Places to sit #1

Places to sit.

Alone or grouped. 

With food, drink, paper or book.

This isle is filled with places to park and think. Or to revel in life amongst those you care about.

Those glorious continental Europeans, trying to civilise us, with their café culture, elegant small drinks and chic cashmere. 

The problem is, what works in Paris, doesn’t for some reason in Port Talbot. 

Also, whilst we like a bit of it, we also have our own café culture.

Sitting in the right spot in a good restaurant or pub is our own high art. Our playing field of mischief and conversation.

Sometimes on the rare occasion stood outside leaning against window ledge, balanced drink, holding court, but right now it’s January. 

So usually inside. That said, I guess everyone knows you should always sit inside at Café de Flore right?

So in an addition to scheduled programming – don’t worry back to clothes and stuff next week - I thought a semi regular, every now and then, as the mood takes me ode to the places that enrich the soul through time spent. 

I was thinking this as driving into Liverpool, months ago early autumn, following a Yorkshire wedding and some work up North.

Intended on paper as a journey break on way home.

A city filled with great pubs, bars to while away the hours.

A city with great personal significance.

I went to University in Liverpool, read history at University of, and if I hadn’t have spent so little time reading and studying, preferring to work in clothes shops, well I’d probably be doing something else.

Like a ‘proper’ job.

This was my first time back in years, and the first when I didn’t have somewhere to be. 

So I parked the truck and dropped the bags.

Ready for a couple of days of walking about, 

And eating. 

And sitting. Watching.

Exciting. 

Of course, it depends what is in front. What’s the view, is the scene any good, do the actors play their parts perfectly? The scran decent? Bevvy’s alrite?

When I lived in Liverpool, I was too busy having a good time to notice the food culture, the pubs and clubs were great and nights ended up in Chinatown, or at a variety of takeaways in town, at home I lived with 7 other lads, with facilities, charitably described as basic. 

That said, as an under studying but fully employed student, I had money in my pocket, money that could have been spent in restaurants, but went on records, clothes and stuff.

In fact I racked my brain and I couldn’t really remember anywhere that was great to go to eat.

Times have changed though. 

Before we get to the food, that element of party is important. Because Liverpool is convivial. It’s in ever pore, whether in shot glasses poured at 3am or the first sip of that quiet “ah I’ll just have the one” pint, destined to be more. 

It’s not raucous, nor cliché, just a sense of having as good a time as possible. A value for money thing, a sense that you should arrive home and think you’d not been short changed. 

Amongst the highlights, including time spent being dead euro sat on Hope Street outside Papillion, surveying the scene, watching footballers park cars and the sun creak over cathedrals, was Sunday Lunch at Gary Usher’s Wreckfish, which is quite simply, a welcoming restaurant with great staff and buzzing atmosphere which serves very good bistro food. 

And all at a fair price. 

Precisely the sort of place that every town up and down the land ought to have. 

If I lived in Liverpool, I’d eat there every week. Sat in the same spot, looking up at where Slater meets Seel and past O’Briens with the Anglican Cathedral looming on the hill. 

Then there was dinner at Pilgrim.

Before you think it, Pilgrim was featured on the BBC’s Million Pound Menu, like many, I had watched the show with interest as the London based prospective restaurateurs secured funding with a catch. The restaurant and support they wanted but, in Liverpool.

Pilgrim has a premise, or more rightly an inspiration, the walk taken to the tomb of St James in Santiago de Compostela.

Restaurants with a story are normally to be avoided. 

Restaurants with a story in a city which cuts through bullshit for a living. You tell me. 

Pilgrim struck me though as an intelligent way of presenting what could perhaps be viewed as small plates of Spanish food, but is definitely not tapas. 

Situated upstairs and at the back of Duke Street food market, I was curious to see how that vision had been interpreted, whether it had been ‘dirtied’ up or dumbed down.

The food, was great, in particular their brilliant, inventive and thankfully delicious interpretation of a St James’ tart.

All good. Food alone a must if already in town.

But, why do I think you should make the effort and travel to go? 

Well firstly fantastic service, if I ever open a restaurant, our waitress that evening would be my first hire. 

The atmosphere is lively, warm, Liverpudlian. The larger hall compliments, pushing sound up, but allowing the space to feel intimate, a place to lean in and talk.

And because if you can get a seat at the small bar overlooking the kitchen, it’s priceless. 

Sat, with tile topped bar in front, you look directly into the kitchen from action height. As head chef Dave Bone and his team create.

The space is tight, a galley kitchen with charcoal grill in one corner, prep at front and stoves behind. 

Watching the concentration, the passion and the skill is hypnotic, all as the heat comes in waves and plate after plate is prepped, cooked and then placed in front of you. 

You can see why it’s addictive, as the brigade moves, breathes, jokes and smiles as one.