valuable lesson about sharing.

After such a good start, we have high hopes for the mains - and they do not disappoint. Mr Liz chooses steak, as Mr Liz ALWAYS chooses steak (and he has already been quite adventurous with the oysters, remember), and asks our exceptionally helpful waiter for his advice - advice that proves spot on, as THIS is what arrives...

...the 35-day-aged 14oz bone-in prime rib, served with chips and a particularly successful mustard sauce. I always prefer bone-in meat (insert your own innuendo here, if you must), and this is a prime example *smirks* of the advantages of such cuts - the flavour is superb, and the texture substantial without being tough or chewy. Meanwhile, I am attempting to be vaguely healthy by ordering the Tuna au Poivre with salad - sterling efforts a little scuppered by the sheer size of the fish, the pefectly rich buttery bearnaise that accompanies it, and the fact that the waiter throws in a few chips as well (truly my kind of man). The tuna loin is excellent, and perfectly seared as requested - but, astonishingly, the real star is the house salad, which offers a variety of leaves in a refreshingly tangy herb vinaigrette; I decide that this unexpected bonus is my reward for sharing my oysters.

The healthy train is well and truly derailed when we order dessert. I choose the sticky toffee pudding with butterscotch sauce whilst Mr Liz has the Autumn special - a dainty little apple and blackberry crumble; both are delicious, but I had also admired the Black Forest Eton Mess on the menu, so the waiter simply brings this as well - I tell you, this oyster karma just keeps on giving. The desserts are generously sized and nicely rich; my only comment would be that the Black Forest Eton Mess (chocolate brownies, cherries, crushed meringue, chocolate ice-cream) becomes a little too rich by the time you've eaten quite a lot of it, but bearing in mind I have already consumed one large pudding I'm not entirely sure this constitutes fair criticism.

The wine list is a good one - we have an excellent bottle of Pouilly Fume, and although there are few wines on the menu around the £20 mark there are plenty available by the glass. We are already planning a return visit, to sit on the new terrace and drink a cocktail or two - I have already made it very clear to Mr Liz though that if he wants oysters next time, he's really going to have to get his own.

- The Restaurant Bar and Grill is at 14 John Dalton Street, Manchester M2 6JR; tel. 0161 839 1999. The restaurant knew we were there to review and we were not asked to pay for our meal, but the place was obviously full of very happy customers and we will go again as paying guests.

Dinner at The OxNoble, Manchester: Proper Restaurant Food, Proper Old-Style Boozer

Now, after almost one hundred years (approximately) of generally happy marriage, I believe that I can offer some wise and helpful advice. Obviously, the very most desirable thing is to acquire a spouse who simply does whatever you say (and all the while with an adoring look on his face), but failing this then compromise is clearly the way forward. Take Mr Liz, for example. After years of stubborn resistance to the Saturday tradition of Strictly Come Dancing, I have now discovered that he will sit through it quite happily if furnished beforehand with some kind of beer product, and if I promise faithfully not to expect him to partipate in discussions re: Tess' dress and/or the merits of a particular Cha-Cha-Cha.

But what if the marital division is a potentially more lethal stumbling block, whereby your favourite word is "restaurant" and your husband's favourite word is "pub"? Well, I can now provide the solution to this also, as on Friday we dined at The Oxnoble, a proper pub that satisfies all Mr Liz's criteria for a top boozer whilst also serving food that wouldn't be ashamed to show its face in a restaurant. And a most splendid old pub it is too - it's been around since 1804, when Mr Liz was a boy, and although locally it's been known as The Ox in recent years, manager Alex is keen for this venerable establishment to return to its original, full title - not least because, as far as he knows, it's the only pub in Britain named after a Georgian variety of potato. If that's not a reason to visit, then I'm afraid you and I have NOTHING in common.

So, on to the food. I'd made the mistake of idly investigating the menu during the day, and found that pretty much every dish looked to be a winner: choosing was clearly going to be a difficult decision. Alex doesn't like the term "gastropub", but if we remove all sneery connotations of this over-used term and think about what it actually means...

*pretends is going off to look in clever, learned book; does quick search on Wikipedia*

...then this most certainly is "a bar and restaurant that serves high-end beer and food" - it's not in the least a term to be ashamed of. And by and large, the food here is high-end: for starters, Mr Liz chooses the Panfried Sardines served with a tomato, chorizo and spinach sauce from the regular menu, whilst I go for the exotic-sounding Roast Teal with black pudding mash, chocolate red cabbage and green beans. The first of these is an out-and-out winner - two whole sardines in a lovely piquant, earthy sauce, and absolutely crazy value at £4.25; it is as good, if not better, than a far more costly version I had in a top-end restaurant in Leith a few years ago. My teal (a particularly jaunty, handsome sort of duck, although they all look the same on the plate) is also excellent, and although pricier at £6.95, is actually nearer the size of a main than a starter; in fact, I can think of places that would indeed call this a main and charge you nearer twenty quid. Now generosity in itself is not an issue, but if you're trying to tempt people into a pub for a restaurant-quality meal, you do have to be mindful that many diners will wish to consume three courses - if you're pretty full after your starter, then the balance has gone a little awry. Although, obviously I could have left some. Equally obviously, I didn't.

