STOCKTON HEATH, SIAM VILLAGE - Thai Before You Buy

I used to live just down the road from Siam Village’s Stockport branch. And, in two years of inhabiting the area, visited only the once. That’s not because there was anything inherently wrong with it, per se. It was just unremarkable. I think that’s the problem with most Thai restaurants. They’re generally pretty nice – decent food, decent ambiance, decent prices – but you seldom find one that sets your world alight and is, for that matter, anything other than just decent. 

IF YOU CAN'T STAND THE HEATH

Accordingly, in the mind, each discrete experience melts into a kind of mundane mediocrity – always the same menu, always the same decor. What’s missing is the distinctness, the singularity. Visit any local Thai in any high street in the country and you are more or less assured of having the exact same experience (with a few noteworthy exceptions, such as Siam Orchid in Manchester’s Portland Street).

BY AND LARB

Now, everyone knows that opening up in Stockton Heath is a guaranteed licence to print money. Even packing a first floor enterprise such as the Siam Village isn’t remotely challenging. People will flock there regardless. It was pretty much standing room only on our visit, and the strain of seating and serving so great a crowd was painfully evident in the quality of the service. Perhaps it was due to its being opening week. Perhaps they’re just generally pretty disorganised.

DEAD DUCK

I do love a Thai salad. It’s the pinnacle of a stunning cuisine. Heartened was I, therefore, to find a chicken larb peering up at me from the menu. It was a good effort but, having requested it extra spicy, I found it flaccid in terms of piquancy. The main issue was that it took too bloody long to arrive. You know it’s a bad sign when you’ve demolished the best part of a bottle of your favourite Sauvignon before the starter so much as puts in an appearance. 

IN WINE FETTLE

As you can imagine, we were pretty ravenous by this stage. Main course of duck red curry, what ought to be a staple of any Thai hostelry, was criminally devoid of meat.  What was there was palatable, there just wasn’t a lot of it. It was a good job I’d invested in some sticky rice – at a monumental £4 – to bulk it out. To be fair to them, the sauce was quite thick and not particularly watery (a perennial problem with Thai curries, I find). I just felt stiffed over the quantity of the food.

SALAD DAYS

There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that the Stockton Heath branch of Siam Village will be an unfettered, roaring success. It probably already is; doubtless be bolstered by its location. But, in my view, it’s Thai by numbers – nothing in the way of distinct character, nothing particularly memorable and, dare I say it, lacking in soul.

Food: ✓✓

Service: ✓✓

Ambiance: ✓✓✓✓

Value: ✓✓

Website: http://www.siamvillage.co.uk

Phone: 01925213164

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WARRINGTON, CHANG NOI - Thai by Night

Chang Noi was formerly situated on the outskirts of Chester, having relocated to the Birch & Bottle, outside Antrobus, some eighteen or so months ago. The pub is of the spit and sawdust variety – gaudy, loud carpets, chintzy decor - and hasn’t seen a great deal in the way of decoration for, I dare say, some while. 

It was moderately busy on our visit, and, having pre-booked, we were directed to a table near the bar - a table so sticky your shirt sleeves adhered to it as though it were fashioned from velcro. 

STICKY WICKET

There is an extended dining area in the conservatory – which might well be more salubrious but, in light of the screams of a caterwauling child that emanated from it, I was thankful to be well out of the way.  

SIGNS OF THE TIMES

Chang Noi doesn’t just do Thai. They specialise in a kind of hotchpotch fusion of cuisines broadly falling under the umbrella term ‘Asian’. The menu sounded curious, and intensely tantalising. Shortly after the delivery of a tasty Sauvignon, a starter of Ramaquin Madras was received with aplomb. 

IN MINCE CONDITION

A house special, it comprised lamb and beef mince and peas bound in various spices. It was huge. In fact, it could barely be contained by the perimeter of prawn crackers fencing it in, in the manner of deep-fried riot police encircling a mincemeat mob. The bed of rice on which the dish was pivoted only added to the largesse. It was quite, spicy, too - so far, so good.

