The Bakehouse, 16th February 2008

The Bakehouse

135 Colman Road

Norwich

United Kingdom

NR4 7TJ

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The Bakehouse is located down Colman road, close to the junction where the Avenues cross over near the university. It's a burberry hotspot, clearly nothing quite hits the spot after a leisurely morning mugging the locals and vandelising public property than a delicious cornish pasty. Inside, it was a bit like an unbranded Bakers' Oven. The woman at the counter had the same striped pinny and hairnet, and the walls and counters were all made out of the same cheap materials that you find in department store window displays. There was nowhere to sit, it was very much a takeaway counter styled offering. Frankly, tables and chairs or not, it wasn't a particularly nice place to be anyway, so it was probably for the best. I ordered a cornish pasty, and was told that, 'I'm sorry, they're all sold out'. Firstly, she didn't look very sorry. She looked pleased at this temporary downturn in my fortunes. Secondly, it was ten in the morning, and I could only wonder what sort of mamoth pasty order had they received so early in the morning as to remove them as an option for the rest of the day? It was unbelievable. I went for a steak slice instead, and it tasted pretty good. There was quite a lot of filling in it, and didn't cope well with partial consumption. in short, it fell apart. Perhaps that was as much the fault of myself as its constructor, maybe I'd just aproached it the wrong way. Maybe I'd been too quick and careless, and not made it the military operation it should have been. Still, for £1.45 it was difficult to find too much fault with any of it.

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Verdict: Overall, a cheap and cheerful sort of place, where the service is equally cheap but not quite as cheerful, and the food is fairly standard sort of fare. Buns, pies, rolls and cakes are plentiful, and on a cold day in the middle of winter, hot food is a nice option to have.

Special Edition : Orwell's Fisheries Fish Bar, Suffolk, February 13th 2008

Orwell Fisheries

9-11 Orwell Rd

Felixstowe

United Kingdom

IP11 7HE
01394 282540

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In one hundred years time, when Gloucester, Norwich and other recognisable English towns and cities are all submerged deep under the sea as a result of horrific global warming, Kevin Costner roaming the sea in a small vessel trying to find dry land, I wonder what people will make of the English seaside. In many ways it's completely ridiculous. Towns so unbelievably dull that they require 'amusements' to captivate some kind of interest, neon lights round every corner, and the strong aroma of anything and everything vaguely edible being fried not too far away. For Felixstowe, most of these descriptions are doubly true. As the largest container port in the UK, something which local residents are inherently proud of, it isn't exactly picturesque. Yet there's something quite charming about it, and eating fish and chips on the sea front in the middle of water is probably one of the most British things anyone has ever done. Orwell's doesn't seem to really know exactly what its name is. There are various words written on different parts of the exterior, 'orwell's fisheries', 'fish', 'fish bar', 'restaurant', take your pick. Either way, we got the gist of it. It was another takeaway which had chosen to proudly display a rather unflattering certificate it's window, this one was for 'adhering to basic food hygiene standards'. So, washing hands? Cleaning work surfaces? The things that most people do and just take for granted because they're, well, common sense? You know it. As far as the food went, it was very good. Fish and chips is more expensive than you expect, £5 exactly, but you get what you pay for. Propper chip shop chips are always good news, and here they were excellent. The batter was crispy, and the fish tasted really fresh. Not too oily, crunchy on the outside, by not too dry on the inside.

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Verdict: A really unique experience, classic standard seaside fish and chip shop. Not exactly the bargain of the century, but the quality of the food on offer made it worthwhile. Packed with locals, this was clearly the standard haunt for people's fish and chip requirements, and after eating there it wasn't hard to see why.

Special Edition : Black Tiles, Suffolk, February 12th 2008

Black Tiles

Martleshame

Woodbridge

Suffolk

United Kingdom

IP12 4SP

01473 624038

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The argument that if you really can only find the time or motivation to appreciate your girlfriend, fiance or wife on one designated day of the year, then maybe your relationship is beset with more problems than can be fixed with chocolate hearts and lingerie is a good one. Still, it seemed like something I would be best kept keeping to myself, so here we were at Black Tiles, Woodbridge. The interior was beautiful. Dark wood used throughout, with predominently red and black walls and elegant candles on every table. The light was just right, soft without being too dark to see the people you were eating with. The menu was a bit sparce, but there were nearly a dozen specials to make up for it. They were recalled at such speed by our waiter that I scarcely took them all in. In many ways, it seemed to make them all rather less special, but it added to the overall choice nonetheless.

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The service was in danger of becomming a little amateurish. It appeared to be run mostly by school kids wearing badly fitting shirts and scuffed black shoes. As somebody who has been sixteen, you can spot the pair of black utility shoes from a mile away. They aren't comfortable to wear, nor do they look good. Generally, they're worn to weddings, funeral, work, school and any other mandatory formal event in your calendar. As a result, it was a bit like being served by the cast of Bugsy Malone. My confience wasn't enhanced when my girlfriend ordered a J2O, only for our waiter to form the expression of somebody who'd just been asked the square root of 7613, before scurrying off to find a pad to write it down on. It didn't seem like a particularly elaborate request, but credit where credit is due, he did return with a J2O as promised. Small steps, eh? Later, upon arriving at our table with the food we had ordered, he ran in to further trouble. Seemingly drawing a blank at identifying what it was he was supposed to be serving, he eventually came out uncertaintly with, 'here's some food'. Well that much appeared to be blitheringly obvious to all but the most unfathomably incompetent.

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I'd never eaten swordfish before. I'd always been curious, I'd heard only good things about it. It had taken a lot of inner persuasion to convince myself to branch out from the reliable steak and chips option. Further more, I was in close proximity to somebody eating the steak and chips option. If this moment of spontaneous adventure were to backfire, there would be nowhere to hide from my mistake. On the plate, it all appeared a bit of a self assembly job. Somewhat like the beginning of Ready Steady Cook, before any cooking had taken place. Presumably the job of gelling the ingredients together to form some sort of meal lay with the lemon compote. The swordfish was very well cooked. It tasted like chickeny salmon, which was a nice combination of two things I very much enjoy on their own. The truffle potatoes were good too, rich and earthy, even if their purple colour was initially a little diconcerting. The green beans were excellent, slightly al dente with a good crunch to them. The problem was that despite the high quality of these indegredients in their own right, there was nothing briging them together other than the strong use of lemon. The lemon compote was sort of blobbed about the plate, and the dish came with an additional segment in case you hadn't had your fill of it. It was too solid, it didn't bring any of the individual items together. It was a Sunday roast without gravy, or cornflakes without milk. It isn't as if lemon and fish is a particularly groundbreaking combination at the best of times, but it was all in all a poor and quite lazy accompanyment to what were essentially good ingredients.

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For desert we both ordered strawberry pavlova, largely as a result of the intruige of how good a pavolva containing out of season strawberries could really be. The merengue itself could have done with being a bit chewier, it had the consistency of those premade supermarket bases you find at family summer barbeques. The strawberries themselves however, were far tastier and flavoursome than I had expected, and the coolis that was drizzled across the dish was tangy and delicious. Overall, it was a light, tasty desert that went a long way to atone for the slightly disappointing main course.

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Verdict: Black Tiles is a really nice place to sit, there are five areas, one outside, which are all decorated beautifully. Whilst I did feel that some of the dishes available smacked of the kitchen trying to cook beyond their means, throwing words like 'compote' and 'coolis' unecessarily in to the equation, their simpler dishes looked extremely appetising and it is certainly recommended.