It is 6pm, Friday evening. I believe I can hear my desk chair creaking in the style of furniture that is, shall we say, somewhat overburdened.
The culprit? Food. Lots of food. Food consumed for your benefit, dear reader, in the style of the culinary editor charged with a bite here, a bite there, until she bursts. Je suis Madame Creosote, and one more little wafer will be the death of me.
I have just spent the afternoon touring Head of Steam pubs and sampling the food on offer.It all started terribly well with our first stop-off at The Central, Gateshead; an architectural and cinematic icon (see Ken Russell’s Women in Love) which was a couple of years ago rescued from dereliction and restored by the excellent Head of Steam pub group led by Tony Brookes.
As Tony, appetite’s photographer Peter Skelton and I work our way through a sample of no less than eight dishes plus a hearty portion of steak and ale pie and salad garnish (just in case the 10,000 calories arrayed before us is not quite satisfying enough), it dawns on me that the pub tour Tony has persuaded me to partake in includes food in every single establishment.
That’s five pubs, five sample menus. Oh dear. I suffer a graphic premonition of the end of my life. It is not pretty. “A dedicated journalist who died for her readers, but not before she’d written the story of her last, subsequently fatal, culinary adventure. And now we sing Hymn 86, Bread of Heaven.”
[quote style=”boxed” float=”right”]“Give customers what they want and make them happy,”[/quote]
Our soupcon of eight dishes at The Central includes an aubergine tagine which I would happily eat for my last meal (and it may well prove to be so), mince and dumplings, a lamb curry Tony keeps all to himself, a veggie curry of sweet potato and butternut squash, which I keep all to myself, mushroom stroganoff in a wrap with spinach, a roast beef bap and steak and ale pie with a jaunty puff pastry hat and a large dollop of mashed potato for company. Peter eats most of that.
This, along with Erdinger alcohol-free beer (arguably the best alcohol-free brew on the market save for Ringtons tea) makes for a very satisfying lunch. Which would be perfect if we didn’t have four more pubs to visit before teatime. For now, we loll on the bench seating in the aptly named Buffet at The Central as a sizeable Local Authority leaving party (there are lots of those these days) settles in for the afternoon in the Snug.
The Head of Steam philosophy is straightforward. “Give customers what they want and make them happy,” says Tony, his west Yorkshire accent undimmed by more than 40 years in the North East.
Hence, Head of Steam pubs specialise in real ale, hearty home-cooked food and an eclectic selection of live music (Note – September 4, 2010, The Cluny, New York Dolls. The only reason I wasn’t there was because I was getting married. I live with the regret every day).
There are no airs, no graces and the welcome is as warm as the soup on the menus.
The Central, the coffin-shaped landmark at the Gateshead end of the High Level Bridge, cost the thick end of £1m to rescue from dereliction. Now the old Bar, Buffet and Snug are restored and a rabbit warren of music rooms upstairs are well used. There is a new railway-side roof-top terrace and a good deal of Tony’s own art and vintage poster collection on the walls.
The bar is home to an array of ales from Wylam, Allendale, Cumberland and Black Sheep and the kitchen is home to a culinary talent called Maria.
When we eventually stagger out, I have grilled Tony on his Yorkshire heritage (first person from his pit village near Huddersfield to go to university, two uncles and a brother-in-law killed down the mine); his Newcastle Uni days (1966-69, he ended up managing a band and had the time of his life); his career as a transport economist (he remains a transport obsessive); and his career in beer (the ground-breaking Legendary Yorkshire Heroes off-licences, home to more real ales and spirits than any pub or off-licence before
or since).
There is his 41-year marriage to Carolyn (they met at university, her best friend married his best friend and they all remain best friends); his commitment to socialism (don’t, whatever you do, mention Mrs Thatcher); and a charitable dedication that guarantees at least 10 per cent of Head of Steam profits go to charity each year.
“You’ve just got to give summat back, haven’t you?” says Tony. “That’s it.”
After The Central, we work our way in quick order through Tilley’s bar in Newcastle (tomato and basil soup followed by a spicy beanburger washed down with High House Farm brewery’s Black Moss); LYH, or Legendary Yorkshire Heroes, near Newcastle City Hall (apple and raspberry crumble with custard and Wychwood January Sale, just 2.8% alc by volume); and The Cluny in the Ouseburn Valley (hummus wrap, fat chips, half a Heddon Light Bitter by Wylam Brewery served by Sarah, below).
By this time, things are becoming a bit of a blur, but I reserve a special mention for Frosty (Graham Frost), the manager at Tilley’s. No sweeter man could I hope to meet, and a hairdo and sideburns straight from the Victorian music hall. I could fancy myself smitten.
Durham Head of Steam is more contemporary in décor and its manager, Simon Ritson, is an ace cocktail mixologist and aficionado of world beers. This little pub off North Road is also England’s largest seller of the world’s most exclusive tequila, Patron.
We share spinach and ricotta cannelloni and calamari. “Simon’s an expert in tequila” says Tony, spooning in cannelloni (for a skinny bloke, he can eat).
“Clever lad, he is.”
With that, he announces it is time to leave and now I find myself back at work, everso slightly deranged, rather like Christmas Day, only worse because I can’t undo my zip. Cheers, Tony.