On to the mains then. We both choose from the "Oxnoble Favourites" section of the menu: Braised Ox Cheek with champ mash, greens and a rich Marsala jus for me, and the Timothy Taylor Steak & Ale Pie with cabbage, mashed potato, black pudding and gravy for Mr Liz. I can't fault the quality of the ox cheek - it's a cliche to say that slow-cooked meat falls apart on your fork, melts in your mouth etc, but on this occasion it is true; the sticky tenderness of the cheek is perfection, and the rich jus sets it off just nicely. Do I really need another enormous mound of mash though, and more green beans? Probably not, and I must float the possibility that this is a dish that divides opinion - I love it, but a Twitter friend tells me soon afterwards that she tried it recently and found the jus too over-reduced and the green beans over-cooked. Meanwhile, over the other side of the table Mr Liz has temporarily disappeared from view behind the Manchester outpost of the European food mountain - a whole pie, full to bursting with (again) properly slow-cooked meat and thick gravy, perched upon mash, upon black pudding slices, upon veg, upon gravy. The pie is excellent, but the portion size begins to become an issue here - I have never before witnessed my Wiganer husband leave pastry or black pudding, and to see the pain in his eyes as he realises he is not going to manage it all is hard to bear.

Food-wise, the only bum note is a bizarre side dish we order in the form of courgette fritters - these are one of my favourite things, and I excitedly request them without noticing that they come with sweet chilli sauce and creme fraiche. Now, I like all of these ingredients very much, but separately; the fritters themselves are superlative - joyously crisp and puffy batter on the outside, tender melting flesh on the inside - but completely drowned by a sea of sweet sauce underneath and a massive, cold blob of dairy product plonked on the top. Have faith in your chef - he knows what he's doing, and his fritters should be allowed to stand lone, and proud, and speak for themselves.

And so to dessert. Now, greedy as I am, LOOK AT THOSE PORTION SIZES. Even I can't manage the merest sliver of a pudding, so head chef Richard Davies very kindly chooses a few favourite items and packages them up for us to take away, no doubt under the impression that we are going to leap into a taxi rather than accidentally being side-tracked into the Whim Wham Cafe Bar, where we sit, proudly and not a little smugly, with our foil parcel of delicious delights on the table between us. I'm somewhat ashamed to say that we eat the lot for breakfast the next day, and they have fared remarkably well despite their late-night adventures - even the vanilla-flecked panacotta remains moist and buoyant, and the raspberry cheescake is an absolute joy. The cat looks at us despairingly and goes back to bed.

The Oxnoble want people to know that they are a destination for an evening meal as well as for a quick pint, and we were therefore invited in to review the menu for free. I will however go again, as a paying customer - the food is great value (I am particularly keen to investigate the ludicrously good value "2 courses for £10" offer that runs Monday-Saturday until 9.30pm), and the attention to detail is impressive. If you're not convinced, I'll leave you with this little detail - when I complimented Alex on the quality of the balsamic vinegar that came with our bread, and asked what brand it was, he said that the chef prefers to make his own balsamic reduction, to really intensify the flavour. So yes, a busy pub it might be, but our little corner of The Oxnoble was all restaurant.

Competition Winner: I Need Pampering - in which I am the WORST Noel Edmonds in HISTORY

Just a quick update on the winner of the lovely Manchester Spa Day from I Need Pampering - I think you all know I was looking forward to playing Noel on this one, generously bestowing gifts upon the deserving, pausing only to polish my halo. Well, turns out that I'm rubbish at benevolence, because I wish to give prizes to EVERYONE - even after a few entries had been ruled out (either because the nominee wasn't anywhere near Manchester, or because people had nominated themselves which, whilst not exactly against the rules, wasn't really in keeping with the spirit of the whole thing), there were still loads of really lovely-sounding people left.

So, I delegated. I chose a few I thought were particularly deserving and then passed them over to a more rational/neutral/cold-hearted friend (she can delete as she sees appropriate) to make the final decision. And she chose a lovely Manchester mum called Julie, nominated by her daughter for more reasons than I can list here; suffice to say she is a worthy winner and thoroughly meritorious of her day of pampering.

Have a lovely spa day Julie, and thanks again to I Need Pampering for such a gorgeous prize.

Opera North's The Makropulos Case at The Lowry: Guest Blogger is Smitten, and Wants to Bounce on her OWN Bed

Now, I know what you're thinking, and it goes a little something like this: "Well - that WAS an enjoyable and informative blog post on Opera North's current productions of Faust and Don Giovanni - I feel it was was entertaining AND useful - infotainment, if you will. However, I believed Opera North to be touring THREE shows this season - what of The Makropulos Case? And, more importantly, who will go out of Strictly tonight?"

Well, as it happens I can answer BOTH of those questions for you, but in the interests of leaving your viewing pleasure unbesmirched I will concentrate solely on the former - here's lovely guest blogger Nicole to tell us more...

Now, as an opera virgin, I'm not afraid to admit that I did have some pre-conceptions. Firstly, that all operas are highbrow, frequented by people who know the plot, and the songs (yes, I know that's not the technical term) intimately. In my mind, there is also a strict dress code - diamond drop earrings, glittering floor-length gown and expensive fur definitely NOT optional. Cue frenetic fretting about what to wear, curbed only when Liz tells me, "dress smartly, but not too glamorously, as the man next to me was wearing an actual anorak!" As a firm believer that there is no outfit that cannot be tarted up with a shiny blazer, a pair of vertiginous heels, and slick of red lipstick, I slid into a taxi (the tram being, in my mind, wholly unsuitable for such an important event in my life) and made my way to The Lowry for my first ever opera experience - Opera North's production of The Makropulos Case.