CURRY FAVOUR

The main courses can roughly be divided into two camps: ‘Thai cuisine’ and ‘our own recipe’ (i.e. other). I tried the kamikaze curry from the latter section, intriguingly described as ‘our version of a Vindaloo but with a lot more taste.’ I expected something hot, and I wasn’t disappointed. 

However, the duck meat (available at a supplement of £1.50) was sub-par – stringy, chewy and, worse, elusive. It was a real shame. And, although the heat from the dish was phenomenal, the sauce itself was a watery soup in which could be found the odd piece of sinew or fatty duck skin. Moreover, the garlic naan I ordered on the side was straight from the shelves of Asda, via the microwave. Mrs V’s Thai red curry, meanwhile, hit the spot, but wasn’t really that spectacular.

STICKY RICE, RICE BABY

I admire what Chang Noi is trying to do here – set up in a stalwart country pub, offering decent Asian cuisine at reasonable prices. But, on our visit, the fare was a bit hit-and-miss. Granted, they’re trying to be a bit different. Perhaps, if they concentrated solely on producing Thai cuisine of the finest quality - rather than making fusion-based deviations - they might find themselves onto a real winner. 

KAMIKAZE ATTACK

That said, I would return to Chang Noi on the strength of the starter alone, further ensuring that, on any repeat visit, I opted for something a bit more prosaically Thai. I do wonder how this venue will fare in light of the recent advent of Siam Village in Stockton Heath - only time will tell. 

Food: ✓✓✓

Service: ✓✓✓

Ambiance: ✓✓

Value: ✓✓✓✓

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

Phone: 01925 730756

Tip: If ordering a kamikaze curry, be sure to put a toilet roll in the freezer before you retire for the evening.  

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WARRINGTON, THE TUNNEL TOP - Light at the End of the Tunnel

Mercifully, the Tunnel Top has, of late, changed hands. I say mercifully due to the previous tenants seemingly having done their utmost to run the place into the ground – refusing to uplift the sad, dated decor, not to mention being awarded the monumental accolade of a hygiene rating of 0 out 5 from the Scores on the Doors food hygiene agency – the lowest in the entire area. 

Thankfully, the place has been given a complete overhaul by the incoming incumbents – the manky, rotting sign having been consigned to the bin, and the sticky carpet torn up and heaved into a skip. Now, it’s all about bare floors and the shabby chic. Internally, it looks great.

SETTLE OLD SCORES ON THE DOORS

That said, the TT hasn't done itself many favours in terms of self-publicising – no up to date website, no online menu, an irregular Twitter feed; not even a menu board outside the pub. Get it sorted, please!

PORK OF THE TOWN

Our visit found the place dead, but that was hardly surprising given the A533 was closed that night. First things first, the prices - it's cheap. The TT has embraced its location. It isn't suffering an identity crisis. It doesn't think it's in Stockton Heath. It's fairly proximal to Runcorn, a geography it tacitly acknowledges. The most expensive main course would probably set you back around £14; far from excessive in this day and age.

WATERCRESS UNDER THE BRIDGE

My starter of pork belly with black pudding croquettes weighed in at £4.50. The pork was tender and plentiful, but I found the croquette a bit light on black pudding. I am partial to a bit of black pudding so was a bit crestfallen at its absence. Mrs V's chicken and chorizo dish was simple, but bountiful; uncomplicated, but with depth (though initially it proved difficult to behold due to the dense topiary of watercress surmounting it). The chicken was pleasingly moist and the cubes of chorizo generous.

BUN FROM THE OVEN

The TT's eponymous burger proved quite colossal and, despite the patty being rather an odd shape, it was so large that the burger’s innards spilled out from the bun, as if disembowelled. Underpinned by a smoked rasher as thick as a shoe tongue, this was a burger of heft. (The bun, though, could’ve been fresher.) As interesting as ‘jenga chips’ sounded (comprising, I imagine, a stack in the shape of the titular board game), I went for the fries. 

Mrs V’s lamb tower wasn’t nearly as majestic as its lofty name suggests, but it was a damn tasty hunk of braised meat that lost all structural integrity when nudged with a fork - precisely as something braised ought to do.

