HIS name wasn't really Julius Caesar at all. Caesar was his status - emperor, autocrat, head lad - and was to avoid confusion with Julius Seafarer, say, or Julius the Latrine Attendant.

There were other Caesars, too, like Augustus and Caius. In the 19th Century, a chap called Julius Caesar played cricket for Surrey and for an early England X1 and about 15 years ago the mighty Arsenal fielded a centre half called Gus Caesar, born in Tottenham of classically-minded parents.

He was released during Mr Bruce Rioch's time as the Gunners' manager. Et tu, Brucie?

None of it, however, has anything to do with Caesar salad, the dish of anchovies and things without which no list of starters could now feel properly accoutred.

That, memory suggests, was the invention of Caesar of the Ritz, and we mention it because The Boss always swears that the best Caesar salad in creation was got up by Jonathan Edwards at the St Cuthbert's Inn near Scorton, North Yorkshire, one summer Saturday lunchtime in 1988.

The Edwards family hadn't been there long. Jonathan and Simon, twins, were both chefs. Peter, their dad, had been a pesticide salesman and had a nose for fine wine.

A few months later, the column followed Simon to the fashionable Frith's restaurant in London, aghast - then as now - at the "new fangled phones" ringing at table and at the London prices. Plum and tomato soup £4, venison £12.50.

Though St Cuthbert's lost its canon - Peter works in the wine department at Lewis and Cooper in Northallerton - the twins are again back within a few miles of one another. Simon, elder by 25 minutes, is sous chef at the celebrated Black Bull in Moulton, near Scotch Corner, Jonathan's head chef at The Grange Arms in Hornby, which is where we dined last week.

Hornby's a hamlet about a mile east of the A167, pretty much in the middle of a triangle drawn between Darlington, Teesside and Northallerton. Neil and Sandra Goodenough, who've owned the pub since 1988, previously managed the Bit and Bridle (and Wacky Warehouse) in Darlington before deciding that life wasn't all child's play.

It's informal, relaxed, welcoming - Neil even remembered the table at which we'd sat on a previous visit - but perhaps a little too cluttered. First lesson, ditch the "fun" blackboards.

Dozens of paintings by local artists hang alongside photographs of Neil's grandparents. "I like to think they're watching me," he said. "It stops me from drinking too much."

Four real ales include the excellent Magus from Durham Brewery; music is from the Sixties which - whilst familiar - still breeds discontent. They played Bruce Chanel and Eden Kane and Carole King's one-hit wonderment, It Might As Well Rain Until September.

Though it was August 29, it still didn't seem a good idea.

As before, the younger Edwards is fanatically keen on fresh fish. Prices are approximately where they were in London 13 years ago - about £40 for two, without drinks - though early evening specials are more inexpensive.

Grilled tuna with Nicoise salad or braised lamb shank are £7.50, four choices of tagliatelle £6.95.

Our crab risotto with deep fried young squid was splendidly succulent, the carefully cooked pork tenderloin which followed it served with a darkly aromatic sauce of shitake mushrooms, ginger, dry sherry - just like New Year's Eve - and spring onions.

Vegetables included courgettes, carrots, mangetout and a dish of cheesy potatoes which probably had a posh name but was highly more-ish by any.

Then the puddings, home-made like everything else, and a banana toffee crunch sundae concoction so stupendous in construction and spectacular in execution that it might have won a gold medal at the RIBA summer exhibition.

The Boss had roast salmon with asparagus ("absolutely delicious") and pears poached in red wine for pudding. She had begun - because it was the great test, the one she had to come back for - with the Caesar salad. It was brilliant, like she'd never been away, wondrously sauced and classically contrived. Hail Caesar, but well done Johnny Edwards, too. Twin peaks.

l The Grange Arms, Hornby, near Great Smeaton (01609) 881249. Early doors menu Tuesday to Saturday 5-6.30pm and also Saturday lunchtime. Other meals Tuesday to Saturday from 6.30pm and Sunday lunchtime, 12-5pm. Fine for the disabled.

BACK home for a funeral, we looked into Andrea Savino's little restaurant, cool and colourful amid the sweltering gloom.

The man from Sorrento has been over here since 1975, and will have known few English summers like this one. He wore shorts, grumbled (ungratefully) about the heat, extended as always the generous hand of hospitality. Italian delights notwithstanding, we lunched on a fragrant smoked bacon baguette and a cup of coffee, £2.99 the pair. You can take the lad out of Shildon, but you can't take Shildon out of the lad.

THE column a couple of weeks back dropped into the Wishing Well at Great Langton, a smidgeon of a place between Scorton and Northallerton. The name seemed somewhat hyperbolic - and if that were Great Langton, we supposed, then Little Langton must long since have disappeared up its own OS map.

Not so, writes Philip Jones - whose daughter lives in the lesser of the Langtons. "Take the back road from Great Langton to Thrintoft, past Langton church - you'd love it - and if you blink on that trip, you'll miss Little Langton."

But, adds Philip, it's very definitely still there.

A decade ago St John's Chapel had four pubs. Now there are just two and it was in the Kings Head that we bumped into Pearl Featherstone, full of glee and probably of tatie cake, too.

Pearl, nice lass, had not just won the tatie cake section at the sadly truncated Weardale Show - "not potato cake, always tatie cake" - but the trophy for Best Baker, too.

"I've been married 43 years and brought up a family on Weardale tatie cake," said Pearl, though sadly there were no samples about her person.

It's a confection of pastry, potatoes, bacon, onion and sundry secret ingredients. They've now an annual pork pie show down dale at Eastgate, said Pearl, so why shouldn't there also be a tatie cake spectacular? Ever selfless, we have offered to be judge should such a delectable occasion come to pass.

....and finally, the bairns wondered if we knew the fruit which sits in the bowl crying for help.

A damson in distress.

Published: Tuesday, September 4, 2001