His penultimate opera, The Makropulos Case is one of Janacek's lesser known works - an adaptation of Karel Capek's play of the same name, written in the 1920s. At the heart of The Makropulos Case is the long-hoped-for resolution of the Gregor vs. Prus case, a legal battle over an unclaimed estate that has dragged on for over a century, and dragged many generations of both families into destitution and death. Albert Gregor ('Bertie' - played with complete conviction by Paul Nilon) is on tenterhooks waiting to hear the outcome of the latest legal brawl, when the "dazzling, seductive and fascinating" soprano Emilia Marty (the captivating Ylva Kihlberg) arrives at his lawyer's office with some surprisingly accurate knowledge of the case, and some mysteries of her own. Bertie promptly falls in love with Miss Marty, and so begins the drama. Although essentially a dramatic comedy, The Makropulos Case presents some real food-for-thought: if you could live forever, would you really want to if it meant living without love? And can we ever truly appreciate life unless we accept that at some point, we will die?

Opera North have set their production in the same decade, and the set design and costumes are suitably 'roaring', particularly Miss Marty's shimmering dress coat, which I briefly considered snaffling, as it is entirely suitable attire for my next girls' Sparkle Night. The staging was particularly inventive, with the detailed hustle and bustle of a lawyer's office in Act 1 convincingly portrayed through stacked shelves and desks in varying states of disarray. Act 2 takes place backstage following Marty's latest performance, giving the cast the opportunity to have fun and allow the audience in on a few backstage secrets, with a knowing wink. The final act brings the story to its riveting climax in Marty's hotel room, where the bed in the middle of the stage, resplendent with diaphanous curtain, becomes the focus, despite the huddle of armchairs stage right (well, I am practically an expert now) that remains throughout the acts, serving as a waiting area, a stack of disused furniture, and a lounge area respectively.

Admittedly, the first 15 minutes of the opera were, for me, a rather unsettling experience. Having been led to believe that opera consists of a series of sung pieces hinged on a gravely serious plot, it was a surprise when the characters began to sing their lines to each other. Coupled with the fact that The Makropulos Case is a comedy, as an opera novice, I felt in a state of cognitive dissonance - was I to laugh, or nod soberly? As soon as I realised laughter was acceptable, nay, expected (especially with such pithy quips as "Do you want to spit in my face?" "No, I want to spit in my own!"), I got into the groove. I found myself unable to take my eyes off Kihlberg, and began to fancy myself as an Emilia Marty figure: beguiling, jet-setting, jaded. Well, I was wearing red lipstick...My companion and I both agreed that Act 3 was most enjoyable, due almost entirely to Kihlberg's mesmerizing portrayal of Marty's self-destruction - as she bounced on the bed with reckless abandon whilst swigging from a bottle of wine, we exchanged a glance of recognition, mentally singing along to our own internal soundtrack *aaaall byyyyy myyseeellf...* Unfortunately, this was the only song to run through my head following the performance as the production did not include any sung pieces, which I was a little disappointed by. Despite this, the orchestral accompaniment was aurally luminous, and the ovation for conductor Richard Farnes justly deserved.

Back to my pre-opera pre-conceptions. I can honestly say that Opera North made my first experience a very positive one. The Makropulos Case is accessible for opera newbies as it is sung in English, and for those who can't quite discern the dialogue, the subtitles are helpfully displayed on large, easily-visible screens to the side of the stage (however, if like me, you find yourself needing to continually refer to the subtitles to be sure you are following the complexities of the plot, it can be distracting). With all first-timers, I must reflect on what I have learnt from my experience: 1. Opera can be funny. 2. Not all operas contain arias (yes, I have now learnt the technical term) 3. You don't have to be glam, but of course it helps if you identify with the main character...! My companion - also new to the opera - summed up her experience of The Makropulos Case as being "like a musical version of Death Becomes Her - but in a very good way". And in the taxi home, we found ourselves deeply engaged in a discussion about the relevance of Heidegger's 'Seine zum Ende' (a being towards death) - his idea that until we accept that death is not just a possibility, we will never fully 'live' our lives. Now who would have thought my first experience of opera would have provoked a discussion of 20th century German existential philosophy? Certainly not I, but I would certainly go again.

Opera North's Faust and Don Giovanni at The Lowry, Salford: Local Girl Tra-La-Las and Wants to Dress as Madonna

There's a general perception, I think, that opera is kind of old, and stuffy, and elitist. If I asked you to picture your idea of a typical opera-goer, I'm betting there's a good chance you'll think of a posho posh elderly couple - he has a grey suit, and a slightly military bearing, and possibly a handkerchief a-poking out his top pocket; she has a tidy bouffant updo, and a twinset, and possibly a pince-nez. And I'm not denying that there weren't plenty such in evidence at The Lowry this week when Opera North rolled into town, bearing tasty mid-week treats in the form of Faust on Tuesday night and Don Giovanni on Wednesday, but they certainly were not in the majority - what Opera North do best is make this most majestic of all the theatrical arts accessible, appealing, and - dare I say it - sexy to all.

