Ah, the art of being genuinely pleasant is not a skill I boast. I offer a nice line in bilious invective. That is my bag and I swing it with pride. With this in mind, imagine my glee when I round the corner at 5.30 in the afternoon to see a queue already established outside Rick Stein's Cafe in Padstow. They operate a system wherein if you've failed to book a table millennia in advance you may subject yourself to queuing for the possibility of getting one available only between 6 and 8pm, after which space must be made for those with superior foresight.
I strongly object to this. It is the fault of us Brits and our uniquely dismal relationship with food. We don't feel entitled to eat well at any number of reasonably priced eateries. We feel pathetically grateful for the opportunity. This set the tone for what was surely going to be a stinker of a review.
Picture, then, my indignation when it is announced that there are only four tables. Second in line, we make the cut, but legion behind us don't. Why the other empty tables can't be used remains a mystery. Our party is made up of my two verbose children (seven and six); mainly mute husband (36) and mother-in-law (62), who chooses this moment to announce that she doesn't eat fish. Mounting apoplexy is abated only by the winning charm and efficiency of the maitresse d'. Soothed by her, I resolve to concentrate on the matter in hand.
I start with griddled mackerel fillets with sundried tomatoes and fennel seeds, while He (spouse) has sautéed squid with Greek salad. The mackerel is delicious - fresh, salty and pungently fishy. The fennel seeds are arguably a little too numerous, giving fractionally too lip-tingling a tang to the dish, but this is a minor note. He states, with two words, to be fully satisfied with squid.
Kids are super pleased with their food, principally because the very good real fish fingers and chips are liberally sprinkled with rock salt. I watch Panorama. I know they aren't supposed to eat this stuff. Consequently they live a dreary salt-free existence - when they're teenagers it won't be dope they'll be trying to score, it'll be Pringles.
For my main I have devilled fillet of gurnard with tomato and mint salad, He has haddock fillet with cannellini beans, capers and tarragon and, mercifully, there's a fish-free dish for his mum - Vietnamese poached chicken salad with mint and coriander. The gurnard is very good - meaty, richly textured and extremely tasty. A real find. He has also done well and nears chatty describing the haddock. I'm now compelled to tuck in. Licence to eat off your spouse's plate is one of the few mitigating reasons for marriage.
His dish is creamier and heavier than I might ordinarily choose for a warm summer's night, but it is delicious and certainly more substantial than mine, which, I should add, was not really enough for a main course. Mother-in-law says she is happy with her food, but ignore this recommendation because, contrary to the stereotype, she is very easily satisfied.
Obviously pudding is a foregone conclusion - well, I've had half a bottle of wine and can't now recall why I've ever dieted, youthful husband is able to eat all in sight without gaining weight and kids have espied the word "chocolate" on the menu, giving them all the information they require.
The sunken chocolate cake is heavenly - really chocolatey, perfectly airy and gooey. The crème brûlée is well executed and good. My lemon posset with summer berries is nice but the posset isn't properly stiff and I suspect, seeing as it's only 7pm, it hasn't completely set yet.
And this niggle brings me to the crux of my ire. The food is delicious, the setting pleasant, the maitresse d' terrific and the prices reasonable, but that's just it - the prices are the same as those being paid by the leisurely queue-free later diners. Shouldn't we queue-and-out-by-8pm plebians be rewarded for our efforts? If everything were just a few pounds cheaper I wouldn't mind queuing since there'd be a quid pro quo factor, but as it stands we get to meekly wait in a line not knowing if we're going to get fed at all, all the while agreeing to be shown the door by a certain time and pay top dollar to boot. Sounds like too one-sided a relationship for my liking.
Readers' restaurants
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