IT'S JUST over ten years ago, April 1993, since last we were in the Saltgrass at Sunderland. "Unless there is a dramatic improvement, relegation is certain," that afternoon's Sunderland Echo had suggested. Nothing new there then.

Nothing new, either, about Sunderland football fans' affection for the old pub in Deptford, by the south bank of the Wear. Goodness knows they need something to enthuse about just now.

All that's changed is the home ground, upped sticks from Roker Park to just across the road - across the Alexandra Bridge, anyway - and the extent and unexpected pleasures of the food, delivered by a dumb waiter but speaking volumes, nonetheless.

Tom Lynn, who recommended the place, notes that the chef is called Duncan Mackenzie and adds, perhaps unnecessarily, that it's not that Duncan Mackenzie. That Duncan Mackenzie played for half the teams in the league, but not Sunderland, and now earns a good crust from after-dinner speaking.

Mr Lynn, known thereabouts as Touchline Tommy, was described in 1993 as "50 millionth in line for presidency of the Bob Murray Fan Club". Mr Murray is Sunderland's chairman; Tom may now be even further down the pecking order.

The shipyards are long gone, the dear old Salty dwarfed on one side by a vast construction unit for a company called Liebherr - German for "Dear Sir", presumably - and neighboured on another by a firm looking for old cars. ("MoT failures welcome.")

Since the cosy little lounge and restaurant may not be described as a room with a view, unless of several thousand square yards of cold steel, it's remarkable how convivial it is.

A little downstream, next to the Liebherr plant, the vista is towards the presently shadowed Stadium of Light. Immediately in front of it is a sculpture which appears from the opposite bank to be of people rolling boulders uphill.

Readers may recall that it was Sisyphus who was forever condemned by the Greek gods to roll a boulder uphill, the wretched thing rolling back down again whenever he puffed to a few millimetres of the summit.

Had the gods been really vengeful that day, they would have made him write six multi-faceted newspaper columns each week. That'd have shown him.

The Salty's jaunty bar overflows with nautical nick-nackery, an apparently ancient etching promoting the Mermaid Rest Home for Retired Sailors, sixpence a night.

Five real ales include Jennings' Cumberland, Ridley's Rumpus and Bass, each cherished in the manner to which barman Jim Cleugh, a legend among Wearside pub goers, has long been accustomed.

The starters list began with venison and black pudding toad in the hole with bubble and squeak and onion gravy, a robust statement of intent. Others included sea bream with lemon oil and a warm tomato and chorizo sausage salad and - get this - grilled crevettes with a duck salad, mango salsa and sweet chilli sauce.

The Boss had the Thai fishcakes, thought very good, we the crevettes - an improbable mix which worked.

Between courses there are plenty of books to read. We began A Christmas Carol, yet again - "Marley was dead to start with, let there be no doubt about that." In our house every day could be Christmas Carol day.

The main course was our mistake, not theirs. A periodic concession to vegetarianism, or rather to vegetarian readers, we ordered the bubble and squeak potato cake, laid on asparagus and topped with Welsh rarebit. It was perfectly OK, but you wouldn't want to eat a whole one very often. Thank goodness that chips are vegetarian, too, because these were top drawer.

She had the roast salmon with sun blushed tomato tapenade and buttered asparagus, considered unequivocally wonderful.

Pan-grilled pears with a spectacular Catherine wheel of other fruits, meringue, ice cream and chocolate sauce provided a glorious, two spoon finish, and at only £3.25 kept the bill for two to well under £40. Full marks to Heather, the waitress, too - something for Sunderland to cheer about at last.

LAST week's column noted that George Bernard Shaw, intercepted by an enthusiastic restaurant greeter, was asked what he wanted the band to play and replied "dominoes". It must have been a vegetarian restaurant, writes Alfred Lister from Guisborough, because Shaw was both teetotal and vegetarian. "Only cannibals eat meat," said GBS. He also said that those who can, do, and those who can't, teach, but that probably wasn't true, either.

THE same column reported the view of The Quiet Pint, 2000 edition, that whilst the Tan Hill Inn had much about which softly to shout, customers should keep an eye out for the resident Jack Russell. No longer, landlady Margaret Baines reports that Butch died four years ago. He's been replaced, says a chap in the pub, by a Yorkshire terrier "who's not particularly bothered about being fed".

WHILST the column was in church on Sunday morning, The Boss called for physical refreshment at Caffe Stop in Pickering - comfortable sofas, spreading Sunday newspapers, pot of good coffee and bottle of mineral water for £3.20 and absolutely no encouragement to leave. "Excellent," she said. More of the upbeat joys of Pickering Methodist Church in Saturday's At Your Service and of the splendid lunch which followed it in next week's Eating Owt.

...and finally, the bairns wondered if we knew what you call an ant with five pairs of eyes.

Ant-ten-eye, of course.

Published: 22/07/2003