And I do mean ALL - I can pay no finer accolade to Opera North than by pointing out that, on a busy night of European football action, Mr Liz actually requested to come and see Gounod's Faust with me on Tuesday. This classic tale of a middle-aged scholar and his desperate yearnings to relive the pleasures of his youth (hmmm - *looks closely at self in the mirror*) was first performed in 1859 and has been an Opera North favourite since 1986; the current production opened to rave reviews in Leeds last month.

You probably know the story already - Dr Faust is a lonely man, getting older and feeling all alone in a world he no longer relates to; he contemplates suicide, and calls upon Satan, who duly appears and offers him renewed youth and all its pleasures in exchange for the trifling consideration of his immortal soul. The clincher here is the vision that Mephistopheles shows him of Marguerite, a beautiful young woman who - the devil suggests - can be Faust's if he agrees to make the deal; Faust thinks long and hard for about half a second and agrees. He is transformed into an attractive young man (albeit minus his soul, which now glows becomingly in the devil's greedy mitt) and begins his pursuit of Marguerite; I will reveal no more of the plot but will suggest that all of this is unlikely to end well, lest we all start following Faust's example, handing over our souls to any passing charmer (hmmm - *looks closely at self in the mirror, again*).

As ever with Opera North, the central performances are flawless - Peter Auty shines as Faust, and I am finding James Creswell FAR too sexy as Mephistopheles by the end of the show. Juanita Lascarro is also most convincing as the chaste young girl who gamely resists Faust's advances until he showers her with shedloads of diamonds (*mirror now on floor, smashed*). The updating is as inventive as ever - the chorus takes the guise of a bunch of immoral, greedy, lascivious bankers, storming the stage importantly wielding their iPads, and much use is made of sliding screens onto which are projected various images which are often suitably dark and unsettling (but which do at times become a little distracting).

Anyway, after all this brilliant darkness, and passion, and death, it is fortunate that Wednesday night's production of Mozart's Don Giovanni is played very much for laughs. This is an equally familiar tale - Don G is a serial charmer and seducer, making a string of empty promises to all the women he meets and then leaving them heartbroken and - in the case of his magnificent former conquest Elvira - more than a little cross. We follow him on his eventful last day, which begins with a grope that goes very wrong and ends with a splendidly baroque picnic with a dead man, with just time to seduce a bride on her wedding day in between.

I know that this perhaps doesn't sound like a barrel of laughs (particularly as, the same as Faust, we know that things cannot possibly end well for a man who is mean to women and goes round killing people, or they'd all be doing it), but it really is. This is largely due to the character of Don G's increasingly frustrated servant Leporello, who spends most of his time either keeping watch while his master is seducing his latest lady friend or avoiding a comedy beating from all the previous ones; he is splendidly played by Alastair Miles with a perfect combination of righteous anger and a keen urge to get laid himself, just once. Other standout performances come from the women - Elizabeth Atherton makes for a feisty Elvira, alternating between a classy laydee and a dejected, pouting figure dressed in Desperately Seeking Susan era Madonna-esque lace, whilst Claire Wild's turn as Zerlina, the innocent young bride who turns out to have a great deal of inner raunch, contains one song (delivered from atop her new husband) that you probably won't forget in a while.

The staging is also quite brilliant, relying heavily on use of puppets - characters often appear as scaled down, mannequin-like versions of themselves, and the moment at the end when our philandering hero finally meets his maker is quite something. It also goes without saying that in both productions the music is flawless - Opera North might play it for laughs sometimes, but they always take the essentials seriously, which probably explains why they appeal to both opera purists and to people like me and my Wednesday companion (who particularly enjoys the bit where Don G buries his face in a pair of boob-shaped jellies). In fact, as she was, until Wednesday, an opera virgin, I will use her words to sum up her cherry-popping experience: stunning, brilliant...and SAUCY. And that, I would say, sums up Opera North pretty well.

- You can find out more about Opera North here, and about The Lowry and their other productions here.

Halloween Gourmet Evening at The Mark Addy: Local Girl Finally Gets Some Brains

Now, I'm quite happy to admit that in a number of ways, I am not in the least bit adventurous. I like to be in bed early on a school night, for example, and I am highly suspicious of change; I am yet to be convinced that black and navy can be worn together, or that an open-toed sandal can be accessorised with tights. And yet I've always fancied myself as quite an adventurous eater, altogether brave in my food choices despite being - naturally - most discerning about what I pop into my gannet-like mouth.

In fact, I've always said that there's only one thing I wouldn't really want to try, and that's brains. Born in the 70s into an enthusiastically meaty family, I've eaten most things - when you've watched your father press his own tongue (so to speak) every Christmas, there's not much left in this world that can scare you. Except brains. And I think we all knew it was only a matter of time until Robert Owen Brown decided to serve them up as part of the monthly six course Gourmet Evening at The Mark Addy; on Wednesday, that time was finally nigh. Here's what we had, including - a new entry at number three - the course that almost dereailed my adventurously greedy spirit...

1. Roast Pear William with Shropshire Blue Cheese. When he introduces this, ROB terms it a salad, despite it only having one or two miniscule hints of greenery in evidence upon its arrival. Mr Liz deems this his idea of a salad, and whilst I would have liked a little more vegetation, we both enjoy the contrast of the soft, fragrant fruit against the salty strutting of the cheese and the sweetness of the honey and saffron dressing. I have to pretend that I am not running my finger round the bowl to get at the last of this dressing when someone comes to clear the table, lest I look greedy, and am brought extra brains later.

