Category: m-m-m-meaty

Avatar The Shoe and the Bin

Welcome to the Shoe and the Bin, Carnforth’s leading example of prime pub bistro patisserie and winner of four ‘Confusing pub but great grub’ awards since 2015.

We pride ourselves on the concoction of food available from our three leading chefs participating in everything from Chinese to Thai to Brazilian and traditional English fare. If you’re after something in particular we can guarantee that we will have cooked it at least once in our 35 years of trading.

With the Christmas period approaching, it would be best to book a table now, even if you don’t need it. We get fully booked within a few hours of December and we would hate for you to miss out on all the fun. Chef Boswick is cooking up a storm with his mango and hazelnut chutney stuffing balls and chef Annalise can’t wait for you to try her steaming mincemeat gravy cake trays.

This is but a small sample menu of the delights that you can expect to see over the festive period, subject to availability and whether or not we can be bothered to dust off the extra kitchen equipment required to make it.

December Menu

Starters

  • Home cured tin roof salmon, horseradish cauliflower umbrellas, picked Gorbachev, snout oil (GF)
  • Mixed balcony terrine, feta mousse sharks, disgusting leek with a fresh jus (V, GF?)
  • Smoked bollok baraccas, sauce uncommon gribble, apple underarm spin, sourdough shat (DF)
  • Cajun pork snubbles, caramelised orange dandruff, picked mooli, fractured booli (GF, possibly DF)
  • Singing mackerel herblets, bromance potato salad, “laughing” croutons, citrus gel, Tale of Two Cities
  • Seasonal salad, seasonal purée, seasonable backwash, seasonal roasted barley with a seasonal fresh jus (VG, yes, very good)

Mains

  • Acrid cod, saffron undercarriage, stained broccoli, split butter opera fund (GF…)
  • Hasty beef feather blade, caramelised fondant jacket, mash ‘n’ a half, wander carrot, criminal leek, red wine jus (GF?)
  • Ravished sea bream, blimey purée, dilapidated Jersey royals, curious tenderstem with nutty forecast fennel slaw
  • Tempura eagle tofu, distinct absence of potato, pak choi, pineapple choi, Chris Choi, waffle and spring onion salsa
  • “Bing Bling” chicken breast, telephone purée, hot potato mingers, creamed dialect, with a fresh jus (GF!)
  • Paranoid risotto, herb space, toucan cheese (V)

Desserts

  • Unruly salted caramel chocolate and leisure centre tart, mango flange
  • Brigadier red wine poached pear, flaked docile crumb, arresting cream, taxi home (GF)
  • Angry lemon posset, chuckle crumbles, raspberry mullet
  • Mincemeat gravy cake tray, meringue parapets, upskill crust, shot of Pepto-Bismol
  • Chocolate mousse, tear-stained cinnamon dome, passionfruit bookmark with a banana bichon frise sauce
  • Vanilla crème brûlée, black olive amaretto, with a daunting fresh jus (GF)

The Shoe and the Bin: come for the food, stay for the food.

Avatar Greasy spoon restaurant review

This weekend, we decided to finally visit Café Zeynep, five minutes away from home, that has been open for a year without us even looking inside. It’s the latest creation from daring café owner Zeynep, who has been frying pork products and cooking eggs five different ways for twenty years in other nearby parts of Hampshire; now her extraordinary vision has been set free in this bold new cafeteria experience. From the moment we stepped inside, the all-Turkish staff and fully brown leather furniture set the perfect tone for a memorable fry-up.

Since it was breakfast time, we both opted for breakfast. I chose Zeynep’s Big Breakfast, while my partner went for the Mediterranean Breakfast. The Big Breakfast had local butcher’s sausages infused with well-seasoned porky notes that elevated each bite. The hash browns had real crunch while the egg yolks were runny. It was clear that the chef had taken care to source high-quality beans. My partner’s fried halloumi was perfectly cooked, a delightful contrast to the spicy Turkish sausage. The accompanying toast added a refreshing crunch that brightened the dish.

To drink, I selected the White Americano, while my partner indulged in the Mars milkshake. The coffee was a revelation — smooth and well-rounded, it was served in a mug of plain brown ceramic and garnished with semi-skimmed milk. The flavours melded beautifully, with bitter Arabica bringing out the sweetness of the thick-cut bacon as I swilled down my fried feast. My partner’s shake was equally impressive, sweet but not overpowering; we suspect the Snickers milkshake would offer a more rounded palate.

Throughout our meal, the service was attentive without being intrusive. Our server was knowledgeable about the menu and offered great recommendations for wine pairings, which we ignored because we were having breakfast.

Overall, Café Zeynep exceeded our expectations. The atmosphere, impeccable service, and feeling of extraordinary fullness stayed with us for the rest of the day. It’s basically next door and we’ve never been. We are idiots for not trying it sooner. Next time I’m going to have a go on their brunch menu.

★★★★☆

Avatar Why not indeed?