LAMB TO THE SLAUGHTER

Dessert of a sliver of lemon tart was pleasant, but the accompanying raspberry sorbet was so unbelievably rock hard it could have shattered teeth and, if launched as a projectile, taken some bugger's eye out.  House wine is around £12 for a pretty good Pinot Grigio.

LEMON TART WITH A HEART

All in all, it was an enjoyable evening, let down just a touch by the lack of atmosphere. Let’s hope the Tunnel Top learns to blow its own horn a bit more so that it might attract a clientele a bit broader in terms of demography. It would certainly be nice to see the pub thriving after years of shameful neglect.

Food: ✓✓✓
Service: ✓✓✓
Ambiance: ✓✓✓
Value: ✓✓✓✓
Website: N/A
Phone: 01928 718181
Tip: Use your Tastecard on a Friday night

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STOCKTON HEATH, INDISH - Indish of the Day

You just can’t beat a Ruby Murray – especially on a Friday night. It’s one of the vital necessities of life, along with dishwashers and silica gel-based cat litter. Stockton Heath deserved a pleasingly-priced curry house, if only as a counterpoint to rip-off venue the Cinnamon Lounge (roughly £13 for a bog-standard curry in there). Since opening its doors at the arse end of 2012, Indish has gradually garnered a following, and it was heartening to find the place chocker on one of the hottest nights of the year.

RUBY MURRAY: FIERY

Now, I never usually bother with poppadoms. They fill me up. And, in truth, I’m a bit resentful about being rinsed for a couple of quid just to be able to bathe shards of the disc-shaped sundry in gloopy and off-coloured substances characterised as the ‘chutney tray’. But, when poppadoms are offered up gratis, you can be sure I’ll hoover every last crumb (in addition to any lime pickle that might have made its way to the table). And that is exactly what happens at Indish – a heap of complimentary poppadoms set down before all who arrive.

IN A PICKLE

A mixed kebab starter almost uniformly hits the spot. At a bare minimum, it ought to consist of chicken tikka, lamb tikka and sheek kebab – the indispensable trinity. Though it would benefit from the addition of a tandoori lamb chop in its meaty line up, Indish’s mixed kebab starter proved a good example of the genre.

TALK IN GRIDDLES

As is common practice these days, the starter arrived hissing and spitting on an oval griddle of sufficient hotness as could take the skin off your hand. I dislike this mode of presentation immensely. Unless you extricate your meaty delights quickly, they wind up chewy, overcooked and more or less adhered to the base of the dish. If you’re luck’s in, you might be offered a pair of tongs to expedite transferral. But, even with these in your armoury, you need to be quick off the blocks.

Main course-wise, I swerved the chef’s specials in favour of a staple of lamb tikka pathia. A pathia ought to be sour, a touch sweet and hot – not blow-your-head-off hot, but pleasantly warming (one notch down from a Madras on the spicy scale). Indish’s pathia met each of these criteria with aplomb. The lamb tikka was first rate – plentiful and tender. Attendant garlic naan was average, though I secretly hankered for its chilli counterpart.

LAMB TIKKA TO THE SLAUGHTER

I love a chilli naan. But chilli naans don’t love me, and Mrs V will seldom acquiesce to sharing such a delight. She doesn’t understand why anyone would want to consume something that possesses almost magical bowel-opening properties as to rouse the luckless diner from slumber at some ungodly hour the next morning. The garlic naan was a compromise. Her lamb saag, by the way, was exceptional – tons of meat woven in webs of rich spinach (a proportion of which had to be taken home in a foil container).  

CHILLI TO THE BONE

What is it about curry house dessert menus? If not identical, they’re certainly variations on a theme. I delight in perusing their subtle differences. Will the rock-hard frozen lemon be on this menu? How about its orange compatriot? Might the ‘trufito’ be available (a cocoa-based structure that better resembles a held-open sphincter). But it’s really the kids’ desserts that offer the most entertainment – a parade of unlikely characters of a vaguely sinister demeanour.

