The Wensleydale Heifer, West Witton

THE last time we were in the Wensleydale Heifer, the lady of the house recalled, the elder bairn had phoned to say he'd passed - surpassed - his driving test.

Three hours later, he phoned to report that he'd not only damn near wiped out himself and his car but also the poor unfortunate woman taking the corner in the opposite direction.

A hundred yards of hedge back didn't look too clever, either. You remember these things, don't you?

The Heifer's at West Witton in Wensleydale, Pen Hill rising snow-decked over the road. It's been owned since last September by David Moss, a Darlington lad whose father was half of Moss and Campbell, a well known carpet business. Dad now helps with the books at the hotel.

David's also the chef, formerly at the celebrated Crab and Lobster at Asenby, near Thirsk, a heavyweight espousing the maxim that you can't trust a skinny chef.

The Heifer even organised a competition for customers to guess his weight, the weighbridge at Catterick requisitioned for its ponderous resolution. There was only a pound change out of 20 stones.

We took Sunday lunch with Mr Carl Les, these days a pretty big wheel at North Yorkshire County Council and owner of the Lodge at Leeming Bar.

Carl's a catering professional: "Look at that wonderful new extractor fan, " he said, before we'd even crossed the car park.

The extractor fan was indeed so huge, so shiny and so cylindrical that, with a rocket up its bum, it could probably have landed a few monkeys on Mars.

The rest of the hotel has been transformed, too. It's smart, swish even, though management insists that walkers and wallets are welcomed equally.

There's a boot rack as well as a wine rack.

It's also sufficiently unstuffy to be running a misshapen vegetable competition, stirring memories of long gone nights when a similar ugly bugs' ball was held annually at the dear Old Scouts Hut in Wheatley Hill. It grew on you, honest.

The Heifer's passion appears principally piscine, the recurring motif a Roland Rat lookalike (or so to the enfeebled eye it appears) setting off on a fishing trip, a rat to catch a mackerel.

Some of the plates are fish-shaped, the ornaments are fish-shaped, even the post-prandial chocolates are fishshaped. Some writing on the wall proclaims that everything comes to he who baits.

Three course Sunday lunch is £16.95, preceded in one of the lounges by little salmon and caper canapes provided by a smiley waitress with an hour-glass figure who bowed like an Anglepoise lamp as she served them.

Several of the staff are Polish. Most wore identical stripy T-shirts, like a comic cuts conspiracy.

The main dining room - there are another two eating areas - is infinitely, informally, elegant. Carl particularly liked the chairs. If one of the paintings is missing, he could well be in the frame for that, an' all.

He's a good bloke but a grudging critic, the Lesometer a curmudgeonly crittur. Carl's eight out of ten is another man's 11.

He also reckoned that in North Yorkshire it would be possible to eat well on every night of the year without visiting the same place twice. And Co Durham?

"Have you a few days spare?" he said.

This was eating well, very well, with just a few problems at the foot of the menu to which we shall shortly return.

Carl began with fishcakes, followed by richly flavoured roast pork, cracking crackling, "historic" roast potatoes cooked in goose fat and accompaniments like cider and onion cabbage and the Yorkshire pudding for which specifically he'd asked.

He finished with apple crumble, the only pudding which appealed to him, thought the whole experience worth eight of ten. Only eight? "A good eight, " said Carl. That's a 12, then.

The Boss began with parma ham and melon with a pine nut dressing, - "a bit niggardly but very nice, " she said. The sea bream beamed, the potatoes were perfect, the vegetables green but by no means cabbage looking.

She finished with a magnificent cheeseboard, lots of grapes and nuts and biscuits, too. Carl pinched the walnuts. Good for the heart, he said.

We'd begun with excellent celery and Stilton soup - good bread and delicious butter - followed by Whitby cod with "posh peas", proper chips and a little tub that tasted like a variant on tartare sauce.

What was so posh about the peas, then? "Blitzed with tarragon and cream, " said the waiter, though ignorance remained blitzful.

"It's a Gary Rhodes expression, " said Carl, knowingly.

The peas were a wow, both cod and batter way upmarket, the whole thing served on a plate that was a facsimile of the West Witton Times. Eating fish and chips off the newspaper.

Then the problems, beginning with the sweet bay leaf risotto - a sort of retro rice pudding - with which we finished. Probably a prince among bay leaf risottos, it was hard going, nonetheless - a Heifer lump, as Winnie the Pooh might have said. The accompanying stem ginger ice cream was half melted, the flavour draining simultaneously.

Worse, a cup of good strong coffee (with fish-shaped chocolate) was £2.50, a refill another £2.50.

Worst of all, a note on the bottom of the menu advised that an "optional" ten per cent would be added to all bills in order to reward the "dedicated and hard working" staff but that customers could, of course, advise their server that they didn't want to pay it.

What, and be forever branded a tightwad? Have the poor bairns sending back to Polski for a food parcel? The overwhelming majority will be Mr Ten Per Cents.

It's a southern custom, long seen heading up the Al as irresistibly as a tank on a transporter, its eventual arrival much to be regretted.

We chewed it over with the gaffer.

Something to do with chip and pin, he said. The staff must appreciate it, anyway, because not one has left since they re-opened in September. They were both amiable and accomplished, but the Heifer might still take a tip.

It didn't spoil a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon, among the top five Sunday lunches in recent years. Unlike that sharp bend learning curve, memorable for lots of good reasons.

The Wensleydale Heifer, West Witton, North Yorkshire (01969) 622322. Open seven lunchtimes and evenings and all day Saturday and Sunday from April 15. Food from soup and sandwiches; no problem for the disabled. www. wensleydaleheifer. co. uk LUNCH at the Butchers Arms in Chester-le-Street, much the town's best real ale venue, is interrupted by a chap bearing the news that Amos Ale has even reached Pelaw Grange dog track, up the road. A sure-fire winner, then.

IT'S that long since Jack and Maureen Stephens wrote that their letter extolled Christmas dinner and ended with wishes for a happy New Year. A group of them had eaten at Coopers in Post House Wynd, Darlington - "Without exception we thought it was excellent, real value for money."

Nearly Easter, and we looked in for coffee - good, strong, ample - and freshly home-made scones that were pretty perfect. Worth looking forward to Christmas already.

MENTION in last week's column of the record breaking racehorse Le Garcon d'Or, trained by Jack Ormston at Hutton Magna near Richmond, reminded Martin Birtle in Billingham of his last race.

It was 1972, a down the card seller at Edinburgh. The horse, a winner in 13 successive seasons, was led to the auction ring. "No bids will be accepted, " said the auctioneer. "This splendid old gentleman is not for sale."

SAFC Foundation, the charitable arm of Sunderland Football Club, is holding a "gourmet evening" with Sir Tim Rice at the Stadium of Light on April 28. It embraces a six course meal with wine, musical interludes, silent auction and lots of patter from Sir Tim. The Foundation helps fund educational and sporting projects in the community. Tickets - "just £100" says the Foundation - are available from Gill Stephenson on 0191-551-5074.

. . . and finally, the bairns wondered if we knew what you call a mad young octopus.

A crazy, mixed-up squid.