CHESTER, PACINO'S RESTAURANT - Fish and Fracas

Rowing during an evening meal is just about one of the worst things you can do. That’s rowing in the sense of arguing, not the act undertaken in a small boat. Fomenting tension has a nifty ability to suddenly and unexpectedly surface (usually when drink is involved), giving rise to recriminations that are hissed between gritted teeth, so as not to attract the attention of staff or other diners (though you can be sure of achieving the opposite effect). In such a restrained environment, you can’t fully give yourself over to anger. Decorum has to be maintained, however tenuous or brittle. 

There’s also something elementally voyeuristic about watching people argue in such circumstances. You find yourself tuning in to the dialogue – the accusations, the lamentation - with mild titillation, followed, at length, by an in-depth dissection of what was overheard, with blame apportioned appropriately. 

ARGUE, BEING SERVED

And so it was recently; a mid-week chow with my old dear spontaneously subsiding into mutual bickering, hectoring and acrimony. Other people noticed. A man on the next table kept making eye contact with me, in a vaguely disapproving way. The proprietress – a lovely, vivacious lady called Debbie – almost certainly picked up on the frosty ambiance at our station. It was a real shame. We seldom row. And never over dinner. It had obviously just been building awhile. Things came to a head. It happens. 

ONE HORSE NEWTOWN

I like Pacino’s. I always have done. It’s venerable, tucked away in the most appallingly incongruous place, amidst the Soviet tower blocks of Newtown – eye-watering monoliths that defile an otherwise blemish-free skyline. Even the recent licks of paint – from battleship grey to off-pink (a colour scheme that echoes the equally offensive Salmon Leap) – can’t abate the hideousness. You kind of feel you’re in a war zone, and it certainly isn’t somewhere you’d ever expect to find yourself of an evening. 

LOOK BEFORE YOU SALMON LEAP

But Pacino’s stands as an oasis in the concrete desert. It’s a Chester institution, and you almost long for its continued success. That said, it’s survived several recessions and is still as popular as it’s ever been. If it ever threatened to close there’d be uproar. Hands would be wrung and tears shed. Even on a weekday evening it was busy. This is a place with a fiercely loyal, local following and, come the weekend, it’s reservations only.

SEPARATE THE SHEEP FROM THE GOAT'S CHEESE

Things kicked off – in every sense – with a goat’s cheese bruschetta. You’d think this might be perfectly unremarkable, but not so. The salty goat’s cheese was perfectly cooked, the bread crisp without being overly dry, and the beetroot relish pleasing. It was a fair size, too. 

ALL AT SEABASS

Now, I always have fish at Pacino’s. It’s something they tend to do very well – monkfish, red snapper, halibut. The fish of the day was, on this occasion, filleted sea-bass. The word ‘filleted’ always fills me with relief, as I have very little clue as to how to negotiate a Piscean skellington without inadvertently regurgitating, hairball-like, a mouthful of jagged bones. 

SITTING DUCK

The fillet was actually plural – it was colossal for a fish dish – and the roasted red pepper accompaniment leant it a slightly crunchy sweetness which complemented the meaty fish to a tee. Accompanying handmade chips were, as ever, exemplary. My old dear extolled her duck in cherry sauce, as comprised great hunks of meat cooked pleasingly rare. They’re never stingy with the portions at Pacino’s. You know what you’re getting, and you get a good feed. 

COLD COMFORT

A dessert was foregone in light of the glacial atmosphere localised to our corner table, which culminated in a sudden and unexpected loss of appetite on my part. But several further glasses of wine were imbibed in the midst of the querulousness, and the bill, when it arrived, totalled a nice, round £50 for a starter, two main courses and several large vinos. Having made use of a 10% off voucher from Onionring (always worth looking out for), a fair few quid was shorn from the total. 

ONIONRING-A-DING DONG

So, despite a proportion of the evening having been spent embroiled in anguish – tempers were frayed, arms were folded, sighs theatrically issued, bottom lips trembled, eyes drunkenly brimmed – we kissed and made up. Life is just too short - especially when you’re trying to shovel a decent bit of fish down your neck.

Food: ✓✓✓

Service: ✓✓✓✓

Ambiance: ✓✓✓✓

Value: ✓✓✓✓

Website: http://www.pacinos-restaurant.com/
Phone number: 01244372252

Tip: Check Onionring before you go

Follow @BobViveur

CHESTER, LA CANTINA - Lambing It Up

It was one of those muggy, sodden afternoons as can so often write off a Saturday, that I alighted at Chester's terminally unprepossessing railway station. Having taken the long route into town on foot, my senses were unexpectedly arrested by the spectacle of a naked drunkard fulminating outside a Brook Street alehouse. The tavern's proprietress was, to her credit, gamely encouraging the stark-bollock bruiser to reacquaint himself with his kit, but her entreaties fell on deaf, sozzled ears. Now that's really not something you expect to see every day. Not on a rainy Saturday in Brook Street. Not anywhere in Chester. At the very least, our unclothed antagonist could have caught his death of cold. And so, it was that event, coupled with the maddening it's-raining-and-yet-it's-uncomfortably-warm weather, that near threatened to set the tone for the rest of the day. Thankfully, all ill omen was pretty soon vanquished by dint of a very hearty, very rustic meal at Chester's most singular Italian venue.

