Smoke me a Kipper

"Felt like I had walked into a Michelin starred restaurant, ordered steak tartare and been handed an uncooked McDonalds quarterpounder. Did not feel good..."

I have learnt something this week, or rather, re-learnt. Not to judge a book by its cover. Got to give it a good going over before deciding how good or bad it is. Give it a chance to shine before putting it away forever. If you are wondering what on earth I am going on about, allow me to explain. 

Went for a ride on my big, red motorbike recently. Couldn’t resist. The air was crisp, the sky was clear and the light was bright enough to polish a badger. (New phrase, just made it up. You’re welcome.) On top of all that goodness, no rain was due for hours. Seemed like an opportunity too joyous to miss. 

So, got all dressed up in my very best fairweather biker gear and pootled down to see an old mate who has just moved to Wells. A picturesque little market town in the heart of Somerset. Expect you know it, or at least, what it looks like. Has served as a backdrop for a whole host of films. Most notably, Hot Fuzz, and some of the Harry Potters.

After meeting my mate, taking a tour of his new house, enjoying a welcome mug of tea, was time to explore. So we went for a stroll round town. Though, as my mate pointed out, since there was an enormous great cathedral looming up overhead, wasn’t so much a trip around town, as a stroll around the city. Sigh. 

Either way, didn’t take long for us to get peckish. Since we had missed out on breakfast, we decided to upgrade elevenses to brunch. Which meant we needed somewhere properly snackish. Now, don’t know about you, dear reader, but when I visit a new place, one of the first things to do, is find a nice little cafe. The sort of cosy, comfy place that gives off good vibes, does good food and welcomes you in with open arms. Making you feel right at home. 

I’m not just talking here about places close to home, either. I’m talking about any globetrotting adventures. Have noticed wherever you may wander on this great big gorgeous globe of ours, one of the essential ingredients of any bucket list, is a coffee shop that does the job. 

From cafes in China, that actually served far better jasmine tea than coffee, to a bookshop in Uzbekistan that did a mighty fine line in cosy armchairs, one thing I’ve learnt, is that you can’t beat a good cafe. Of course, when travelling, you have to be prepared for surprises along the way. 

Which brings me neatly back to Wells. My mate has similar views on the charms of cafes, so when we both got all toothsome and nibble ready, he led us straight to a fine establishment, hidden away at the back of a quiet courtyard. Looked great from the outside and did not disappoint on the inside. Was a treat for all the snackish senses. Was also pleasantly full of folk munching away happily. The energy in the place was pleasing too, which is another big tick. Do like a bit of upbeat ambience. And this place had it in bucket loads. With interior design details that worked really well. One of my faves being an old pushbike hanging on the wall, with the wheels forming the internal half of the word, “food.” Most marvellous.

Anyway, long story short, the place looked amazing, the staff were superb and the menu had smoked kippers on it. Not going to lie, I have a thing for kippers. I mean, a real thing. For real kippers. They are my own personal catnip. When they appear on a menu, it is lust at first sight for yours truly. So reader, I ordered some. What else was I supposed to do? 

But here’s the kicker, when they arrived on a plate, beautifully garnished with pesto, kale chips and burnt lemon rind sprinkles, my heart sank like a stone. For they weren’t real at all, they were those dreadful, “boil in the bag,” imitation kippers. Sigh. Most irksome.

Felt like I had walked into a Michelin starred restaurant, ordered steak tartare and been handed an uncooked McDonalds quarterpounder. Did not feel good. I judged that book cover and was not impressed.

However, upon picking up knife and fork, taking a couple of tentative bites, turned out all that garnish handiwork had done a fine job, made me forget all the sadness of boil in the bag badness. In truth, despite first appearances, turned out to be a mighty fine dish of kippery goodness.

So there, note to self. No more judging a book, or kipper, by it’s cover. Or bag boiled pedigree.

Until next time, all the best

Stan