2. Pumpkin Soup Shooter. Thoroughly appropriate for Halloween, this smooth, rich soup, topped with a frisky foam, is mellow and warming, combining the soft spice of the pumpkin with the roundness of what is clearly a considerable quantity of cream. All across the pub, diners knock back their shooter and exchange anxious glances at the thought of what is to come, perhaps wishing the soup had a hefty glug of brandy in it as well.

3. Crispy Veal Calf Brain with Diablo Sauce. This course arrives whilst I am indulging in some heady sausage talk with James of Bobby's Bangers; I return to my table to find Mr Liz looking warily at the dish that has appeared there, with a sort of "they're he-eeere" expression on his face as he peers - with some trepidation - into the shadowy depths of the bowl. And do you know what? They're OK - two flat, white discs of meat (one each), coated in batter, deep fried, and served with a spicy dipping sauce. Would I have liked them if they hadn't essentially tasted of batter and spicy dipping sauce? Maybe not, but I can now say I've tried them, and if I get pestered by trick or treaters in future years I can always offer this up to them as a tasty alternative to all that bland Haribo, and then watch them run away, screaming, down the street.

4. Roast Local Pheasant. A sensibly straightforward course after all that excitement - moist, gamey bird served with tiny roast onions, spinach and fondant potato. I enjoy this very much, particularly as, after the last course, I too now consider myself to be something of a game old bird.

5. Chestnut and Fig Tart. I love Autumn/Winter food, and this encapsulates everything that is right and good about the season - a crisp pastry shell filled with a rich, nutty mixture that is not too sweet, just flavoured with the natural sugars of the figs and the warmth of the chestnuts. It is perfect, and I think those who have eaten the brains should have extra portions at the expense of those who have not.

6. Local Cheese. As ever, two cheeses, grapes, celery and crackers; as ever, excellent. The only variable with this one is the location of their consumption; tonight, I eat them on the premises rather than in the car on the way home.

As I weigh all of this up the next day, there are two things that come to mind. First of all, only ROB would have the chutzpah to serve up brains to the 30 Swedish tourists who have booked in for Gourmet Evening for a taste of real English cuisine (to be fair, many of them do give them a good go, although others look rather as if they would like to return home with immediate effect). And secondly? The brains were fine, but given a choice, I'll take balls over brains ANY day.

Italia Manchester: Local Girl Goes Back to the Seventies, in a Good Way

Now, I am by and large a staunch defender of the 1970s. I suspect that this is mostly due to me being born in this particular decade (which obviously does much to make it a special time for us all), but not actually really remembering any of it: thus, my mental image of the 70s is a confused but confident melange of all that is glamorous and good in the world. Look! Here's Bianca Jagger in a pair of white jeans much like the ones I have upstairs; she is accessorising them with a nice wedge, and talking to Jerry Hall, who is wearing a jump suit with all the insouciance of a six foot Amazon with hair like a crinkly blonde waterfall. Over here, David Bowie is looking beautiful and aloof - people stare at the make up on his face, as he ponders the release of the greatest run of albums ever known to man; in a moment he will light Bryan Ferry's cigarette for him, although I have not yet decided whether Bry is sporting gold lame, or that whole tuxedo look he does so well.

Of course I know, in my heart of hearts, that the 70s were not really like this. I have seen pictures of the Bay City Rollers, and I have flinched; I have heard tales of the food that restaurants used to serve, and I have flinched again, relieved that at the time I desired nothing more than a bigger helping of butterscotch Angel Delight than my sister. Take Rustica, for example, that venerable old Italian restaurant on Deansgate: you know it - it's that big white building on the corner, near Harvey Nichols, that has been open since 1977 but which you have never been in as it all looks a bit too retro, a bit 70s-in-a-bad way - an idea supported by even the briefest of glances at the reviews on Trip Adviser.

All of that is set to change, however. Franco Sotgiu - who many of you will know from SoLIta, his brother Dom's Northern Quarter burger den - has got his hands on Rustica and is gradually changing its identity to Italia: same building, same sense of history...just with fresher, updated menus offering more of a focus on traditional, high quality ingredients. Italia is currently in its soft launch period, and as such menu details may change, but the meal we ate last night should give you a feel of what the new venue has to offer once it is fully relaunched.

Pre-starter Starter: yes, yes, I know, but Franco sent these fellows across for us to try and frankly I was powerless to resist them - this is the finest plate of bruschetta I have come across in Manchester (and look how well he knows us - he has sent us a plate each, understanding that sharing would be impossible and no doubt wishing to avoid a scene). Highlights here included the fresh tomatoes, piled so high that spillage was inevitable, and the tangy grilled cheese with anchovy; the only one we weren't keen on was the pate one - it seemed a little warm, a little grainy, and there was also far too much topping in relation to bread (and it's not often I say that).

Starters: Mr Liz had the Calamari, because Mr Liz ALWAYS has the Calamari; this does allow for consistent judging across restaurants, and he proclaimed this plate of polenta-dusted beauties to be prime examples of their ilk - tender, flavoursome and not remotely chewy. I went for the gamberetto - four fat, pink, shell-on prawns in a rich cream sauce that really allowed the flavour of the fish to come through; my only teeny criticism was that the dish could have done with a piece of bread or similar to help mop everything up - I'm sure they would have brought one if I'd asked, but even I realised this would be folly after such a plate of bruschetta if an embarrassing explosion situation was to be avoided.

