England is dotted with Cathedral Cities, many of which have escaped the ravages of the 20th century by keeping the motorways at bay. Towns like Salisbury, Winchester, Ely, Chichester, Canterbury and Hereford have never become large industrial centres, but remained as market towns serving a rural catchment. Even in towns like Peterborough, where the stores in the High Street all look the same as in every other English town, (why so many shoe shops?) the Cathedral Close offers a refuge from the hard sell.
Because of his disability, our son Dan can be a bit of a handful when eating out, so we avoid cozy, romantic restaurants where we might upset "the straights" (normal people). Cathedral refectories usually offer a tolerant atmosphere, a pleasant but amateur service (a lot of the staff are volunteers) and good value for money.
The exception to the rule seems to be Bury St Edmunds. It's a pretty town with a market, ruins, a fine cathedral and gardens, a brewery and the smallest pub in England. We looked forward to a cheap meal in pleasant surroundings, but our hopes were dashed as soon as we went to the counter. The service was slow and sullen, so we put off our food order and just bought drinks and a sandwich for Dan. Then we were informed that they only take cash (a situation you only find at fairgrounds and village fetes in the UK these days). The cups were dirty and the prices were higher than in the town.
A very pretty girl was clearing tables and I tried my best to catch her attention, but she was just as darkly and unattractively sullen as Mrs Grumpy at the till. Perhaps the older women beat her and kept her in a cupboard at night? Who could blame them?
Hanna popped into the market square to get cash and came back with Cornish Pasties from a cafe for us to eat. They weren't great but they were hot and cheap. Then, while we were finally settled in to eat, the man came to empty the portable toilets. Phoo er! One o'clock on the dot: Perfect timing!
I gave the place one more chance and went back to the counter to get a coffee. Mrs Grumpy was still at the till but that was expected. This time I was behind a lady who took five whole minutes to choose between the only two wrapped sandwiches on display. Then she moved on to cakes where the choice expanded to at least four varieties. I could stand no more.
By all means go to Bury St Edmunds (he's been dead for centuries) and do visit the Cathedral, but don't eat there, go to Harriet's Cafe, and say we sent you.
No comments:
Post a Comment