Black Mirror called it so right.
A lot of what the writers of the excellent series predicted has come true, particularly the ideas about technology and relationships – trying to ‘block’ people in real life, getting rated on your interactions – although some might say Ofsted were actually pre-emptive of Messrs Brooker and Co, years ago.
Of course, I can’t talk about Ofsted on social media, so I won’t say much more, other than that this month there have been some real highs in the day job and a couple of lows – plus ca change, some might say – but, as a friend so eloquently put recently, “I know you say you get fed up but it sounds genuinely rewarding” and yes, it really is.
Still, numbers and world book day and the power of reading aside, we had lots to do this month, from ‘non-stag’ dos to class worship, birthday parties to special evenings out based on The Trip; those three wonderful series featuring Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon which, over time, has become less about the food and more the narrative on the apparent personae the comedians / actors have taken on.
What a strange start to your monthly updates, you’re thinking. Well, here is where it all comes together, quite serendipitously.
Shortly after announcing his betrothal, my oldest friend, best man and all round good egg chaser decided that he was keen to re- enact the travels of those two for our own special evening to ‘bury his life as a boy’.
Naturally, we would record the event and I would write a review of the experience, giving it a rating, just as Ofsted themselves do. It matters a lot to the establishment – or teacher – and to those reading the review.
Going back half a dozen years, my own stag do had involved early morning beers in a Barcelona apartment and some art before feasting on a match at Camp Nou. I drank a lot, paid a lot for the privilege and and cheered out loud when I saw that the greatest footballer of my lifetime would be playing. That he – and another of the heroes of my era – both scored, made it all the more memorable.
This all meant that the pressure was on when I was given the task of finding somewhere suitable which did good vegan food and could accommodate two thirty somethings on a mutually agreeable weekend evening… Something as good as Messi and Iniesta would have to be pretty spectacular, that was for sure.
Thankfully, we found it.
As luck would have it, another friend called Jay was on a stag do in town the same day, and I threatened to wear the Everton shirt synonymous with the start of my friendship with Jay from the early nineties.
Obviously I didn’t, and will save it for my fortieth… so instead we whetted our appetite for the haute cuisine ahead with some rugby, debauchery and beer – non alcoholic for the non-drinker – and despite some hairy moments involving a golf club, getting called Gok Wan and ‘the fisherman from outside the Blue Star Chippy’, a good afternoon was had by all before we arrived at our destination.
Living so far apart, we don’t get much opportunity to chat deeply and meaningfully so we made the most of the chance to discuss marriage and parenthood. This allowed getting the serious stuff out of the way before we could concentrate on the important stuff: the menu d’excellence at The Art School Restaurant, Liverpool.
Now, I struck lucky with the internet trawling when I realised this fine dining establishment had such a good reputation for Vegan food and immediately booked in. Having been there once before with my wife, I knew it would be special, and had been looking forward to the meal for ages. Now we had arrived, we could relax, discuss memories of Jay’s life as a boy and reflect on the monumental changes our lives have gone through since we first met on our first day of year 7, twenty seven years ago.
Actually, we had met before then; on a football pitch at the Reebok Soccer 6s competition when I scored past Jay for my wonderfully named team ‘Green Graffiti’ and then on Christ Church field when our primary schools met… as we grew up, football played some part in our friendship but was overtaken by art, drinking, university, travels, the travails of love and work and modern life and not even Antipodean adventures affected our bond.
I remember house parties and near fights in Lancaster; sombreros in Durham; wine bars in London; injured animals in Brisbane and Big Dunc on my wedding day before two nights of the London art scene in 2012.
And lots more besides.
But this was again our time, our time surrounded by people on dates, a special occasion between two (pretty much lifelong) friends and even if people might have thought we too were on a date, I wanted us to make the most of it; we did. The service was truly wonderful, we talked at length about grown up stuff and then got to speak at length with the proprietor of this fantastic place.
