THE last Bishop of Ripon considered nothing more ambrosial than a plate of baked beans on toast, topped with melted cheese. He admitted as much in a sermon at Middleton Tyas church a few years ago; it was the only bit our bairns remembered.

We mention it because Ripon's present Dean was lunching rather more sumptuously the other day at an adjacent table to us. The first thing we overheard him tell his companion was that the Press couldn't be trusted, since they always made things up.

Chicken and egg, let him deny that bit, then.

We were at The George in Wormald Green, on the road from Ripon to Harrogate. Graham Newbould, partner and head chef, was chef to Charles and Diana - even cooked their wedding breakfast, which wasn't baked beans on toast. It's not difficult to spot the Prince of Wales feathers in his cap.

There are menus for the Royal Yacht, staff lists for royal tours - Pages of the Presence, Maids of the Anteroom - a personal letter from Diana, a Christmas card from King Hussein, a photograph of Graham shaking hands with Ronnie Reagan.

More formal accolades adorn every wall. The Michelin star he won at Inverlochy Castle, near Fort William, the honorary membership of the Academie Culinaire de Francais, a testimonial from the Royal College of Epicures and many more.

Had the young Newbould gained O-Level woodwork, or a camp craft certificate from the 1st Wakefield Cub Scouts - he is a Rugby League-loving West Yorkshireman - they'd probably have been hanging there somewhere, too.

Manifestly, therefore, it was to be a special kind of lunch, and occasions are no more special around here than the return journey from holiday.

The Boss hates the homecoming, grows more tense with every look north. Last week's break had been in Norfolk, the return not so much walking on egg shells as driving 200 miles on them. Amidst the encircling gloom, enlightenment seemed essential.

We arrived unbooked and informally dressed, the first and last disappointment that the hand pumps were long out of action, though there was some of the gaseous stuff.

Once a pub, The George is now sub-titled "Olives champagne wine bar and restaurant." Champagne, Wine and Tetley's Smoothflow Bar probably doesn't have the same ring.

It is neither cheap nor inexpensive. Lobster was £27.50, cooked "as you like it". For that price we'd like it encrusted with diamonds. Not even The Boss was £27.50 home sick.

At lunchtime there are sandwiches and baguettes for around a fiver, lunchtime and evening an economy menu - two courses £6.95, three £8.95 - which on the day comprised tomato and basil soup, poached chicken breast with a chive and white wine sauce and a pudding incorrectly spelt "Eaton Mess".

Eton, which it should have been, is in Berkshire. Eaton mess is oil on the floor of an axle company factory.

We ate from the carte, on another table a couple who'd won lunch in a competition. They'd a bonny baby with them, too, briefly released from his high chair to crawl, ecstatically, across the floor.

Goo-goo, said the baby, (though you know Her Majesty's Press) that might be a slight misquotation.

The Boss had a deep fried salmon fish cake with a soft poached egg and hollandaise sauce, followed by grilled fresh tuna ("wonderfully moist") with a spicy tomato and basil salsa and by a raspberry creme brulee. It was like watching the dawn.

The Dean, meanwhile, was getting into metaphysical stuff about morality and animals. His dog, he said, didn't abstain from mischief because it knew the difference between right and wrong but because - this bit's paraphrased - he would occasionally remind the crittur of the error of its ways.

We'd begun with terrine of brawn with a vinaigrette dressing. It was even better than the brawn Fred Lockwood used to sell at his butcher's shop in Shildon, only a few bob more expensive. In the days when there was change from a tanner, Fred did a mean penny duck, an' all.

The "grilled loin of Yorkshire pork" which followed sat atop garlic cream potatoes and amid an exquisite grain mustard sauce, and with simple, carefully cooked, vegetables. It was fresh, fragrant and faintly fabulous, the mark of a man who'd seen the writing on the wall and could in every area live up to it.

The iced hazelnut parfait which ended the meal was fine, too, and so were the staff. Even when the adept young water smashed a couple of plates a foot away, he merely whispered "Sh....." and left the you-know-what to the imagination.

The bill, with coffee but without drinks, was nearly £50. The new menu's yet pricier but on special occasions may be considered abundantly, even joyously, worthwhile. The rest of the journey passed like a veil had been lifted, but for the rest of the week it would be beans a la Lord Bishop of Ripon.

l The George Hotel and Restaurant, Wormald Green, Ripon (01765 677214.) Closed Sunday evening and all day Monday. Carefully adapted for the disabled.

EARLY the next day to Durham, opening time at the Balcony Bistro - lots of no-smoking tables and views over the covered market.

Full English or steak and eggs are both £2.95, sausage or bacon sandwich with tea or coffee £1.80. We'd asked for a "ham and pease pudding sandwich" (£1.90) so as to open an argument on whether it's properly "pease" or "peas", but unfortunately they were fresh out of either. The bacon sandwich was OK, but at that time in the morning, they were simply setting out their stall.

A THIRST assured several hours later, we dropped into the incomparable Grey Horse in Consett, one of the finest pubs in Christendom. Since it was September, they'd had to light the fire the previous evening,. The Consett record's midsummer's day.

The ale, the crack and the welcome were as admirable as ever; Paul and Rosie had even been trying to interest the lads in our attempt to find a collective noun for barmaids.

A toddy and a totty had been suggested, a pint, a forth, a rinsing, a round and a D-cup. The best may never apply to the Grey Horse. The best term for a bunch of barmaids? An ignoring.

GREEN issues: Eric Smallwood reports that at Safeway in Coulby Newham, Middlesbrough, a whole cucumber costs 39p and a half a cucumber is 42p. The extra 3p for 50 per cent less seems to be embraced by a bit of plastic wrapping.

....and finally, the bairns wondered if we knew what lives by the sea and wears a black pointy hat.

A sand witch, of course.

Published: Tuesday, September 18, 2001