Humour me for a minute


Angie Harrison's Cafe Reviews awards; 


The best place for a breakfast in the North West is


Kershaw's Sandwich and Deli Bar, Bury


The best place for fish and chips in the North West is


The Regent, Eccles


The best place for a coffee, which is made from freshly ground beans and is inexpensive.


Any Morrison's Cafe




Interesting things to read/ look at/ listen to


http://mancunianwave.blogspot.co.uk/

http://www.rabid.oneuk.com/index.htm

http://www.manchizzle.com/

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8BzX8ZFPRwM

http://doorsintothepast.blogspot.co.uk/

http://www.spotlightlancaster.co.uk/

http://true-to-you.net/

Town Fryer World Famous Bury Market

Like Elliot Eastwick’s Pub Quiz, Bury Market is World Famous. I went in search of something I could drench in salt and vinegar. The queue and smell enticed me. Not a black pudding in sight, just pie, chips, salt, vinegar, gravy and forks. I patiently waited my turn. There were nine of us in the queue, which stretched right round the corner. Seven were from the same family and they proceeded to order pies, chips, scallops, peas and gravy. The chips were thick cut, the gravy dark and beefy looking. The chips were piled high into a tray, the peas on top of the chips, then the gravy on top of everything else. Plenty of cones of chips were wafting in front of me. Everyone who was served asked for a fork, as there were none on the counter. The harassed looking chip fryer was permanently hunched, passing forks over the counter with his left hand and shaking fat from the battered fish with the other. The chip fryer was rather good looking. Brown eyes. I craved a scallop. I yearned for it, shoved between a barm cake, crusty with salt and drenched in vinegar. When it was my turn, I hesitantly asked for a scallop on a muffin. I was self conscious that my flat Salford vowels were standing out like a sore thumb. I was an alien on Bury Market. A muffin, in Salford, is a barmcake. The red faced woman told me there were no scallops left. It was half three and they were shutting in an hour, she said.  She took a breath, turned to the left and told the young girl at her side to go and serve in the café. I was crestfallen. I was about to settle for just chips when the brown eyed chip fryer told me he would put me a couple in if I didn’t mind waiting. I said I didn’t and took a step back to wait. I offered the woman my money. Aforementioned scallop on a muffin was one pound. Business continued, briskly, with people reaching over each other for the salt and vinegar. At one point in the proceedings there was an altercation in the queue, one woman was very insulted that another man had been served before her. “Just ignore me then”, she protested to the woman behind the counter. I was presented with my bag of food and I went and sat down. My scallop on a muffin/ barmcake was outrageously delicious. Piping hot and non greasy I folded back the barmcake to reveal the thick batter. There were 2 scallops in there.  The butter on the barmcake had melted and I smothered the whole lot in salt and vinegar. It was worth the trip to Bury. The salt pot had dried peas in it.

(For those in the south of England a scallop is a slice of potato, battered and then deep fried. It has nothing whatsoever to do with an actual scallop). 

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Asda Cafe Eastlands Manchester

My big shop done and loaded into my car boot, I ambled back in store and made my way towards the café. There was a queue of 5 or 6 people at the breakfast “pass”. Silently we all stood there whilst a game of breakfast ingredients top trumps was being played out around us. “bacon egg muffin”, “fried bread”, “fresh or tinned tomatoes”, “2 flying starts"*  A trayless bunch (there were none out), we all shuffled along as plates were passed to and fro. “We need more eggs going on Lynn”. Lynn was busy cracking eggs, she looked red faced.  After the 8th egg was cracked into the greasy receptacle she said, “won’t be a minute on the toast”, quickly followed by, “fried bread won’t be a minute”. I had selected a small box of frosted flakes. I ordered 2 toasts. I asked for a tray and the woman said she would look for one for me.

After 5 minutes of the school dinneresque system, I arrived at the till to pay for my food. I asked for a coffee. I paid £2.70.  I asked her where the milk was, where the coffee machines were, could I have a tray and where the cutlery was. I could not see any of the aforementioned accoutrements. Till woman told me it was all "round the corner". Once there,  I helped myself to an empty cup, filled it up with black coffee, poured in the milk, poured milk on my cereal, I was then handed a tray. I had to go to another station for a spoon, some butter and some jam. Finally I carried the sorry lot off to sit down and eat.

My toast was not unlike cold, spongy, hotel toast. There were 15 other customers in the café, which is a large space, largely unused. I had forgotten to get a knife. Muttering expletives, I trudged back to get one. When I began buttering my toast, I noticed a lad on a nearby table must have forgotten a knife too. I witnessed him peeling back the seal on the small tub of margarine and pressing said tub onto the bread and attempting to spread it onto his opened bacon barm. 

I heard a woman shout “Fried Bread”. The second call for fried bread was more emphatic. No one claimed it.

I enjoyed my coffee, that was the best bit of the Asda café experience. On my way out I noticed a sign boasting of award winning pies.

