An organic feast turned out to be just what the doctor ordered, especially after a bout of illness.

THE Boss has been bad. Even worse than normal. Old deputy doc, the Sabbath medic on the distant end of a telephone, preposterously supposed it to be a hangover - though he didn't use the word - and prescribed Paracetamol and fluids.

Though she sure as steak pie wasn't planning a three-course meal, it seems fair to add that diagnostics in such circumstances must be like performing micro-surgery in boxing gloves.

Vinegar and brown paper, per the nursery rhyme hill climbers, might have been equally effective.

The Boss does, however, suffer a reaction - sneezing, usually, not this neurological pneumatic drill - to additives in red wine, several glasses of which had been consumed the evening previously.

Still femmer four days later, she was allowed out to the Arden Arms and discovered a sort of organic Elysium.

The wine's organic, the champagne's organic, the bread, vegetables and ice cream are organic, the beef can be "fully traced" and the ale, or the ale most worth drinking, is the real thing, too.

There was also a large bowl of garlic stuffed olives on the bar, where others scatter salted peanuts. To the Boss, olives are all. There's even an olive tree at the bottom of the garden, in the hope one year of cutting out the middle man.

These were delicious, the effect as of a shoal of piranha upon a sliver of Taylor's pie. She had gently to be prised from the bar, and led away to a table in the far corner.

That was the good news, the bad that she still couldn't risk alcohol, nor even coffee for that matter.

The Arden Arms is at Atley Hill, a dot of a place a couple of miles west of Scorton, in North Yorkshire. New owners Marcus Lund and Linda Harley also run Fanny's Ale and Cider Bar, a former pet shop which in many respects speaks or itself, in Saltaire (a village hugely recommended) near Shipley.

Saltaire had nine real ales and nine ciders, now nine ales and two ciders. Marcus likes his real ales.

He knows his food, too. Chef Colin Woodward has arrived from Judges, near Yarm - "If there is anything better in life than to eat food with an ice cold beer, I've never found it" he says on the menu, though (like the Boss) it may be a couple of degrees under - whilst pastry chef Deena Brain also makes the puddings, and makes a jolly good job of it.

The food is imaginative, attractive and carefully cooked, the atmosphere more country pub than recherche restaurant, the service friendly and knowledgable.

The smoked duckling starter was the most pleasant in memory, the goats' cheese fondant with sun blushed tomatoes and organic honey perfect for a midsummer evening.

She followed with lemon sole with scallops in the most vivid saffron sauce, we with "west coast scallops" - wonderfully plump little fellers - with black pudding mash and a jus (we asked) of veal reduction and red wine.

A proper food critic wouldn't also have had to wonder "West coast of where"? A proper food critic probably wouldn't have spilled the jus down his clean shirt, either.

Puddings included ginger and apple crumble with clotted cream, organic chocolate tart with chantilly cream, lots of cheeses.

Lemon possett arrived with wonderful liquorice ice cream and a blackcurrant compote, the mango cheesecake with a raspberry sorbet.

She drank water, we Timothy Taylor's Landlord - definitely not ice cold - from a real ale selection which included Taylor's Ram Tam and Black Sheep bitter. There's a separate bar, too.

Though dishes like shortcrust game and wild mushroom pie are £6.95, a typical three course meal will be between £20-£25 but with change enough still to be ardent about the Arden.

Their bread's for sale at £1.85, olives rather more expensive. We bought the lady a big jar anyway, in grateful celebration of having her head back together.

l The Arden Arms, Atley Hill, near Scorton (01325) 378678. Fine for the disabled; no food Mondays.

ONCE the scarlet pimpernel of North-East gastronomy, our old pal Didier da Ville continues to cook - impressively it's reported - at Al Syros in Hartlepool town centre.

That we'd already eaten was only one reason why we didn't look in whilst in town, however.

The second was that a mutual acquaintance had passed on our regards the week before. "That lovely man," said Didier. "Next time I see 'im, I give 'im great big kees."

SHAFTO'S at Spennymoor is big on little 'uns. There's a "playbarn" at one end, a large all-age eating area and an even larger menu.

It was pleasing, therefore, to find a notice advising that the conservatory was strictly for over 14s, an age group which (in most cases) may be expected to behave.

We lunched with Lynda Gough - once a nurse at Darlington Memorial, now Spennymoor's new vicar - who thought the reality much different from the picture at the top of the column but was much too charitable to suggest which was the more disturbing.

Lynda also recommended the "sizzling" platters: she had the chicken. We the "Singapore" with chicken, beef and prawns, plum sauce, rice and salad. Total for two, £19.90.

Real ales embraced Castle Eden and two from Bateman's - strangers in these parts - which included a 4.2 organic bitter called Yella Belly. It was very palatable, but only for grown ups, of course.

...and finally, the bairns are talking about the chap who consults the waiter after finding chicken tarka on the menu.

"Like chicken tikka," says the waiter, "only a little 'otter."