Booth's Cafe The Studios Media City Salford

28 Dec. We tried The Trafford Centre, couldn’t find a parking space. The Lowry Centre, ditto. We drove past Booth’s and heard they had a cafe. After paying the £1.00 parking fee (for half an hour) we had a browse in Booth’s but couldn’t find the cafe. On our way out, after abandoning the eggs we were buying in order to get the £1.00 car park fee back (we were required to spend twenty quid to get the pound back), the lad on the till told us the cafe was in The Studios and he offered to take us there personally. We only had about 20 minutes left on the car park so I ran to get another ticket leaving the poor shop assistant waiting in the doorway for us. Once we returned,  he led us down the side of two buildings. On the way he was making small talk, did we have a good Christmas? I said, "yes" and immediately began questioning him. He told me he had been working on boxing day, he said he recognised Danny from somewhere. Danny laughed and said he wasn’t famous. Danny said to him that there seemed more staff than customers in Booths. The lad said it was because they didn’t know what it was going to be like, round here, at Christmas, but that they didn’t know half the BBC would have gone home. We approached The Studios, through the “audience” entrance. I could see where the cafe was from here and felt we no longer needed our escort. He walked us to the counter. He was outstaying his welcome, in my view. He lingered. I wanted him to go away. He then introduced us to “the lovely Tony”. She was the woman behind the counter. Finally, after wishing us a Happy New Year did he bugger off. Tony served us a large latte and a large Americano; I asked for cold milk on the side. Tony told me it was over there, and pointed towards a table. Danny paid with a £50.00 note. She said she didn’t think they took them. As she was giving Danny the change (from the fifty); I presented Tony with the empty milk jug and she refilled it. The coffees were very nice. I fancied a cheese butty but they only had cray fish with dill mayonnaise and dolphin friendly tuna so I got a bag of cheese and onion crisps instead. I paid a pound. I noticed Tony had an American accent. She was saying “hi” to everyone who approached the counter. I asked Danny why there was a push bike in the middle of the cafe. He said it was something to do with the origins of Booths; Granville from Open All hours was mentioned. I could hear a dalek. We found out what it was on the way out

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Joe's Kitchen and Coffee House Manchester Airport

We hadn't eaten breakfast. Let's find somewhere that sells Beans on Toast at Manchester airport. Joe's Kitchen and Coffeehouse looked the perfect option. There were about three people in front of us at the queue;  rotund, suited business men ordering skinny cappucinos. I patiently waited my turn and asked the woman if they did beans on toast. Yes, they did. I asked for beans on brown toast twice. She told me we'd have to go to the other area round the corner. My face painted a bewildered picture, obviously; she stepped out from the counter and demanded that we follow her. We were led around the corner to a completely empty section of the cafe and told to find a table and sit down. It was waitress service. For beans on toast. We obediently sat down and she handed us giant menu cards. Then she disappeared momenterily and returned with a pad and paper and asked us what we wanted. We were both very very confused. I was surprised, nay, astonished to see that beans on toast was £4.75 (Morrisson's Eccles it's £1.49). I made a snap decision that I didn't really want to be in Joe's Kitchen and Coffee House. I could see a Greggs from where we were. It was packed and there was a massive queue. We went there instead, despite Danny's protestations that he didn't care much for Greggs' coffee.

I had a coffee and a bacon barm, cost about £1.49. I just waited in the queue, told the woman what I wanted, paid for it,  she handed it to me and  then I sat down and ate it. In the queue at Greggs were two armed policeman and in front of me an American man asking if he could get a caramel cream donut. 

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Northcote Manor Langho Blackburn

Our TomTom got us to Northcote Manor at 12.15. The TomTom had confused us on the way by mentioning Plymouth North. As we walked in we were greeted by a blond haired woman who took my coat and directed us into the lounge. I made a feeble joke about my coat taking a long time to put on as there are many buttons. She told me she thought it looked nice on. I sank into a chair in the lounge, opposite Danny. A suited waiter took our drinks order. Danny complained to me that it wasn’t intimate enough for him (the seating arrangements) and I replied that not everyone wants to sit on top of each other.

 We comfortably held hands as a pineapple juice and a slimline tonic arrived. We were next presented with a menu each and the waiter talked about soup and said he would answer any questions we had. I had made up my mind before we got there that I would have the roast beef and Yorkshire pud. I fancied the beetroot salad to start and the pineapple rice pud for pudding, or dessert as it was called here. I didn’t need much time to peruse the menu. Danny dithered about starters as he couldn’t find anything he fancied. He settled on squid, which he’d never tried before and rabbit for main.

 We were told our table was ready, the waiter collected our drinks and we followed him through the lounge, through the entrance hall towards a closed door. Door open, in we went. We got caught in a traffic jam half way to our table, stuck behind a waiter with a big tray, our waiter and a waitress. Everyone neatly sidestepped each other and we sat down at our table by the window. At this point Danny asked the waiter who had led us to our seat whether it was ok for us to take photographs as we were doing a review. The waiter said he thought that it was ok. A minute later a suited waiter appeared at our table saying that he believed we had asked to take photographs and did we want to photograph the dining room. He also believed we were doing a review and wanted to know which magazine it was for. I very humbly said I just wanted to photograph our food and the review was for my own gratification. I thought the waiter had a look of David Beckham about him.