* I thought “Flying Starts” were a Morrisons Café invention.

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Morrison's Cafe Trafford Road Salford

Picked up Danny  at 12.30 from work and off we went, by car because he only has an hour for his dinner, to our local Morrison’s for a bite to eat.  This shiny brand new Morrison’s opened its doors for business just a few months ago. We know the routine, we grab a tray and slide it down to the coffee machine. Danny selects a small bottle of milk from the fridge on the way. At the  payment point I make my announcement;  “beans on brown toast, cheese toastie and chips (no salad) and 2 toast please”. Straightforward? Not so. Pepper the following dialogue with "what was that again?" and "sorry, what?" and you've pretty much got the gist of what went on. 

• Beans. On brown toast. One portion of.
• Brown toast.
• Two pieces of brown toast separate.
• Beans on brown toast. (long pause)Two pieces of brown toast (longer pause) Cheese toasty and chips, no salad. (Massive pause) Look of bemusement on my face.
• One portion of beans on brown toast. Two other pieces of brown toast separate from the beans on toast, on a separate plate, one portion of cheese toastie and chips, without any salad. (my voice has gone up an octave)

 The woman tells me the till takes ages. She has just got used to it and they have changed it, apparently. 

She keeps me abreast of her actions. She is looking for the button to modify the toast. She needs someone to help her. Next she disappears round the corner hollering for someone to come to the till. A second later she returns and informs me she is new and that she used to work in schools. She’s happier just putting the food out but they’ve put her on the till, she adds. The crema on my coffee has gone. Eventually another girl pops her head out from the kitchen and tells her to void the whole lot.  Kitchen woman leans across the till, index finger poised, voids the whole order.  I sense, with some dread, that we have to start all over again.

As Danny is turning on his heels with our tray she calls him back because she can’t remember what we have got on it (one coffee, one small milk – remember?) She starts again with the order. She mistakenly tills in a cappuccino for my black coffee. I put her straight. Finally money changes hands and I shuffle back to our table and sit down with Danny and my daughter. I want to cry. I feel traumatised. I check our receipt. She has not put the order through for the cheese toastie. I drag my dishevelled self back to the woman at the till and re-order it. Our food arrives. My toast, for some reason only known to Morrison’s, is unbuttered. I can’t cope anymore. Danny takes it back.

After what feels like a fortnight, all our food is in front of us. The woman who brings out the second pile of toast apologises profusely and says she doesn’t know who the hell made that other toast.

As I am stuffing my toast into my hungry gob, the dilatory woman who took our order is making our way towards us. I can’t give her eye contact. She then appears next to us and makes a speech. Very humbly she says she got dead flustered as she is new and can’t operate the till. She apologises. Maybe twice. She says she doesn’t know why they put her on there. She’s dead nice about it all. I am under the table, in a heap, waving a white flag.

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The Regent Eccles

Long standing, well established, recently re-furbished inside and out, fish and chip takeaway and dining room in Eccles. My favourite place to eat. I hope they never, ever demolish this place.  It’s Wednesday afternoon. I am the only customer. The waitress is sitting alone in the dining room, she’s turning the page of a newspaper with one hand and clutching her mobile phone with the other.

I sit down. Couple of seconds later I hear “what are you having love?”. Fish, chips, peas and a diet coke is my reply. “One regular *Ban”, she hollers towards the kitchen.  She says all this without looking up from her phone, or paper. My fish and chips arrive, freshly cooked. As the plate is put in front of me my iphone packs up. I can only describe what I would have photographed. Piping hot food, crispy batter on the fish –just the right amount, fresh chips, mushy peas. I smother the lot in salt and vinegar and pour my diet coke into the glass. Half way through my food I notice the can of diet coke has been taken away, I didn’t even see her do it.

Directly in front of me is the take away chippy part of The Regent. There is a rectangular window just above my eye line. In the window I can see the top of a cowboy hat moving from left to right.   There’s a steady stream of customers in the chippy. The outside window is to my right. I can see a mobility car, Morrisons, a bus stop and the tram stop. Then I see my Dad; holding court at said bus stop. I notice from my Dad’s profile, that I look like him, a lot. I have started to resemble a 78 year old man.

The owner of the cowboy hat leaves and as he breezes past the window I observe that the rest of his get up is denim. He has a pony tail. Badges on his denim jacket depicting heavy metal artistes. I am disappointed; I had fantasies of him looking like Billy Ray Cyrus.

Ban appears and sits down opposite the waitress. I tell him the place looks great and his reaction is that of surprise; have I not noticed before now? He tells me it was re-furbished in the middle of December.

I gulp the last of my drink and stand up to put my coat on. The waitress collects my plate and says, “£4.65 love”. I hand over the exact money and as I snatch my bag up off the chair  she tells me to be careful as my iphone is hanging out of it.

*Banico (owner of The Regent).

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