Creloe's, 119th Street, New York

Duke Ellington often urged us to "Take the A Train to Harlem". One of our readers kindly invited us to do this and endeavour to partake of a ploughman's lunch. Not perhaps considering fully the time difference they invited us to do so rather late in the day. Nonetheless we did "Take the 6 Express Train to Pelham Bay Park" and alighted at Spanish Harlem. A most enjoyable stroll past a number of discount carpet warehouses brought us to Creole's Music and Supper Club.

We had the Haitian chicken stew with black beans and coconut rice accompanied by a Red Stripe lager. The stew was perfectly cooked with the meat coming easily away from the bone. The coconut rice was perhaps a little too delicate but the black beans more than made up for this.

Clearly we completely failed to find a ploughman's lunch but the ambience of the establishment was relaxed and welcoming. The balance between the quality of the music and the quality of the food was perfect. We would be very pleased to find an establishment of this quality on this side of the Atlantic.

Mood: Autumnal Greens and Oranges

Experience: Spherical

Cosi Sandwich, 3rd Avenue, New York



Angouleme is a town in South-Western France famous for it's paper making. Amsterdam is a city that grew up around a bridge over the river Amstel. York is a walled city at the confluence of the rivers Ouse and Foss. The natural harbour at the mouth of the Hudson River has been called New Angouleme and then New Amsterdam. By the time we came to visit it had come to be known as New York.

We found midtown 3rd Avenue to be an area primarily inhabited by office blocks consisting of miles and miles of corridors of brown hessian wall weave finally terminating in locked restrooms, a phenomenon that we found anything but restful. Having escaped from a particularly traumatic instance of this early one morning we took refuge in Mr Cosi's sandwich emporium.

We had the garden pesto croissant with a chai tea latte. The croissant was refreshingly crisp as they had refrained from excessive butter usage in its construction. The pesto rather lacked bite and we failed to understand in what way the dish was garden themed. The beverage was sufficiently spicy and served the purpose. The staff, like many New Yorkers were friendly and considerate.

Mood: Brown Hessian

Experience: Crescent-shaped

The Old Thameside Inn, Clink Street, Southwark

The Cathedral of Saint Saviour and Saint Mary Overie lies on the south bank of the river Thames just a stone's throw from the Livery Hall of the Worshipful Company of Painters of Glass; though of course we would strongly recommend against throwing even pebbles in either establishment. As most of my readers will readily appreciated the sight of a church tower hoving into view brings a warm glow to our heart, primarily because a public house is almost sure to be found nearby.

Although our great-grandfather sang in the choir at the cathedral, it was actually to see our maternal half-first-cousin once removed that we attended the nearby Thamesside inn. Due to punctuality issues on our cousin's side the clock stood at ten-to-three before we entered the establishment and it was packed to the gills with lunchers. Fortunately the good Lord parted the crowds and a sunbeam shone directly to a vacant table in the corner. Regretably having secured the table we did find it to be somewhat subject to gale-force winds whenever the adjacent door was opened. Nonetheless we set ourselves to the matter at hand.

We had the minature pie selection. This consisted of a Cornish pasty, a steak and ale pie, a chicken and mushroom pie and a cauliflower cheese crumble. There was significant, some might even say excessive, ballast of roast potatoes. A mass produced but effective brown sauce accompanied a suitable gravy. The pastry was baked within acceptable parameters. This meal was perfectly good as far as it went but we would have been entirely receptive to some vegetable-orientated content.

Cousin has some girlie repast which shall not trouble us here. Cousin's gentleman companion took a manly ploughman's. The keen observer will notice that in outline this exhibit of the-meal-of-the-gods superficially resembles that presented at The White Horse some weeks earlier. However, there the comparison ends. In The Thameside Inn the pie had a perky wholesome tan, the cheese selection was good and the foliage was diverse in it's colouring.

Mood: vibrant pinks and purples

Experience: an eliptic spiral

Heinz Ploughman's Pickle: A Test Drive

In 1826 James Sharp purchased 200 acres of land that he found especially beautiful in order to build a log cabin for his wife there. The place came to be known as Sharpsburg and in 1869 the H.J. Heinz Company was founded there. Their first product was a horesradish condiment. By 1892 they had more than sixty products; however, as the number 5 had special significance to Henry John Heinz and 7 had special significance to his wife, the firm started using the slogan "57 varieties".

We recently took their "Ploughman's Pickle" for a test drive through a series of narrow country vegetables with some exhilirating stretches of muffin. Finally to fully assess it's performance we tried it out on a handraised pork pie and a slice of mozarella.