BROOK STREET: INIQUITOUS

My inaugural visit to La Cantina was racked with hesitancy. I'd heard praise heaped upon it, quite lavishly, in fact. But the lack of a menu on the website put me off a touch. You can't really be rocking up at a joint not knowing what's on offer, can you? Similarly off-putting, the overly waspish (not to mention tediously protracted) management responses to Trip Advisor feedback. Pretty much along the lines of 'Thanks for the feedback, but we really don't what your sort here.' Cripes! A bit full on, is that. You couldn't help but cultivate the notion that they weren't too keen on criticism over at La Cantina. 

My concerns, however, dissolved entirely once I'd actually visited the place. I ate heartily, supped with vigour, and tendered my cherished 20% off voucher from Onion Ring. All was, for a short time, right with the universe. And so, months passed, and a repeat visit seemed inevitable. This time I was compelled by a Tweet advertising a free bottle of vino with your grub. Can't pass up on free wine when it's offered. A crime against nature, that would be.

The restaurant's ambiance is best characterised as elegant-yet-restrained. You kind of feel cocooned from the rather insalubrious end of town in which it's nestled. But despite an incongruous location, La Cantina was busy at the time of our advent. Not packed to the rafters, but pleasantly abuzz. It's an intimate little place. Not exactly formal, but not too relaxed, either. The menu, presented on stapled A4 sheets, comprised a selection of keenly-priced starters. Both Our Lass and I plumped for the sauteed octopus and squid. 

Now, I'm not a massive seafood lover. However, set down before me the chilli and garlic-tossed remnants of a cephalod mollusc of the order Octopoda, and I am as happy as a clam. (No pun intended.) This was a dish that was light and, thankfully, not at all vinegary. (Many of the vinegar-pickled octopus tentacles I've been served elsewhere have been of sufficient acidity to make your North and South pucker and your eyes brim with tears.) The accompanying sauce was flavoursome and, pleasingly, didn't mask the subtle, delicate squid. 

COLOSSAL SQUID: MANTLE AS ANYTHING

It's a funny thing to talk of a squid as being subtle and delicate. This is, after all, a leviathan which, in its 'colossal' form, is capable of expanding to an eye-watering 14 metres in length, not to mention the armoury of rotating three-way hooks in its possession, that could all but gut a whale. During episodes of the Blue Planet (and other, similar shows in which rare footage of delicious-looking monsters afflicted with abyssal giganticism is shown), I've found myself wondering what the calamari of the Colossal Squid might taste like. Wondrous, would be my guess. And pleasantly salty to boot, from all those deep-sea capers. (Squid and capers. A combination just waiting to be tried.)

CEPHALICIOUS

Mains materialised in the shape of slow-roasted leg of lamb, marinated in a variety of herbs and accompanied by sauteed potatoes and a pea puree. And bread. And salad, in fact. The dishes at La Cantina aren't exactly cheap (it set me back the best part of £20), but you get a lot of nosh for your nicker. You need a hearty appetite, dining here. Thankfully, the lamb was just the right shade of pink, and as tender as you like. God knows how long it'd been slow-cooking for. Several weeks, if its succulence was anything to go by.

ON THE LAMB

As to dessert. Well, despite the array of Italian staples on show (exotic-sounding flans and so forth), it was a foregone conclusion: it was going to be cheese. It had to cheese. It's always cheese. Well, what arrived wasn't quite what I was expecting. I'm not particularly fond of Scottish oatcakes (whose sandpaper aridity is not too dissimilar to the material with which you would line a budgie's cage), so I wasn't too chuffed to find them befouling my plate in an unsolicited manner. Some of that rustic Italian bread would be far, far better suited to what were, by and large, cheeses of note. The cheeky blue number, a creamy offering, proved the highlight. Similarly, the accompanying chutney was first rate. 

OAT-CAKE EXPECTATIONS

But mozzarella on a cheese board? Well, that is just not right. I'm surprised the other cheeses didn't recoil in horror and inch towards the outer-reaches of the plate, in order to avoid contact with that flavourless, banal, mush-like interloper which has no place anywhere near curds of stature. How it has the temerity to even call itself a cheese is beyond my comprehension. And talk about difficult to spell. I'm getting red squiggly lines all over the show, here. But, as far as blips go, this wasn't a showstopper. I ate around the mozzarella and, in so doing, showed it the effrontery it deserved.

MOZZA-HELLISH

On the whole, this was a very good experience. And the gratis Sauvignon - imbibed in tandem with complimentary, fizzy rose - was as dry and as zesty as you like. If you're looking for a classy alternative to some of the pizza-and-pasta-by-numbers joints that grace Chester's busier streets, then you'd be well advised to give La Cantina, a quirky and endearing Boughton mainstay, a try. It's definitely a bit different. It's a touch undiscovered, even. But, once word gets out, it mightn't stay that way.

