...So Good Friday finally comes; the start of four free days that work cannot spoil. The weather can (curse the snow!!!) - but the office cannot. So it's off to the Food Festival at Bingley to pick up something good for dinner, then onto Haworth for a little lunch and a few beers.
Size Isn't Everything....
...But in the case of the Bingley Food Festival, it is. By the time we got there - about 11ish - the tent was rammed. And I mean rammed. I don't know wether Bingley Council (or whoever organised this event) seriously underestimated the pull of a food festival these days, or just ran out of space, but this was not a pleasant environment to browse round. However, the hungry and determined are a force to be reckoned with and we managed to grab some gems before our patience finally ran out.
We were pleased to see Salt's Deli running a stall - Salt's are a long-time fave of TGS, and thier fresh, crisp Ciabatta was just what we needed. We sampled one of their Chorizo Parcels, too, and a lovely little treat it was - crisp filo rolls, filled with chunks of piquant Chorizo, peppers and red onion. So simple, yet so delicious. Glad to see them doing a roaring trade.
The cheese stall provided a couple of coups, too - once we fought our way to the front. We picked up some amazing smoked goats cheese, along with a good chunk of one of our favourites, Manchego. After a quick stop at the veg stand to pick up some huge mushooms and some fresh spinach from H Baxter & Son of Preston, we made our getaway - but not before picking up a log each of black and white pudding from RS Ireland. I'm a stickler for blood sausage and Ireland's are fantastic.
An honourable mention goes to the man with no sign, selling homemade pies and pasties. His Scotch Eggs were, quite simply, a revelation, and will warrant their own post very soon....
Haworth
...After that frantic hour, some lunch and a couple of beers were definately needed. So on it was to Haworth - half an hour up the road from Bingley. We are overly familar with Haworth - my mother lives ten minutes away in Oakworth and we spend a lot of time there. So in the respect it's a failsafe, a no-brainer. You can always get a good pint there.
Is that you, Branwell?
First up, at the top of the main street, sits the famous Black Bull; reputedly haunted by Branwell Bronte, brother of the famous literary sisters whose image and story you can't escape in the village of their birth.
A large, stone-flagged pub, it can always be relied on for a decent sandwich and a pint. Deuchars IPA and Copper Dragon Golden Pippin seem to be the regulars and there is always a guest - this time, Osset's Fine Fettle, which I opted for. Crisp, dry and very hoppy with a familar floral aroma, Fine Fettle was a good call indeed and made light work of a Roast Beef and Horseradish Baguette. I like The Black Bull a lot; it's reliable, it's somewhere you know is going to have a good beer and a corner table waiting for you. My first pint of Moorhouse's Pendle Witch was drunk here, and that went on to become a firm favourite of mine.
The shot on the right shows the hand of a very contented man...and the reason
for that contented feeling!