Mains: we shared a couple of mains - the Fritto Misto di Mare (fried mixed seafood) and the Parparadelle Ragu di Cinghiale (pasta served with 12 hour braised wild boar ragu). The second of these dishes was flawless - properly sticky, meaty sauce adhering to the slippery wide pasta, studded with chunks of tender, flaking boar: perfection. The Fritto Misto was well executed, but lacked something - the lightly battered prawns, squid rings and courgette slices were all competently handled (although the courgette could have been a little crisper) but somehow failed to work together, resulting in what felt more like a dish of exquisite nibbles rather than a coherent main. I also felt that £15.95 was a little much for such a dish, even allowing for the evident quality of the ingredients and the city centre location.

Desserts: Oh my. We left ourselves in the capable hands of the charming waiter for this one, and he chose well - he brought Mr Liz an enormous slice of tiramisu served with coffee gelato (all the ice-creams are freshly made on site) whilst I toyed modestly with* the great fat slice of Ferrero Rocher cake seen here with its side portion of hazelnut gelato. These were simply superlative, and I can all-too-well picture myself stopping for a slice of this cake whenever I'm passing - this should certainly be something that stays on the menu, encapsulating as it does the whole approach at Italia: a fond nod to the past but updated in a way that people actually want to eat. All the time.

*troughed in seconds

A few teething problems were evident - the place was absolutely packed when we arrived around 6.15, and once seated it was a considerable wait until our menus were brought and even longer again until the first food arrived. I spent much of this period watching as the queue of hungry people waiting for a table grew gradually longer and sadder, and whilst a line of diners hoping to get in speaks well of the quality of the food being served up, it certainly seems that Italia are still getting their heads round how many staff might be needed at particular times. Once the restaurant got a little quieter, the service was peerless, so the right team is obviously in place and these initial problems will no doubt be resolved. The friendliness of the place can be summarised by an incident that took place towards the end of our evening - an elderly gentleman, dining alone, was asked if he wanted to sit with Franco and (god help him) Gordo Manchester to eat; he did, and was blatantly having the time of his life when we stopped by to say hello. I can't promise you that you will have your "cold hands" carefully warmed by a charming old fellow when you eat at Italia, but it certainly seems like the kind of thing that could only happen here.

The Liquorists' Tequila Trail, Northern Quarter, Manchester: Local Girl Remarkably Unscathed

Now, I'm a pretty trusting sort of person. I like to see the good in everyone, and believe that most people tend to act from the best of motives, without recourse to lying, or exploitation, or rudeness, or unkindness (although even I have started hanging up on that company that rings me EVERY DAY to try to sell me loft insulation). Having said that, though, it's taken me a while to really fully trust The Liquorists when they so proudly swing around that promise of theirs about "no hangover guaranteed"; I have had hangovers in the past from one glass of wine, so the concept of five different shots of the same spirit, accompanied by five different cocktails, followed by no regret, is one that I have found hard to buy into. Still, last night I successfully completed my fourth Liquorists trail, and today is my fourth hangover-free-following-a-trail day - a remarkable clean sweep that fully vindicates the trust placed in the ever-genial Tom and Jody and their merrily alcoholic jaunts across town. This week and next week's trails are devoted to that most divisive of spirits: tequila - a particular favourite of mine, but one that I know prompts sad, juddering memories in others. Still, the point of these trails is to introduce you properly to a spirit you may be suspicious of, and I challenge ANYONE not to have a love of tequila after this little lot...

We start at the Liquorists HQ, the less-secret-by-the-day 22 Redbank in the Green Quarter. Here we are served our starter shot of Jose Cuervo Traditional - you can tell I enjoyed it by the fact you see only its empty receptacle pictured here alongside our first cocktail, a classic margarita. I love a margarita, which is always one of my go-to options in any cocktail bar, and this one was right on the money - expertly mixed by Jody, with a zingy tartness and controversial layer of salt round the rim of the glass (Tom hates the salt, and says people only have salt with tequila to take away the taste of BAD TEQUILA). We also eat here - tasty fish tacos, nachos with salsa, guacamole and sour cream, and some corn cobs that I eat in a graceless, strands-stuck-in-teeth sort of manner.

Then we leap into a fleet of waiting taxis (transport is thoughtfully provided when there is a bit of a walk between venues) and make our way to stop number two - Apotheca, one of my favourite bars in the Northern Quarter. Here we have a classy tequila indeed, the Don Julio Reposado, which has "rested" for a year or so in bourbon barrels (this is indeed Mr Liz's kind of resting). It is smooth and flavoursome, although a little drowned out in the accompanying cocktail - our mango and rosemary margaritas are delicious, but taste a little like Soleros and certainly don't taste as if they are alcoholic in any way.

Next up is the ever-entertaining Socio, where we switch our attention to white tequilas in the form of El Jimador Blanco. I am already starting to feel the hit of alcohol here, as you can see by my attempts at what I considered at the time to be arty, moody photography rather than some alcohol-ridden girl randomly, hopefully, snapping at things with her iphone camera. The cocktail is a simple one, a Paloma, which is essentially tequila topped up with Ting, a grapefruity Caribbean soft drink that is like Lilt, only better. I will not reproduce here the analogy used by Tom to describe how good Ting is; not even its essence, for it is FILTH.