Food: ✓✓✓✓

Service: ✓✓✓✓

Ambiance: ✓✓✓

Value: ✓✓✓✓

Website: http://www.lacantinachester.com

Phone number: 01244 401413

Tip: Follow them on Twitter for some excellent offers 

Follow @BobViveur

CHESTER, LA P'TITE FRANCE - Cheesy Does It

Chester was, in fairness, desperate for a decent Gallic eatery. It veritably ached for one. It was crying out. Not that there's much in the way of the competition, especially after the sudden and unexpected demise of short-lived Cuppin Street bolthole Bouchon last year. What about Chez Jules? You might well ask. Well, that's about as French as tuppence, that place. A quick scan of the menu confirms as much (their Table du Jour boasting Parisian staples such as 'roast pork with an apple compote' and 'grilled seabass with a tomato'. You could almost be strolling down the Champs Elysses, couldn't you?) But that's a conversation best left for another post.

CHEZ FOOLS

La P'tite France has apparently been relocated from Nottingham and, despite having only been open a clutch of weeks, it's already attracted a legion of admirers. The restaurant's interior is light but cosy and, though initially quiet at the time of our advent two Fridays since, it soon came to throng. There were people dining alone. There were people in large groups. There were people who did actually look French, berets and all. They were vast in numbers. Perhaps that's just the novelty value in action. It might well wear off. Or, perhaps, La P'tite France, with its rakishly-placed apostrophe and convivial ambiance, is offering something a little different from the usual fayre.

And with a crisp Chablis at £21, we were off. First things first. The bread. Baskets of it. It was amazing. And limitless. Just what you get across the channel. Don't ask me what it's called. It wasn't your bog-standard French stick, that's for sure (Chez Jules take note). Some kind of sour dough, I suspect. But I couldn't put money on that. Soon after, a starter of smoked duck salad proved adequate. It was nice enough. The slivers of duck breast were a touch on the fatty side, but it's a duck salad, right? And duck is a fatty meat. What else was I expecting? Our Lass plumped for the escargot. Now she's a dab hand with the snail tongs, her, but she was rather crestfallen to find that the assembly of gastropod molluscs was presented sans la carapace. Our host imparted that serving shell-on snails is now frowned upon by the environmental health. Further, doing so can jeopardise a restaurant's all-important Scores on the Doors rating.

SHELL EPOQUE

Now, I've seen enough episodes of the Food Inspectors to know that there are certain dishes and ingredients that the titular scrutineers of that programme go apoplectic over. Rarely-cooked burgers being one example. Kidneys and liver being another. So it doesn't surprise me to learn that the hapless snail should have inadvertently slithered into this minefield. This is probably why you don't see steak tartare on the menu anymore. More's the pity, I say. Raw beef bound with a raw egg yolk does wonders for those wishing to shed a couple of pounds quickly (not to mention violently). Where will it all end? Might we soon see the advent of a Meat Police undertaking to banish from the servery the bloody and the blue? A kind of steak-oriented dystopia? Now there's something to send a shudder. Kill me now, please.

THE STEAKS ARE HIGH

Existential musings notwithstanding, a main course of Entrecote Grillee proved a good bet. And nice and rare it was, too. Still alive. Barely showed to the pan. The hefty slab was accompanied by a rich, Roquefort sauce and a pot of hand-cut chips. It must be said, a better bit of rib-eye you'd struggle to get your mitts on in these parts. At £16.90 it was competitively priced, to boot. 

And so to desserts. Well, this was something else. Throughout the evening, I'd been closely eyeing a tray of cheeses that had been surreptitiously doing the rounds between tables. It's always a good idea to have the cheeses on display. Their presence invariably causes one to crave a bit of cheddar, want a wodge of Wensleydale, seek solace in a slice of Stilton. But with this being a French cheeseboard - well, expectations were stratospheric. To be honest, I've always been a bit snotty about French cheeses. They think they're better than our British curds. Brie especially. That is one pompous little upstart. And with no good cause, to my mind. Can it hold a candle to the local delights embodied in Nantwich Blue and Lancashire Blacksticks? Can it heck as like. Nor can a Camembert for that matter. A Saint Marcellin? Possibly.

CHEESE IN OUR TIME

Well, La P'tite France's cheeseboard almost made me reevaluate my deep seated, long-entrenched anti-French-cheese prejudices. It was otherworldy. And there were no mean slivers either. Full on wedges descended onto the plate one at a time, a little like lifeboats lowered from a mother-ship. Accompanied by the most delectable cherry jam, and more bread, this was the course that elevated the entire evening. I could bore for England as to its virtues. I really could.

And so, best of luck to La P'tite France in its endeavour to foster just a touch of Paris in Bridge Street. I'll be back; if only for the sole cheese board in Chester that could give the Sticky Walnut's a run for its money.

Food: ✓✓✓✓

Service: ✓✓✓✓

Ambiance: ✓✓✓✓✓
Value: ✓✓✓✓

Website: http://www.laptitefrance.co.uk/

Phone number: 01244 401635

Tip: At all costs, go for the cheeseboard 

Follow @BobViveur