Sandwiches and Bikes

A couple of weeks ago we ate a beautiful sandwich in a Costa Coffee at a service station on the M23. Good granary bread, spread with butter, filled with crayfish, rocket and mayonnaise.It cost about four pounds. It was delicious.

Yesterday we chose to cycle to a country pub for a sandwich lunch. What a strenuous bike ride that turned out to be. Even with my fully charged battery giving me pedalling power up the hills, my legs were aching within the first mile - and we had six more miles to cycle before we got there. The hills were so steep, the lanes so narrow, cars and tractors nudging my backside to get out of the way. The hedgerows are overgrown and I had to hug so close to them as cars passed me that if I hadn't been wearing sunglasses the thorns could have damaged my eyes.

The pub was another twee place. Nicotine coated Toby jugs on shelves, a scabby, overweight pub dog snuffling around the tables for dropped food; the resident elderly local hugging the prime seat at the bar; jovial tapster giving me a knife and fork to eat my prawn sandwich, with the words,

'You'll need these utensils for our sandwiches luv!'

I do not need a knife and fork to eat yet another bog standard brown sliced supermarket loaf of bread sandwich! I do not need a knife and fork to spear limp shreds of raddichio leaves served as garnish! Does anyone ever eat those bitter leaves? Crisps! If I'd wanted a packet of crisps I'd have ordered them. Margarine! Lost for words now. The only good point was it 'only' cost four pounds.

I've grown out of these idylic country pubs that sell rubbish food; that think a jacket potato with tuna is innovative. I shall stick to high street wine bars, bistros and cafe-bars that serve punchy, imaginative, fresh food at a value for money price.