Before we go into specific detail, it would be remiss of me to mention that I attended art school in Liverpool – not the same building, although friends frequented there and I think I attended a couple of shows at least – but the creative streak in us made it a serendipitous bonus that we should be spending our last night with him as a single man, in such apt surroundings.
Yes, that’s what I have in common with John Lennon, Stu Sutcliffe, David Gray – and, if false rumour were to be believed, Adolf Hitler – but more importantly, it’s the thousands of happy customers who must have been through the doors of Paul ‘Porky’ Askew’s establishment who matter more, given its recent reincarnation as a destination of fine dining.
I’ve been reading lots of Grace Dent recently and although I don’t like her very much – it’s not a Lancastrian / Cumbrian thing, I just don’t like the cut of her jib – I do admire her writing, and I think she would approve of The Art School because it’s friendly formal with fantastic taste.
Those values shone through from the first moment we arrived. Jay being vegan, they catered perfectly for him, and I struggled to decide what I wanted but was more bothered about the wine pairing, which thankfully the sommeliers made easier by pairing perfectly and then offering a panacean escape opportunity of a course, which I’m seriously considering as a way out.
Still, we need to at least explain the food if this is a restaurant review, and despite it being top notch in every way, I feel I need to justify the price tag with enough detail to show quite why it was the equal of 603-goals-and-counting Messi et al.
The amuses-bouches were delightful, with champagne to boot, then a starter of pigeon and foie gras which – as a Morrissey devotee, I shouldn’t enjoy, but do – was simply lovely. It was accompanied by a delightful New Zealand wine called Pansy.
Then, after serious deliberation, I opted for the duck, and I’m glad I did because the pinkest slab of bird arrived and my guilt for my dining partner dissipated with the melting heart I felt after seeing the beautiful presentation of my main. Again, the wine matching was perfect: a Croatian red by the name of Matosevic, which sounds a bit like a football player too.
Alas, the dessert: a refreshing option to cleanse the palate after all this decadence and the Sicilian lemon and orange tart transported me to one of the few places in Europe I’m still desperate to visit. The meringue was a particular standout, and ended the evening perfectly. It came with a wondrous wine: Txakoli, from the Basque region I fell in love with a couple of years ago.
The bill came and we played the Henry Kelly guessing game so loved by Messrs Brydon and Coogan on the show. At this point, I realised that Jay had been recording the whole conversation for posterity! I must have spoken some drivel over the evening, and would love the chance to listen again to the three hours we spent at that table. Of course – as the gents always do on the dating programmes – I paid. After such an incredible evening, however, the price was unimportant.
I’d been saving up for it, and Jay deserved it, especially after all he has done for us.
There was an unfortunate incident involving my taking a selfie with an asleep diner on the next table, mind:
There was still time to discuss the restaurant’s sommelier course with our servers – who made excellent choices, I hasten to add – and I was encouraged to enquire about their sommelier course.
I have to say, I’m seriously considering it.
I also purchased the incredibly attractive Onwards and Upwards book by chef, Paul Askew. I’ve admired his approach for years, and food on a couple of occasions, and was so pleased to see him in the kitchen. I was elated when he signed the book with a lovely, heartfelt message. I was overjoyed when he appeared at our table, and shook my hand for what felt like an eternity whilst I explained our strange situation.
I thanked and congratulated him for what he has thus far achieved in the city; reading the book since has given me an even greater insight. He’s a great guy, it’s a great place and I urge anyone with an appetite and love of fine dining to attend.
Vegan or not…
It was the perfect destination for the equivalent of a night at the Nou Camp, too, with Askew the Messi, pulling the strings from the pass, and our sommelier the Iniesta (the ‘Solutions’ girl) with the whole team giving us two excitable young men – embarking upon a new chapter in our lives with exuberance and enjoyment – another, very different, experience we will never forget.
Alas, we missed the last train home and the kids were up at 6am the next day, but it didn’t matter.
It was Mes que un Meal – Mes que un Stag – and we wish Jay, and all the grooms about to begin married life, all the very best.
