The confit zone

IT WAS a dark and stormy night, as Edward Bulwer-Lytton observed at the beginning of Paul Clifford, thus earning unending obloquy for his intro and a permanent punchline for Peanuts.

Bulwer-Lytton also first observed that the pen was mightier than the sword, a paradox for which we who wield the former have oft had cause to be grateful.

It was also perishing cold. When the 2004 Good Beer Guide talks of a "warm welcome" at the Smiths Arms in Carlton, it might not mean on wild Wednesday nights in October.

More chilling yet was the bar counter in the lounge where, despite the GBG's promise of some of the country's finest real ales, a single Roughwith font held stony, shameless sway.

It was like being greeted by a lifesize effigy of the devil incarnate or, worse, by a Tottenham Hotspur fan.

Carlton is one of a village constellation north-west of Stockton-on-Tees, almost all - Whitton, Bishopton, Stillington - ending in "ton". Redmarshall doesn't; it sounds like it should be a butterfly.

So far as we are able to ascertain there is no Carlton Club, membership of which would confer a certain spurious social cachet (as probably they say on Teesside).

Smith was undoubtedly a blacksmith. There are carriage lamps and cartwheels, bits, bridles and bits of bridles and enough horse shoes to satiate an equine Mrs Marcos.

There was also a clock that had stopped at half past nine and one of those coal ineffect fires that might as well have had a chocolate fireguard, for all the good it was doing.

From that point, however, it was possible greatly to warm to the place and to its imaginative, well cooked and very good value food.

Owned by Pubmaster, the Smiths has been run this past month by the Keen family - name and nature says Barbara, their cheery and entirely hospitable mum - who previously ran the restaurant at the Blue Bell in Bishopton.

Eldest son Danny, 29, is the chef. Louis is patisserie chef, Matthew barman and 16-year-old Harry washes pots - "under protest," says his mum.

Dad's been sent back to work and, like Captain Oates, may be some time. Work's in Saudi. "There was more money going out than coming in," explains Barbara.

We ate alone in the restaurant, once the stables, the rest of the Carlton club in the bar watching Rangers v Manchester United on television.

A local looked briefly in. "You can't move for tourists," he said affably, and headed back to the bar.

The radiators were going hammer and tongs, as a blacksmiths with mixed metaphors might suppose. The hot bread buns, clasped gratefully, provided further central heating. The mercury rose agreeably.

The Keens have moved the menu, but not the prices, upmarket. Bar meals - perhaps roasted salmon fillet with slow roasted plum tomatoes and basil spaghetti or chicken tikka masala with fresh coriander and toasted almond rice - hover around £6. Restaurant main courses are hardly ever more than £9.

We began with parma ham, chicken and wholegrain mustard terrine with fig chutney and French toast (£3.95), the toast - too salty - the outsider in this otherwise highly respectable menage a trois. English bread would have been better.

The Boss had the Thai spiced fish cakes - something to do with ducks and swimming - and thought both they and the sweet chilli dipping sauce exceptionally good.

The rain rattled against the windows. A flashing light somewhere north of Bishopton periodically illuminated the sky.

"What's that flashing, like lightning?" we asked a passer-by.

"Lightning," he said, and passed on.

The lady followed with tournedos of salmon served attractively with char grilled Mediterranean vegetables, we with Gresingham duck confit with spiced puy lentils and caramelised kumquats.

Caramelised kumquats? When did you last get those at Burger King?

The duck was splendidly crisp, full flavoured, aromatic, the lentils an interesting embellishment in the confit zone. ("Puy" is a recurring mystery, even in pronunciation. Mr John Constable will doubtess explain)

Other main courses included roast pheasant breast and confit leg with buttered savoy cabbage, pancetta and madeira wine sauce and roasted aubergine filled with Moroccan vegetable stew. The salmon was £8 - terrific value, the Boss considered.

All this was accompanied by a couple of pints of hand-pulled Magnet, kept in the other bar. Magnet may not be the cask beer's world's greatest attraction, as it were, but it's perfectly good stuff and knocks Roughwith into a ten gallon hat.

She finished with burnt lemon tart, we with "brandy and chocolate espresso with biscotti". Puddings are £3.50, the espresso thing rather solid, unexciting and almost certainly made elsewhere; rather it was the lemon tart which took the biscotti.

Both pulse and temperature had risen considerably by the end. The clock read 9.30 when we left, the night was the same as before.

* The Smiths Arms, Carlton, near Stockton-on-Tees (01740 630471). Lunch Thursday-Sunday, evening meals Tuesday-Saturday. Fine for the disabled.

TIME Out is publishing a new national food guide - lots of familiar places, multiples of 21, and one or two less lauded.

There's the Moby Grape in Stockton town centre ("probably the coolest place in town"), Bill's Fish Bar in Cullercoats ("spectacular views over the sea front") and Morley's in Bondgate, Bishop Auckland.

Morley's is also a fish and chip shop and caf, described as unpretentious and, rather curiously, with locals from far and wide.

"The own-made mushy peas have a better reputation than the local council and are considerably easier on the pocket," it adds, odder yet.

We went. There was a union jack in the window and a notice advertising loyalty cards - "one stamp per fish" - but the shop was shut. It re-opens, lunchtime only, on Thursday. A further report shortly.

l Time Out Eating and Drinking in Great Britain and Ireland (Penguin, £12.99).

IT'S been Bishop's House, Bibi's and heaven knows what else. Now the restaurant at the town end of Coniscliffe Road in Darlington is Sam's, and does a marvellous mulligatawny soup.

It's owned by Barry Dawson and Samantha King, partners also in the Chequers at Dalton and with interest in a couple of other places. Soon they hope to move back into the former Bishop's House courtyard, leaving the front as more of a drinking area with real ale up and flowing.

Service is friendly, menu including baguettes, scrambled egg, smoked haddock and a mousaka which was pleasant if unmemorable. The mulliga-tawny, however, is a masterwork.

...and finally, the bairns wondered if we knew what you get by crossing a black bird and a mad dog.

A raven maniac, of course.

Published: 28/10/2003