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Ultimate Guide to Chester and Cheshire

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Everything is carefully<br />

executed here, the service<br />

quietly attentive, the menu<br />

peppered with classic dishes<br />

(steak, fish of the day, posh<br />

burgers) – <strong>and</strong> while there’s<br />

nothing here that will blow a<br />

gastronome’s mind, there’s<br />

nothing that isn’t done well,<br />

either. My steak came with<br />

a smoke-infused taste <strong>and</strong><br />

texture, the result of cooking<br />

over a charcoal grill; served<br />

with a peppercorn sauce <strong>and</strong><br />

fries it reminded me how<br />

good simple cooking can<br />

be. My friend’s fish pie had<br />

a rich, creamy sauce <strong>and</strong> a<br />

certain bite – far better than<br />

the bl<strong>and</strong> offerings so often<br />

banged out by less assured<br />

h<strong>and</strong>s. Our starters deserve<br />

a mention, <strong>to</strong>o, especially<br />

a haggis ‘bon bon’ that sat<br />

sweetly on the plate, its<br />

crumbling texture given a<br />

grainy zing thanks <strong>to</strong> the<br />

mustard dressing.<br />

By now our waitress had<br />

intervened on more than one<br />

occasion, as conversation<br />

veered from German<br />

sauna etiquette <strong>to</strong> why it’s<br />

annoying when your mum<br />

rearranges your sock drawer<br />

(conclusion: you’re still her<br />

little baby, even if you’re<br />

squaring up <strong>to</strong> the big 4-0).<br />

A baked New York<br />

cheesecake appeared <strong>and</strong><br />

was swiftly demolished,<br />

the only quibble an orange<br />

sorbet that was <strong>to</strong>o sweet<br />

for such a stellar, creamy<br />

slab. On the other side of the<br />

table, two giant profiteroles<br />

appeared, swimming in a sea<br />

of chocolate sauce. “Good?”<br />

There was no reply; my<br />

friend was <strong>to</strong>o busy eating.<br />

And so it went: eating <strong>and</strong><br />

talking, eating <strong>and</strong> talking,<br />

with the Scottish Steakhouse<br />

forming the perfect backdrop<br />

for a conversation-heavy<br />

night – for two friends<br />

enjoying a rare chance <strong>to</strong><br />

chat, <strong>to</strong> endlessly take the<br />

mick, <strong>to</strong> remind ourselves of<br />

what it used <strong>to</strong> be like, back<br />

when we were kids.<br />

We settled up <strong>and</strong> stumbled<br />

out of the New Blossoms<br />

Hotel, tilting headfirst, or so<br />

it seemed, in<strong>to</strong> a Saturday<br />

night in <strong>Chester</strong>. And so it<br />

came <strong>to</strong> pass that I ended<br />

up, not quite at 2am, swaying<br />

along <strong>to</strong> Afro Beats in a<br />

sweaty basement nightclub.<br />

“Hey,” I shouted <strong>to</strong> my<br />

friend. He raised an eyebrow.<br />

“You’re right. I don’t feel old<br />

at all.” Reader, I’ll leave you<br />

<strong>to</strong> guess how old I felt the<br />

morning after.<br />

Everything is<br />

carefully executed<br />

here, the service<br />

quietly attentive, the<br />

menu peppered with<br />

classic dishes<br />

57

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