Fourth stop is Hula Tiki Bar, a regular stop on the Liquorists Rum Trail, and now pressed into service to provide us with Herradura Tequila Blanco and Tommy Margaritas, served icy cold in winsome tin mugs. This cocktail is most people's favourite of the night - it really is a margarita in its most pared-back form, made with just good-quality tequila, lime juice and a touch of sweetness. Those tin mugs do get pretty cold though - I'm currently typing one-handed as mine from last night is still frozen to my fingers.

Last stop is the newish Kosmonaut Bar, which prides itself on its extensive beer and wine list but also serves up a very moreish cocktail in the form of the Tapatian, a long, sweetish drink offering the unusual combination of tequila with a little cassis, and aptly named due to the presence of our final tequila, the deliciously smooth Tapatio Anejo. We like it in here and Mr Liz has already put in his request to return, perhaps for a beer trail, albeit with just the one stop.

Just a quick word about food; as well as your stomach-lining repast at 22 Redbank, you will also get food pairings at each of the bars you visit - due to teething problems these were not available last night. I promise this is true and it is not that I ate the lot before they could be photographed. In the absence of nibbles, Mr Liz and I rounded off our evening in superlative style with a piece of perfect pizza from Slice Pizza on Stevenson Square - I like to think that the fact that mine was an authentically Italian aubergine slice meant I retained my classy look even as I ate it whilst running for the train.

So, if you've not been on a Liquorists trail before, then you have the rest of this week and Wednesday, Thursday and Friday of next week to get yourself onto the Tequila Train - prices start from £30 for a Wednesday night, and although they do get dearer as the week goes on, this is the first time I have placed myself in Tom and Jody's hands on a week night and everything seems to be fine (I assume Mr Liz is safely at work also, rather than lying in a skip somewhere). Maybe it's the fact that you stick to the same spirit rather than mixing your drinks, or maybe it's just the quality of what is served - all five of the tequilas we had last night were 100% agave, which makes then good and pure in the same way that, ahem, organic wine is also good for you. Whatever the reasoning behind it, these men tell the truth: NO HANGOVER, GUARANTEED.

Amba Restaurant and Bar: Local Girl's Intrepid Adventuring Goes Well-Rewarded

Now, they say that a change is as good as a holiday (or some other such worthy nonsense); I'm far more interested in the rather hurtful claims made by certain individuals that I am somewhat set in my ways, spending my time flitting between favourite haunts in Didsbury and a handful of places in the Northern Quarter, living on nothing but fancy-dan burgers, Aperol spritzes and cocktails served in jam jars. Obviously there is NO TRUTH WHATSOEVER in all of this, but just in case there is, I can offer up clear and incontrovertible proof of my adventuring ways. For last night, I went all the way to Hale.

Now, there is no need to be alarmed here: in recent years I have become most fond of Altrincham, its nearby sister - although we are not currently on speaking terms since the recent (and still painful) closure of the wondrous Brew House bar. Hale itself is smaller, but beautiful - I am already picturing myself decorating an enormous, Victorian-style Christmas tree in the bay window of one of the highly desirable houses that line the streets here; and I would particularly like one on Ashley Road please, as that seems to be where all the restaurants are, including last night's destination: Amba Restaurant and Bar.

First impressions are very, very good: on what is clearly a quiet night in Hale (all the other restaurants we pass are empty, some with waiters in the window sadly eyeing up the deserted streets), Amba is full - literally every table in this welcoming, bustling little place is occupied or has been occupied by the time we leave. Amba is about to celebrate its tenth birthday, and I suspect that the locals are wise to the excellent value set menu, available 6pm - 10pm from Sunday to Friday and offering two courses for £15.50 or three for £18.50. We decide to order off the full a la carte menu (in the interests of thorough research, obviously), and choose the following:

Pre-Starter: yes, yes, I know - I am now at the age where I fear I will NEVER learn my lesson about cramming another course in under pretence of needing time to study the menu; in fact, the whole tenor of this post will revolve around the familiar theme of my eyes being bigger than my stomach. Still, as long as a restaurant offers a dish of mixed vegetable crisps for £1.95, and as long as I have spirit in my soul and breath in my lungs, I will order them. And beat Mr Liz's eager hands with the drinks menu when he tries to share them.

Starters: Now these were good. I had the chicken liver parfait at £5.95, a PROPER parfait, with that perfect texture that is somewhere between artery-stopping richness and light-as-air, whipped softness; when I say that it has a light sheen of meaty sweat on its glistening surface I mean it as the greatest possible compliment. The orange-onion marmalade served on the side is a suitably sweet-yet-tart accompaniment, although the tiny kilner jar it is served in is reluctant to yield up its treasures to my clumsy, giant knife. Mr Liz has a crispy duck salad with pink grapefruit and pomegranate seeds, and considers that the zesty zing of the fruit is a perfect foil for the rich duck in its sweet dressing. Our only criticism is portion size: they are simply enormous, and I am happy to acknowledge that Mr Liz and I are two of the greediest people who ever walked the planet. Yes, it's perhaps better to err on the side of generosity, but I lack self-control and hate leaving food; you may wish to start preparing yourselves for the soon-to-be-unleashed revelation that Mr Liz has to leave some chips from his main course - he has been dreaming of them all night, and is STILL regretting this out-of-character action this morning.

