Getting our kicks on the A66

It was another of the etymological exercises which, like Colman's Mustard, so often accompany our meals. Since the A66 is blamed for so much else, it can cop for this one, as well.

The trans-Pennine route is, or was, a trunk road - OS ID A66(T). "The main part of something as opposed to its appendices," says the Oxford English, which probably explains trunk road and trunk call - though not in America, where a trunk call is local - but what, we wondered, about swimming trunks?

What's the long and the short of that one? What's the trunk root, anyway? Were we really getting our kicks on the A66?

Well, with just a couple of blackspots, yes we were.

Thorpe Farm is about ten miles west of Scotch Corner, almost opposite the celebrated Morritt Arms at Greta Bridge and in the same family - says its literature - for "over three generations".

Why do people write such nonsense? How many generations is over three? Four, five or back to when the Romans built roads thereabouts (and probably made a better job of it).

Architecturally it's a Georgian "peel house" - semi-fortified, originally - and since last summer it's been coffee shop, restaurant and "country deli". There's also a walled garden, picnic area, adventure playground and dog walking paddock.

The deli is a mouth-watering, get-thee-behind-me little gem, concentrating on "regional" food and drink in lots of little rooms overflowing with pickled shallots, courgette chutney and strawberry conserve with champagne and produced by doubtless rustic little enterprises with names like Thursday Cottage and Rosebud Preserves. There were magnetic jotters, too, but we couldn't quite see the attraction, and since man shalt not live by tracklements alone, we sat down to Sunday lunch.

The waitresses were efficient, cheerful and (it has to be said) rather fetching; owner Paul Barkes - who doubtless warrants most of those epithets himself - alternated between washing up and shoving oranges into a gizmo which, seconds later, produced juice so freshly squeezed that even Mr Michael Winner would have approved.

The regular menu offered four choices - beef, pork, mushroom stroganoff, asparagus and feta cheese pancakes - plus dishes like steak and kidney pie and scampi from the board.

Told ten minutes after ordering that there were no pancakes, The Boss ordered vegetable curry instead and considered it perfectly good in a Great British sort of way.

She'd started with very tasty mushrooms in a garlic and chive sauce; we began with salmon pate from a choice that also included lobster and pheasant. Crisp salad, very good coleslaw.

Since Paul kept pigs for 20 years - the last leave any day, diversified to death - it proved prudent to order the pork. The crackling, however, could have come from a bag at the back of some bar fitting, the Yorkshire puddings similarly past their best.

Like one of those African violets that blooms once every 100 years, Yorkshire puddings are not at their best for very long.

The vegetables were fresh and crisply cooked, the bread and butter pudding definitely different, the coffee excellent. A trip up the trunk may certainly be recommended, but for heaven's sake drive carefully.

* Thorpe Farm, Greta Bridge, near Barnard Castle (01833 627242.) Open weekdays from 9am, Sundays from 10am and for evening parties by arrangement. Adapted (at a squeeze) for the disabled. The "Summer Fair weekend" on June 22-23 includes a craft marquee, fine food exhibition and lots for the bairns.

BRIAN Skipp, landlord of the award winning White Swan in Stokesley, is stepping out the back. Whilst his son John takes over the pub, Brian - buoyed by a budget for small brewers - will concentrate on his Captain Cook Brewery in the yard.

His ales include Slipway, Sunset and a decidedly delicious porter called Rooster, none under 4 per cent abv. "Anything less and the people in here think they're drinking water," said Brian.

The awards have included Cleveland CAMRA's pub of the year - the latest, just announced, is the Victoria at Robin Hood's Bay - and the accolade in 1997 for Britain's best ploughman's lunch.

It was all they served, though on a visit at the time we'd attempted to persuade him that man shalt not live by bread and cheese alone - any more than tracklements, see above - and that a plate of pork pies and a bottle of HP would further supplement the Swan's simple pleasures.

This time, warned by the Stokesley Stockbroker of our intended arrival last Wednesday, he'd shipped in a galleon of growlers from Lowther's in Great Ayton. Terrific.

It was also quiz night. Francois Duvalier was better known as Papa Doc and not, as Mr Eric Smallwood suggested, Frankie Valli. Papa Doc was a bit gruffer.

John plans to expand the food range along the lines of the admirable Masham at Hartburn, Stockton; Brian hopes to explore more outlets for Captain Cook.

There is, however, another reason for him to be feeling pretty good just now. Five years after the column inadvertently married them off, Brian and long term partner June Harrison will finally be wed on Saturday. Every blessing.

SERVICES rendered, we'd also treated the Stockbroker to an early dinner at the Pepper Mill at the north end of Northallerton High Street, run for 17 years by Paul and Sue Metcalfe.

Next month they also open a wine bar in the former printing works out the back, nearly named the Wine Press.

It's open, happily, from 6pm, three course dinner £12 from Tuesday to Friday plus a carte and a commendably imaginative vegetarian section.

Not least because of some lovely Thai fish cakes, the Pepper Mill - how often has this been said? - appears a place not to be sniffed at. A fuller report later.

...and finally, the bairns wondered if we knew what has large antlers, a high pitched voice and wears white gloves.

Mickey Moose, of course.

Published: 21/05/2002