 A waiter offered us bread, I had a small Lancashire cheese roll, Danny chose a granary roll.  Mushroom soup arrived. I was expecting Parsnip soup but I suspect this was because I didn’t listen properly to the waiter in the lounge. Danny  says he doesn’t like mushrooms but he ate all the soup. Next up was Danny’s squid and my beetroot salad. The Beckham lookalike explained all the ingredients in my salad as he did in Danny’s risotto. I suspected that he spoke more to me than Danny. Danny thought it was because he knew I was the one doing the reviewing. I cleaned my plate and told David Beckham it was divine. I raved to David B about the bread roll, how the saltiness of it was perfect. He asked me which one I had had, I told him the Lancashire cheese one. I went on for quite some time about this miniscule roll. The crust on the bottom of it was quite spectacular. A personal highlight for me was the beetroot salad. I explained to Danny that I loved the earthiness of the raw beetroot, how the pickled cubes of beetroot did not overpower the whole dish. I went on about the creaminess of the goats cheese fritter. I even loved the Villeroy and Boch cutlery.

  A perfect amount of time elapsed between each course. We had  time to chatter and laugh about our playfulness. We imagined that there had been a flap in the kitchen when the staff thought they had reviewers in. We imagined they were commenting that Michelin had gone down market and sent the working classes in. I was bursting to look round at all the other diners; on the next table, 4 generations of one family, all wearing purple. On another table a fat man wearing a cage fighting T shirt. One of the women in purple was talking about Harry Hill. I said many times that the beef melted in my mouth. The carrots were shaped liked the things on top of cricket stumps. I would have liked more cauliflower and my mashed potato, although perfectly piped into a swirl, was lukewarm.  We both left clean plates. I asked Danny if he dared me to say it was awful but when the waiter cleared our plates he didn’t ask us how our food had been.

 We ordered what they called dessert, I prefer to call it pudding. Danny called it afters. I had rice pudding with vanilla, hazelnuts and pineapple sorbet. I ate every morsel of it. To finish we ordered 2 decaf Americanos. I looked under the milk jug to check it was villeroy and boch. My coffee wasn’t strong enough for my taste but I hadn’t thought the need to

tell the waiter and I didn’t send it back, I drank it all. Danny sent his back and got a double espresso instead. 2 bite sized Eccles cakes came with the coffee. After we had finished we dithered for ages about how to pay the bill. Danny put his bank card on the table and I kept on at him to beckon the French waiter over. Danny did eventually get the attention of the French waiter. Danny asked to pay, the Frenchman said we could do that but we didn’t see him again. Eventually Mr Beckham appeared and led us out of the dining room. He asked us if we had enjoyed everything, we said we had and he said he was pleased we had. As Danny queued to pay I asked a dark haired woman for my coat. I made an attempt to describe it and she asked us what name we had booked the table under. "Shepherd", came my answer and she disappeared for my coat.

We have booked again to go in another 6 weeks. It reminds me of going to the hairdressers when you book again for next time*

*We cancelled the booking. Never went back. 

Two fools in Ireland. McKenzies Killarney

After a 2 hour journey we were in Killarney. After we'd been in Tescos (to check if they sold coal) we needed to sit down and grab a bite to eat. Killarney is bursting with pubs/ cafes/ restaurants and a few branches of  O'briens. Through McKenzie’s window I saw people actually tucking into food. In we went. It had a massive interior, seemingly going on forever, how deceiving it was from the outside. "This place is massive, isn't it?", said I.   Danny nipped to the loo, nearly walking straight into the mirrored wall at the back. There were about 6 tables in the place (as opposed to 12, as initially presumed). The place was full. One woman was serving. The pair of us stood at the counter, like a dense tourist I was pointing at things in earthenware dishes and asking what they were. The answers coming back were lasagne, "shepherd" pie, curry. All looked home made. On our journey here, caressing the Ring of Kerry,  Danny had been complaining about Irish eating establishments having the audacity to serve lattes in Irish Coffee glasses. Danny objected to this, strongly.  So, he asked the woman in Mckenzie’s (who was still taking to me...."soup, soda bread....") why this was the case. Without answering his pressing question, she took hold of a cup and asked if he wanted his coffee in that. Danny said he did. We sat down and waited for our order of 1 chicken curry and 1 lasagne. As she presented us with our very carefully chosen meals she said to Danny that if he wanted his latte in a mug then he should just ask for a mug.

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An Corcan Waterville Kerry Ireland

We shoved our heads right up to the window to see if it was open. It was. In we went. There were no other customers, just one solitary man, reading a paper. It turned out he was the owner, waiter and barista. He was still reading his paper as we took our seats. On our table; two menus (breakfast and lunch). Danny chose potato skins from the lunch menu. The man left his paper and shuffled over. Mute, he stood at the side of me whilst Danny ordered. I had no idea what I fancied. I dithered, picked up the breakfast menu, scanned it and felt under pressure, whilst Mr An Corcan stood over me. Danny later said that he may as well have been tapping his feet waiting for me. I chose the breakfast bagette, which consisted of bacon and scrambled eggs shoved onto a toasted bagette. I asked for well done bacon and 2 Americano coffees.  The owner quickly got back to his paper. Food arrived promptly, we tucked in, chatted and once we'd got our waiter's attention away from his paper; ordered a second round of coffees. We remained the only clientele. Danny engaged him in conversation by asking him how long he thought it would take us to drive to Killarney. Without moving his lips, or seemingly his mouth, he told us it would take a local an hour or so but it would take us longer as we weren't used to the roads. Soon we were on our way to Killarney (it took me two hours to drive there) and later that night, back in Waterville we found ourselves in O'Dwyers pub scoffing Irish Stew. "There's that bloke from Ann Corcoran's", I said. He didn't acknowledge us. We visited An Coran several times during our stay in Waterville as the food was bloody lovely (best well done bacon ever) but we always referred to it as Ann Corcoran's.

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