Finding the correct route to the Hall Garth carve-up

I have never experienced the first, clearly remember the second and have just revisited the third, although not without a navigational cock-up which ultimately meant that to reach my destination I had to cut across traffic below the brow of a blind summit on the busy A167 near Darlington.

A visit to one part of the Hall Garth Country House Hotel at Coatham Mundeville represented only the third time I had set foot in a carvery. Last year I tried the one at Teesside International Airport, bumping into an acquaintance who recommended me, loudly and pushily, to "dive in there quick before all the meat goes." No manners, some folk, but it was sound advice. The joint, for want of a better word, was heaving.

Before that my mind had to go back to the winter of 1991 and the Staveley Arms at North Stainley in the company of an old school friend whom I had met for the first time in 32 years the previous New Year's Eve.

Someone who knows the Hall Garth told me it was posh and a bit pricey. Figuring that you have to pay for quality, I rang up to check. The voice at the other end said that for Sunday lunch I wanted The Stables pub, prices depending on whether I had everything or just the main carvery course for £4.95. That was it.

I had never been there before, but what did I have to lose? Travelling with a Sunday companion whose second opinions are valued, I decided to try what was obviously the cut price end of the Hall Garth, but this was to be one of those days. Turning off the A1, we blinked and missed the sign directing us along a minor road towards Brafferton.

It took about two miles to backtrack and it was by a combination of luck and judgment that we survived a right turn manouevre from the central refuge on that potentially lethal hill outside the Foresters Arms, where we should have branched off in the first place.

The Hall Garth is an imposing pile set in vast grounds which include a golf course and must be a delight in high summer, but The Stables is an unprepossessing building detached from the main hotel. It has a brasserie and a restaurant called the Hole in One. The bar is non-smoking.

For train spotters there is the main east coast line, although the view here is more restricted than at The Sidings, opened 20 years ago by retired railway manager Bert Gemmell north of York. One of the admirable electric expresses run by Mr Garnett on behalf of GNER was our first sighting, followed by a Virgin train which, it was suggested mischievously, must have been trying to keep to one of Mr Branson's peculiar timetables.

The main course, take it or leave it, was marked on a stand-up card on the bar, but investigations revealed that a starter and dessert would nudge the bill up to £8.95, coffee being £1.55 extra. Further enquiries elicited the fact that by special request Sunday lunch is possible in the hotel itself. If only that had been mentioned when the booking was made, but presumably you have to be in the know or at the very least a mind reader.

We were none too pleased to find ourselves plonked at a slightly wobbly reserved table in the uninspiring surroundings of the brasserie, a conservatory with the remains of this year's grape crop festooning the ceiling. The impression of economy was heightened by a bowl containing those little sachets of sauces you normally find in cafes, but at least they were of a leading brand. They remained unused because the genuine fresh condiments were readily available.

In the circumstances the more cosy Hole in One would have been preferred by this column's other half, but it was windowless and at least the brasserie had views, mainly of the hotel and passing golfing types who looked about as happy as Hylda Baker's gangling old sparring partner on stage. Whatever was his (or her) name again?

It took some time for starters to arrive. My companion tried the chicken and sweetcorn soup but decided it had an overpowering imbalance in favour of the latter. I ordered vegetable samosas, the hard outer coating of which reminded me of brandy snaps. They were accompanied by a little pot of mint dip, which helped to temper the seasoning.

There is a difference of opinion between this column and its other half about carveries. The other half, which prefers a proper sit-down service, compares the whole carvery business with lining up in an Army cookhouse, dislikes the cards which have to be presented in exchange for grub and warns grimly that, if we find ourselves at the end of a long queue, we will be lucky to get out much before midnight.

I believe a carvery gives you the chance to make a civilised pig of yourself now and again. Given the quality, you can extract relatively good value from the experience when you consider the meagre amounts of vegetables served up in some conventional establishments charging higher prices. Always magnanimous, however, I can see merit in the other point of view.

That main course, cheap and cheerful if taken on its own, saved the day as my companion's warning about queues was exploded, at least on this occasion. There were only six customers ahead of us as kitchen staff carved thick and generous slices of meat, leaving diners to plough into carrots, cauliflower, peas and cabbage done in white wine.

The plates just didn't seem big enough. My companion went over the top with the roast potatoes, one of their favourite treats, and I was correspondingly gluttonous with the perfectly formed Yorkshire puddings. We accepted the offer of both beef and turkey, finding the cuts tender and tasty. The vegetables had been nicely done but the gravy seemed strangely weak, unworthy of such magnificent mounds of well-prepared food.

It transpired later that the Hall Garth, part of the Corus and Regal Hotels group, is still looking for a head chef. Based on this main course, all we can say is that those caretaking in the kitchen are doing very well, thank you.

Chocolate desserts were chosen, my companion declaring that theirs was probably the best they had ever tasted. A choice of coffees was available, but without any chewy little things.

While we considered our surroundings basic and functional, The Stables was a generally pleasant experience with helpful bar and kitchen staff, plus a single waiter who efficiently cleared empty plates with a friendly word as we collected our next course.

If I had a grumble it concerned the background music, typical pub stuff so loud, persistent and centred on chart hits that it was almost in the foreground. I Heard It On the Grapevine was one of the tracks, producing a wry smile as we contemplated our overhead surroundings.

Some places are better for knowing and we were sufficiently satisfied with the quality to decide that we would return to the Hall Garth one day. Next time, though, we will try to get into the main hotel by special request, even if it does prove more pricey. And at least I will know where that roadside sign is.