TRUFITO: REGULAR

Take Miss Daisy, an irate looking bovine, or Crazy Zoo, a creature of unknown genus which boasts a malign-sounding ‘nice surprise.’ Then there’s Punky, whose squat limbs are dwarfed by an oversized, Elephant Man head surmounted by a rigid Mohican. The elusive Barry Blue, inexplicably, is the least prevalent character by far. And yet there he was, looking up at me from Indish’s dessert menu with his irrepressible smile. I very nearly filled up. Now, I could never bring myself to actually order any of these items, but seeing them on the menu is its own satiation.   

AS FRESH AS MISS DAISY

To be a smidgen critical for a tick, there was a bit of an issue with service during our visit – too long a wait between starters and main course – but, in light of the free poppadoms and otherwise happy ambience, I really wasn’t that arsed about any delay. The bill amounted to roughly £45 and this included a higher-end bottle of New Zealand sauvignon, as weighed in at £18.

Food: ✓✓✓✓

Service: ✓✓✓✓

Ambiance: ✓✓✓

Value: ✓✓✓

Website: http://www.indishindian.co.uk
Phone number: 01925861919

Tip: Fill in the form that comes with the bill and they'll send you a Christmas card

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STOCKTON HEATH, PAN Y VINO - Tapas Muster?

I’ve never really been one for tapas, having long since written it off as a miscellany of child-sized helpings foisted, en mass, on an invariably ill-sized table. It's not so much a meal as a collection of different things. It lacks order. It lacks cohesion. The very notion, in fact, fractures the linear narrative of starter-main-dessert (or, pour le glutton, starter-main-dessert-cheese-dessert wine-digestif-brew-petit fours &c). Any road, having heard relatively pleasant things about Pan Y Vino – and noted its heaving interior when ambling in the vicinity - I’d been meaning to give it a go. 

LOCK, STOCKTON HEATH AND BARREL

Now, it's probably fair to say that any rough old joint could likely make a mint just by landing in Stockton Heath. It’s that type of place – trendy, bustling, salubrious – a bit of a contrast to some of its quieter and, dare I say it, slightly less refined neighbours. 

ON TAPAS

First impressions of Pan Y Vino weren't exactly brilliant. Having booked for 8:15, we presented ourselves at the agreed time, more than ready to be spirited to a table. Rather, we were directed by a truculent waitress to a minuscule bar area (minus the chairs). ‘I’ll get someone to show you to your table’, she pledged, immediately prior to forgetting about us entirely. And so we waited, book-ended by other customers in the same predicament, and periodically jostled by flustered staff reaching across the bar to the till. It all felt rather disorganised. 

Granted, no-one else seemed particularly affronted at this abandonment; two perma-tanned ladies even crowed that ‘We don’t mind a bit of a wait, Fernando, love.’ Some of us, though – those who’d had barely a bite since lunchtime and who could, accordingly, have eaten a horse and chased the jockey – were starting to feel uneasy. One minute dissolved into twenty and, whilst in Fernando’s eye-line, I harrumphed loudly and made a big, theatrical gesture of glancing to my imaginary watch (peeling back a shirt sleeve and everything). A light came on in Fernando’s brain. This guy looks like a surly pain in the arse, he probably reasoned (correctly, at that). Best get him to his table. And so we were led upstairs without further delay. 

CAN YOU HEAR THE DRUMS, FERNANDO?

Following a grinding start, orders were taken with a surprising swiftness and the speedy arrival of a light-bodied Merlot served to quiet my torpor. Now, Pan Y Vino’s menu recommends ordering three tapas each if hungry, four if ravenous. Rather modestly, we opted for seven in total, in addition to bread and a ‘Mojo Rojo’ ‘fiery’ dip (which, contrary to its hyperbolic description, wasn’t particularly piquant). A platter of Serrano ham and Manchego cheese was the first to arrive. It was both generous and pleasing. But, having recently experienced the incomparable wonders of Dalmatian ham – in all its salty, jaw-achingly chewy glory – the Serrano couldn’t really hold a torch. The bread was, disappointingly, a bit ‘french sticky’; something you'd expect to have thrust upon you at Chez Jules (God help you). 