The handling was very responsive despite the pickle being mass-produced. The flavour did perhaps lack the oomph of more high-performance pickles but that is reflected in the price tag.

Finally a number of our readers have asked us to give a rating the various produce we review in this pages. We wouldn't wanted to lower ourselves to the vulgarity of a simple linear 1 to 10 scale but in order to assist our readers we will be asigning a shape to give a sense of how we perceived the experience. In order to help our readers benchmark this accurately we will also give a colour to indicate our mood at the time. We always welcome these interesting pieces of feedback from readers.

Mood: Sea mist billowing to autumunal greens and oranges.

Experience: Rhombus with a slightly drooping point.

The White Horse, Newburgh Street, Soho

The White Horse is a musical about the head waiter of an Austrain inn who falls hoplelessly in love with it's owner. The pictuesque specimen of the public house bearing this name down a little cobbled lane a stone's throw from lively Carnaby Street is one that any man would easily fall in love with. I must confess after dining over a hearty toad-in-the-hole at the establishment I did indeed fall in love with.

I returned one luncheon for a more bread, cheese and pickle orientated tryst. Unfortunately it all started to go wrong even as my luncheon companion and I nestled down in it's embracing dark wood pannelled depths on a particularly sunny day. The barmaid despite being possessed of an appropriately ample bosom seemed to harbour some kind of deep-seated hatred of all other members of her fair sex. My companion was rightly peeved at this.

When our order had finally been lodged with the kitchens a runner was immediately dispatched bearing the ill tidings that there remained no Stilton on the premises. Rather than throwing up my arms in horror I jovially invited them to marry the Cheddar with any other cheese of their choosing. My surprise at being told that there was no non-Cheddar cheese to be had was such that my eyebrows were able to remove several cobwebs from the ceiling; thankfully my upper lip remained entirely motionless.

The repast being delivered in due course, we found that there was adequate if monotonic cheese.Bread-to-butter ratio was within acceptable tolerances; apple presentation had a pleasing simplicity that is becoming fashionable nowadays. Unfortunately the pie had an anameic pallor that was genuinely frightened; we can only speculate that this was some manner of spectral haunting that one would usually delight in at such a pleasantly aged building.

The King's Head, High Beach

On the 5th November 1815 the Treaty of Paris made the Ionian islands into The United States of the Ionian Islands and place them under British protection. As part of the spiritual preparation for our sojourn to the Ionian Islands we undertook an excursion through that part of our green and pleasant British Isles that lies between Buckhurst Hill, Chingford, High Beach and Loughton.

After a hard afternoon trekking through Epping Forest on a surprisingly warm May's day the King's Head made a most refreshing sight. Following appropriate rehydration we ordered the cheese board pictured above and fearing that the repast might not be hearty enough on it's own we augmented it with a bowl of chipped potatoes.

As you know we are always delighted to see food served on a chopping board. The bread-to-better ratio was entirely correct if one only includes bread in its strictest sense, however, some would argue that crackers should also figure in the calculation. The cheeses range was more than sufficient if one classifies the dish as a ploughman's; as indeed was the choice of pickles. The foliage was essentially decorative but in that sense one should perhaps say that the meal did what it said on the tin.

The Great Bake Off, Hedge Fund Towers, Soho

Sugar is the crystallised juice of the Saccharum officinarum and S. edule plants. It has been cultivated in India since ancient times but the process first became industrialised during the Arab Agricultural Revolution from the 8th century onwards. In the 12th century William of Tyre wrote that sugar is "very necessary for the use and health of mankind". We would very much dispute this pointing to sugar's role in the Atlantic slave trade and more recently increased levels of obesity in the Western world

That aside when we were invited to participate in a baking competition images of sponge cakes emerging from ovens in Ye Olde Merrie Englande filled our mind. We aligned ourselves with a group of partisans coming in from the South East of the city attempting to bring down the system from within using the techniques of low-sugar baking. These advocate using sugar as little as chemistry allows, combined with as much use of home-grown produce as possible. The group submitted a chocolate and home-grown pear cake, a victoria sponge cake and a lemon drizzle cake. The judges gave the mantle of victory to a carrot cake whose wholesomeness none could question and, in second place, a rival victoria sponge. Nonetheless we are not bitter...

What has all this to do with the hearty ploughman's you may ask? In fact very little other than that this contest to place at the time when the rustic gentleman would set plough aside for his hunk of bread, cheese and condimentary items. Indeed, we would not have troubled you with it but for the demands from our readers for commentary on this event.