Well, let me tell you. What you’re really asking there is three questions. Firstly, why don’t I use trains more? Secondly, why didn’t you ask me sooner? Thirdly, what kind of lunch is the best lunch?

I only wish that I could use the train more because it provided fast and easy travel when I was mooching about in my 20s and 30s, especially when Reuben and I had the benefit of the family railcard. I’m currently trying to buy train tickets to London for a gig in November and they’re still not available when usually they’re released some months in advance. This doesn’t feel like they’re taking my mini-break very seriously and I for one will be sure to ram it up their junction should I get the chance!

You should have asked me sooner. I am always considering going to Leeds and very rarely get the chance to do so. Oh, you know what it’s like. Things get in the way and before you know it, there’s weeds to be plucked, cobwebs to be dusted or shopping to be done. Last night I insisted on putting time aside to press my trousers yet after doing the washing up, cleaning the kitchen and going out for a three mile run, it was after 11pm and there’s no chance of me using anything where there’s a risk of scalding myself when the light isn’t great and I have work in the morning. It’s just not happening.

The best kind of lunch is a hot lunch, one that’s dispensed from a lunch hatch with lots of meat and potatoes. They come in all different kinds these days. When I were a lad, you only got three kinds of meat: turkey (at Christmas), chicken (usually from the freezer, have you ever sucked a chicken?) and ham (full of water and slimy like a frog). All of this lamb ostrich alligator kangaroo burger nonsense is miles away from what I would consider to be a decent meal. If you can’t get a video… wait, that’s wrong. If you can’t get a hot lunch, a sandwich is a perfectly acceptable alternative providing you also have a bag of crisps and a drink to go along with it, and something sweet for afterwards. It seems as though most meal “deals” these days (if you can call them that) aren’t deals because for more money they give you less food and I’m not happy about that.

You meant Leeds Castle, right?

(Ian practising at being a rambling old codger).

Avatar Time to shape up or ship out

Do you have poorly-raised pork? Are you in receipt of rude chops or maladjusted mince? Are you berated by bad bacon and lazy lamb cutlets? What you need is the best in the business to teach them a lesson they’ll never forget.

Manners for Meat will take your ill-educated meat products and transform them into something you can show to mother and father at the next boating ceremony.

Leave your meat with us and we will put them through an intense yet fair training regime to whip them into shape.

No more crossed words. No more mumbling under their breath. No more ill-advised comments during luncheons and dinner parties. No slouching, no passing wind, no loud burps the likes of which could shake the top of Ben Nevis and drip snow on all the surrounding villages.

Manners maketh the man but they also maketh the meat.

Give us two weeks and we will put them through their paces and leave a lasting effect that will be seen for generations to come (or until your next Sunday dinner).

Come for the manners, stay for the meat.

Avatar Take a trip with me

The last two years have meant that most people haven’t been away on a proper holiday, myself included. Not that I really wanted to go anywhere. Can you see me in a pair of shorts sat on the Bermuda Triangle trying to buy a croissant? No, exactly, it’s not my style. Even so, it would be nice for a change of scenery.

So what do you do when things aren’t going right? Making your way in the world today takes everything you’ve got and taking a break from all your worries sure would help a lot. Wouldn’t you like to get away? Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name to Delicious City.

Mmmmmm, taste it!

Situated in close proximity to my office, many a time have I walked past and pondered the delights of Delicious City. I’ve been to cities before but never anywhere delicious. I expect I’d walk in and there would be people taking huge chunks out of a skyscraper made of ham, punters stood waiting for a bus and then when it arrives they punch out the windows and suck them like lollipops, and drunken bystanders hanging around in parks for the champagne fountains.

Willy Wonker’s Chocolate Factory has got nothing over Delicious City.

So why haven’t I been already? I’m worried that I would never escape. You know me and food; once I’m in, I’m gone. Surrounded by an entire city made of food would only compound matters even further and you’d never hear from me again. I’d be riding a cloud made of candy floss and chasing cats made of Oreos (because the animals, for some reason, are also delicious).

Now I’m falsifying a form so I can get into the RSPCA and eat all the animals in there. I’m also drop-kicking a watermelon into a taxi’s windshield so I can steal the marzipan from it’s back wheels. Now I’m scooping the bacon from the washing lines of my neighbour’s gardens, pushing them into a sandwich that’s thicker than my neck and breaking into the museum on the corner in the hope that they’ve got some brown sauce for this bad boy.

Oh dear Lord, what is wrong with me? I punched an old lady in the face so I could use her mobility scooter to get into the gym and taste the swimming towels (they have the best and keep them for themselves like a bunch of grumbo grumps). I ordered pancakes at the café then refused to eat them because I filled up on bread napkins before they arrived. I think I ate my boss’ shoes due to them smelling like fresh pizza.

As you can see, I can’t have anything nice and my excursion to Delicious City, or any city in fact, has been delayed indefinitely.