HAM-FISTED

A few minutes prior to the advent of the remaining dishes, I was notified that the venison chorizo – something I’d never previously sampled and was anticipating with vigour – was available no longer. As such, I was obliged to select a lesser alternative, at speed, with the waiter hovering. The substituted item turned out to be a beef dish that rather resembled pastrami. Again, it was nice, but not earth-shattering. 

BLACK VERY-GOODING

Of the remaining dishes, the highlight, by a country mile, was the rice-based black pudding with slivers of apple and a vivid, orange sauce. It was unutterably sublime. I could have had seven helpings of it and still have been as happy as a clam. It wasn't far off one of the finest black puddings of which I've partaken in recent times. Other dishes fared less well. A purported chicken croquette teemed with potato-like mush. Pan fried chorizo was good, but you can't really go wrong with that. A king prawn offering with chillies failed to leave much of an impression.  

CROQUETTISH

In hindsight, seven dishes probably wasn't sufficient to satiate a raging appetite. Orders were placed for dessert and, somewhat inevitably, another hefty wait kicked in. Some twenty-five minutes later a slab of dark chocolate torte was set down before me. It was very good, flavoursome but not too rich (as confection wrought of plain chocolate is wont to be). It had finesse about it, and proved one of the evening's highlights. 

PRAWN YESTERDAY

Before we were allowed to leave the premises, we were made to wait a further 25 minutes for the bill (two discrete requests having been issued for it some ten minutes apart). The tab, when it did arrive, amounted to £65 for the seven tapas, Merlot, bread and dip. In my hurry to flee, I inadvertently left a five pound tip. Not because I was impressed with the service - far from it, it was woeful - but I simply could not be arsed with another interminable wait for the change to be tendered. 

TAKE FIVE

When we eventually emerged beneath a blackening sky it was knocking 11pm; a large proportion of the intervening hours having been spent waiting for one thing or another. On the whole, the food was pretty decent, a few niggles notwithstanding. Would it convert me to a tapas lover? Probably not. Would I go there again? Possibly. Having said that, the evening was indisputably marred by all the unnecessary bloody waiting and hanging about. 

The service at Pan Y Vino needs a severe boot up the backside. That said, the place possesses an army of loyal devotees in Stockton Heath that were flooding in throughout our meal. And that popularity alone gives it little reason to address what is, in all honesty, a serious shortcoming.

Food: ✓✓✓

Service: ✓

Ambiance: ✓✓✓✓

Value: ✓✓✓

Website: http://www.panyvino.co.uk
Phone number: 01925210121

Tip: Go when it's quiet

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WARRINGTON, THE CHETWODE ARMS - Hot Rock and Roll

Despite being located but a stone’s throw from my abode, I’d only ever been to the Chetwode Arms once. I found it to be expensive - astronomically so – and could still recollect with alarming clarity the palpitations, chest pains and shortness of breath that accompanied the arrival of the bill. On a positive note, Pete Waterman was there that evening. Apparently it’s his local, and he’s mighty attached to it. He would never, by all accounts, give it up, let it down, run around or desert it (to quote Waterman protégé Rick Astley, Newton-le-Willows’ most notorious musical exponent). 

LIKE A DUCK TO WATERMAN

This is as picturesque a country pub as you could ever hope to encounter. Located just off the A49 – a road so appealing to tractors that they feel the need to converge on it in vast numbers during rush hour – it sits roughly equidistant between Warrington and Northwich. The proprietors are South African and, whilst this influence doesn’t predominate in terms of the menu’s composition, it certainly informs it a smidgen. The specialty here is hot rocks – cook-it-yourself dinners comprising hunks of hissing meat on a molten slab. The pub’s interior is labyrinthine. It is riddled with nooks and crannies in which can be found hot rock-endowed diners browning meat with a captivated zeal. 