Mains: Speaking of mains, one of the things I liked best about Amba was the seasonal specials section on the menu, clearly ever-changing to reflect what is particuarly fresh and good at any particular moment. From this, I choose the pheasant cooked with sour cherries and served with roast parsnips, kale and celeriac mash, a suitably Autumnal-sounding dish that doesn't disappoint. Pheasant can go a little dry, but this lucky individual is perfectly cooked and served with crispy skin (the best bit) still intact; the sour cherries are a nicely tart touch, although the quantity of meat provided (half a pheasant, methinks) perhaps requires one or two more fruits to really make the most of this classic combination. The star of the dish is the celeriac mash, which seems roughly one part healthy vegetable item to three parts butter and two parts salt: exactly the way I like it, in short. Some would find this too rich, too salty, but for me this kind of mash is a real restaurant treat, as the soullessly wholesome versions I make at home are lucky to see even a splash of skimmed milk. Meanwhile, Mr Liz is embarking upon a plate of steak and chips roughly the size of the Titanic - he has gone for the 280g rib-eye at £22.50, and it is a prime specimen indeed, with that beautiful marbling of fat that makes so much difference to the flavour and texture of this cut. The steak comes with baker chips, mushrooms and tomatoes - no additional side dishes needed here, although the fiery peppercorn sauce he fancies does come as an extra. To our shame and sorrow, though, Mr Liz leaves several of the excellent chips and I even abandon a little of the pheasant - I really feel I have let you all down and these are not the standards of eating you expect from me.

Desserts: but surely you'll try a pudding? cries the lovely lady who has been bringing us these gargantuan dishes, with all the innocent menace of a waiter offering a wafer-thin mint to a dangerously full diner. I am ready to explode, but do manage a spoonful of the shared white chocolate and raspberry creme brulee (I argue weakly for the lighter-sounding fruit and sorbets platter, but Mr Liz is having none of it). This is perhaps a little heavy a choice in view of what we have just eaten, but I like the unusual flavour combination, and the pert raspberries do help to cut through the richness of the white chocolate. We do not drink much with dinner as we have the car with us (yes, I realise that Dora the Explorer would have shown us up here, by finding some way of navigating her way to the far-off terrains of Hale without a motor vehicle), but I do manage to sample the Hendricks Fizz from the new gin cocktail menu and it is sublime; in fact, the drinks options here are impressive full stop, with a wide selection of wines, gins and cocktails as well as Belvoir soft drinks for those remaining compos mentis.

In short? A lovely restaurant, with a menu full of things I'd like to eat, friendly staff and great cocktails. I do think the portions here are on the hefty side, but we perhaps didn't help ourselves by ordering some of the heavier options - I shall certainly try to choose more judiciously next time (for we will certainly come again)...or maybe just ask for a doggy bag, for I could really just fancy some pheasant and chips round about now...

- Amba Restaurant and Bar is at 106 Ashley Road, Hale, Cheshire WA14 2UN; tel 0161 928 2343. We were invited here to review the restaurant and were therefore not asked to pay for our food or drinks, but we will definitely go again as paying customers, even though it is ALL THE WAY AWAY IN HALE.

Opera North Go Wild at The Lowry for Local Girl's Birthday: Faust, Don Giovanni and The Makropulos Case all in November

Now, on the whole, having a birthday in November is a largely undesirable situation. I understand, of course, that it's not as bad as being born just before Christmas and thereby receiving only one set of presents as well as having to compete with celebrations for somebody else's birth, but nevertheless it really does mean a pile up of festivities at one end of the year and then very little else for 11 months - woe betide the November baby who runs out of Jo Malone mid-March, for example *voice of experience*.

Still, this November I shall be celebrating my birth in style by going to not one but THREE new productions at The Lowry Theatre by the wonderful Opera North; it's as if they knew that I would never be able to choose just one to go and see, and have handily arranged matters so that I may justify the whole rip-roaring, roof-raising lot of them. First up is Faust, with performances on Tuesday 6th and Friday 9th November; this got a pretty good write-up in The Sunday Times last week, with the observation that "Opera North bring Gounod's cheesy fable forcefully and cleverly up to date". Anyone who has seen an Opera North performance before (particularly the trailer-trash version of Carmen that visited Manchester last year) will know that this kind of modern approach is one of their strengths, even if they do manage to upset the odd traditionalist from time to time, so this bodes well indeed.

Alongside Faust, Opera North are also bringing Mozart's Don Giovanni (on Wednesday 7th and Saturday 10th November) and a Janáček opera that I am not familiar with called The Makropulos Case on Thursday 8th. Both of these deal with love, the former telling the story of an inveterate pleasure-seeker (based, of course, on Don Juan) as he cuts a seductive swathe through the hearts of all he lays eyes (and more) upon, and the latter posing a more romantic conundrum by asking us whether we would wish for immortality even if our endless life was one without love (answer: maybe, possibly - not sure; would depend on supply of chocolate digestives and American TV box sets).

Anyway, full details can be found here on the Lowry website, and I will leave you with some tempting images from Don Giovanni. Remember though, you might wangle permission to see one or all of these, but you ONLY get ice-cream at each and every interval IF it is Birthday Month...