Pleasingly, it didn’t scream “gastro“, but the sign saying “Lunch served 12-2” was even scarier.
“We too late for food then ?”
“I’ll see what we can rustle up”
Now that’s service for you. Compare with this.
Mrs RM asked for the strongest beer (they weren’t that strong, unfortunately, so I had to buy her two) and sat down looking for the WiFi code.
This was a “community” pub, in the sense that the folk weren’t all blokes aged 50-65.,and there was a lot of comings and goings.
That part of the crowd were following Sunderland’s attempt to pull back a 3 goal deficit at Cardiff. I thought for a moment they were exiled Mackems, but the disinterest that greeted the 4th goal confirmed them as voyeurs of the car crash that is the Black Cat’s season.
Some great bench seating dotted around, and we felt very cosy tucked away in the corner near the unused darts board.
Surprisingly, the food arrived before Mrs RM had finished her beers (very good, she says).
Knowing how much our Canadian reader enjoys pictures of proper food (being confined to reindeer fat during the winter months), here’s my proper pie (£7).
It’s a slice of a proper hardcrust pie, too, with really chunky steak. Mrs RM had chosen pie, but insisted on swapping with me when she saw the Ploughman’s came on a slate.
Our culinary experiences were enlivened by a youth who came in to play darts next to us.
I waited for a dart to land on Mrs RM’s slate, but they all hit the wall successfully.
“Time for one more, Mrs RM ?”