TRACTOR OF FACT

Upon being seated, we ordered a house white at £17.50 from the rather pricey wine list. It was decent, actually, and as dry as could be – ideal for quaffing in the not-unpleasantly smoky atmosphere. I went for the duck pate starter, which arrived in its own porcelain vessel, and was capped by offerings of fruit and chutney, alongside a heap of salad. I’ve never had blackberries dipped in pate before. It felt gluttonous. It felt wrong. But I couldn’t help shovelling them all down - whole, in the main. The pate itself was a touch on the runny side, but – thankfully – fiercely rich. Accompanying toasted brioche lent an almost sickly sweetness I hadn’t expected, contrasting nicely to the hearty pate. 

WHAT A DIFFERENCE PATE MAKES

My hot rock main arrived a short time later. One can choose from a dizzying array of game meats which, by and large, once roamed the grasslands of Southern Africa – Wildebeest, Springbok, Eland, and Impala. Surely David Attenborough would approve. On this occasion they had a selection of ‘guest’ meats on special – Argentinian horse being one example (a ridiculously cute equine quadruped), Alpaca another. 

ALPACA YOUR BAGS

I’ve never been that mad on the prospect of tucking into members of the camel family. They just don’t look that appetising. You’d think they’d be all sinewy, what with all the roaming across endless expanses of emptiness and the like. The alpaca’s no real exception. Our Lass owns a teddy bear made from Alpaca fiber. It is a soft as you like, and exudes a distinct, if rather questionable aroma. It’s had a stint of rotten luck in the shape of a feline nemesis that's rather partial to throttling the thing whilst simultaneously applying rapid, disembowelling strokes to its lower quarters. 

BETWEEN A ROCK AND A HOT PLATE

On this occasion, I decided to stick to more familiar territory. It was going to be the so called ‘Forrest Gump’ for me i.e. wild boar and fillet steak. (How this relates to the eponymous book/film is unclear.) The boar was akin to pork but gamier and, as I determined in the early hours of the next morning when gripped with gut-wrenching cramp, could probably have used some more cooking than the thirty-seconds-on-each-side that I allowed it. Accompanying fillet steak was exemplary, as thick as your wrist and exquisitely tender. Needless to say, it was barely shown to the hot rock. Brown on the outside, cold in the middle – that is what it’s all about. I’d probably have eaten it raw, if truth be known. 

A FRIGHTFUL BOAR

Various accouterments were served up with the meats: mushrooms, onions, some rather greasy home-fried chips, as well as the world’s most colossal onion ring, the latter surmounting the towering fillet that loomed from the hot rock as a monolith – as a trawler through fog, if we’re going to get all poetic about it. Our Lass went for a home-made pasta dish which she extolled as wondrous beyond belief. It featured in its midst several shell-on king prawns whose exoskeletons were swiftly and mercilessly pulverised by nimble, adroit digits. But, at £19, that dish was relatively steep. It might well be the most expensive pasta in living memory. 

TO THE MANNER PRAWN

Suffice to say, I was stuffed after putting all that away. I had, mid-course, deftly unfastened a trouser button so as to release the fleshy subsidence that near threatened to spill from my jeans. It was all getting too much. My eyelids started to grow heavy. I was feeling weary. It was time for a lie down, surely. And, as delicious as several of the desserts sounded, no way was I having one. 

Most pleasingly, I didn’t suffer the onset of a coronary embolism upon becoming acquainted with the tab. It stacked up to roughly £70 all in and, although some of the dishes were on the expensive side, the amount of scran that was forthcoming probably justified the brass I coughed up. Besides, if it’s good enough for Pete Waterman, who am I to argue? I’m sure some folk would consider themselves exceedingly lucky, lucky, lucky to find a quirky hostelry such as the Chetwode Arms on their doorsteps - in their imagination, there’d be no complication – they’d be chowing down there all the time.

Food: ✓✓✓✓

Service: ✓✓✓

Ambiance: ✓✓✓

Value: ✓✓

Website: http://www.chetwode-arms.co.uk
Phone number: 01925 730203

Tip: Hi Life Diner's Card accepted Mon-Thurs

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