County counsel

These days it’s not so much a moveable feast as an elastic one, 9pm the latest at which we’ve seen it advertised.

It may only be a matter of time (of course) before a note at the foot of the menu adds: “Served until 6pm Wednesday.”

Childhood was altogether different. Dinner, as then it was, would be on the table by 11.30am, washing up and putting away completed in time for Two Way Family Favourites at noon and thoughts fairly soon thereafter turning to what was for tea (and for supper).

We were reminded of all this at The County in Aycliffe Village, a 12.15 arrival necessary because two biggish parties were booked in later.

Even at that time, an elderly couple had finished their meal and were drinking their coffee.

By 12.30 they were gone.

If that’s me dinner, I’ve ‘ad it.

The County was one of the sustained success stories of the past 15 years or so. Owned by Andrew Brown, it was several times named Northumbria Dining Pub of the year by the Good Pub Guide, famously played host to Tony Blair and Jacques Chirac and deserved its reputation.

Now its run by Colette Farrell and Stuart Dale and still in the 2011 GPG – “well run, contemporary decor, popular and interesting food”. They also retain Andrew’s attachment to real ale – Cumberland Gold from the Hawkshead Brewery a lovely pint – and have recently added seven bedrooms.

At the time of our visit, however, they were returning from a New Year holiday in Egypt but had left a very good team behind.

It was a slight shame that the sea bass should become a bone – well, a fillet – of contention, but we shall return to that shortly.

The pub’s clean and modern, attractively furnished.

It may even be minimalist, but I’m not quite sure what that means. Browsers can choose from either Elle or the Newton News – a choice which may itself be considered cosmopolitan – or, of course, the menu.

Main course is £9.95, two courses £12.95, three £14.95.

The mains included the ritual roasts, salmon with hollandaise, bangers and mash and a spinach and pine nut risotto. The Boss had decided on the beef until a specials board was brought within range. It included – £14.95 – grilled sea bass, aforesaid, with king prawns.

Sea bass? The lady of this house? Can fish swim?

She’d started with a generous and enjoyable red onion and cheddar cheese tart with balsamic salad, I with Mediterranean tomato soup with “crispy croutons” followed by a huge wedge of “homemade” ham and turkey pie.

Had the pie had itself been a county it would undoubtedly have been Yorkshire – or, possibly, somewhere in Texas. Proper shortcrust pastry made it better yet; absolutely excellent.

The manifest risk of describing something as “home-made”, of course – and on the County’s Sunday lunch menu only the chips are similarly tagged – is that it begs a question of all the other stuff.

Was the soup home-made? Though it was perfectly good, a betting man might say not.

Were the croutons crispy? Well,crispish at best.

The chips were great, the vegetables – cauliflower, mash, cabbage, carrots, squash – carefully cooked and attractively presented.

The sea bass, it’s reported, was every bit as good as the pie.

It had also become clear that the black-clad County set were as professional and as amiable a team of waitresses as we had seen for a very long time. Would we like a jug of tap water? Ice and lemon? Was the sun in the lady’s eyes? How was the fish? A refill of coffee? Another?

Exemplary, bonny as well, and just half a mark deducted for indiscriminate use of the phrase “No problem” – though, to be fair, it rarely seemed to be.

I finished with chocolate sponge with hot cherries and custard, she with treacle tart and spiced treacle and marscapone and with the little bass note earlier indicated.

If a normal main course is £9.95, three courses £14.95 and a special also £14.95, wouldn’t a reasonable man – Mr Tony Blair, say – assume that a three-course lunch would thus be £19.95?

Because she’d had the special, they charged £4.95 for each of the other two courses which seemed wholly to be agley.

It wasn’t that the waitresses were being awkward, far too nice for that, they just couldn’t see the point. It’s unlikely to be company policy – “these electronic tills are more bother than they’re worth,” said Stuart later.

Very well satisfied, nonetheless, we left just as the second party was arriving, the baby carried joyfully to a high chair at the end of the table.

It was 2.15pm. Somewhere in south-west Durham, there’d be an elderly chap gently wondering what was for his tea.

* The County, Aycliffe Village near Darlington: 01325-312273. Food seven lunchtimes and evenings. No problem for the disabled.

THE Michelin Red Guide has invited the column to a launch lunch at Bibendum in London, promising that they’ll pay for the meal. So who pays the train fare? “You do,” they said. Have you seen the fares recently?

They lunch alone.

SALTBURN’S planning a year of celebrations to mark the town’s 150th anniversary and a town crier to show they’ve plenty to shout about. The dear old place will be hoping for very much better weather.

It was persistently perishing, a north wind bowling along the promenade, the place all-but deserted save for a couple of women light lunching at Camfield’s.

It’s right on the front, the site of the miniature railway’s former ticket office – now shunted elsewhere – and originally just a place for al fresco dining and decks chairs.

Having rather gone cold on that idea, they now have a small, modern indoor dining area, too. In from the storm, welcomed like the Prodigal Son, I increased patronage by 50 per cent.

Winter vegetable soup seemed the only prudent option. The bowl was deep, the contents tasty but should soup in a café – or anywhere else – cost £4.50?

They’re strong on coffee, paninis, juice and ice cream. Not much call for that of late. An all-day breakfast panini was fine, came with a nicely dressed salad and a few “Yorkshire” crisps.

The staff, poor things, stared morosely out to sea. Their boat will come in, it’s to be hoped, at the time of that sentimental sesquicentennial.

LAST week’s piece on the reborn Central (aka the Coffin) in Gateshead prompts a note that the pub’s jive classes are proving so popular – really rocking – that they’re going to have to introduce a second each week. “Most of the dancers are young, which is really encouraging,” says manager Dave Campbell. They’re now looking at tea dances, and ballroom dancing, too.

…and finally, the bairns wondered if we knew the Wild West insect that went around robbing banks.

A baddy longlegs, of course.