What better place to go after two weeks on bread and water than one of the best food pubs you could find in the area?

The Boss has had bronchitis, quite laid her low for two weeks. "Like being kicked in the chest by a horse," she gasped, though that would have been bucking bronchitis.

Whilst still wheezing last Wednesday evening, it was more of a Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? cough than, say, an Emergency Ward 10 cough.

It was time for a pick-me-up, for something familiar and utterly dependable, the gastronomic equivalent of a gentle stroll through the grounds with a solicitous companion. We went to the Travellers Rest at Dalton.

North Yorkshire has several Daltons. This one's off the A66 west of Scotch Corner, south just past the Ravensworth roads and (as a medical bulletin might say) a definite turn for the better.

Though it was five years since we'd been, Anne Morillon remembered at once. "You've changed your face," she said, meaning the missing mutton chops, and also correctly recalled a fondness for real ale.

They haven't any, just Roughwith. In a lesser establishment it would have warranted a three-line sulk, in the Travellers we drank spring water.

"We're hoping to have real ale in the summer," said Anne.

Her own circumstances have changed, she and Francois having amicably split. That's their business, of course, but a pity to lose so ardent an Arsenal fan in an area which needs all the Gunners it can get. He now runs a restaurant in Skipton.

Anne was born in the Travellers when her parents owned it and folk from miles around went into raptures, quackers, about the duck. Her folks were back there last Wednesday, a happy family party after an afternoon at Catterick races.

None of the adults had won a sprout, one chap still carrying binoculars over his shoulder as if expecting his ill-starred nomination to gallop apologetically up the road at any minute.

One of the bairns, however, had been given £2 and told to ride his fancy. He made £20; beginner's luck.

It's a pretty enviable tree in which a family runs as good a food pub as the Travellers, though it should be admitted that the column's Aunty Peggy not only had a sweet shop opposite Darlington Civic Theatre - or Hippodrome as probably it was then - but became treasurer of the National Association of Retail Confectioners.

The goody bags were very good indeed. Oor Wullie eat your heart out.

The Travellers, it should be stressed, is more restaurant/pub than pub/restaurant, though drinkers are welcomed no less warmly. In winter there's an inferno among fires, last Wednesday there was no need, though candles added to the atmosphere.

Though Francois is gone, new chef Nick Copson retains a French accent and some familiar dishes, not least the duck in orange sauce.

The duck was perfect: crisply cooked without, succulent within, richly flavoured. The sauce was vivid, fruitful, bitter-sweet. They did it just the same 30 years ago, when probably it was a guinea fowl. Vegetables are fresh and firm, chips and red cabbage outstanding.

From a blackboard menu strong on fish we'd begun with an attractively presented crab, spring onion and gruyere tart with sun blushed tomatoes (never quite sure what the difference is) and a lovely lime sauce.

The Boss, two weeks on bread and water, ordered chilli fishcakes with more tomatoes and green beans ("delicious") followed by a voluptuously spicy fish stew with (she said) coriander and something.

Suddenly her appetite was restored, though she made a bit of a mess of it. "Don't worry," said the friendly waiter, "we don't wash our own tablecloths."

Puddings, always a strong point, included rhubarb parfait with lemon and ginger sauce, probably not out of the freezer long enough, and buoyant orange pancakes with a Grand Marnier sauce which she saw off in two minutes flat.

With coffee and petit fours, a couple of glasses of red wine and a big bottle of water the bill just reached £50. We coughed up very happily.

* The Travellers Rest, Dalton near Richmond (01833 621225). Open Monday to Saturday evenings and Saturday lunchtimes in summer. A couple of steps at the front.

Eighteen months ago we raised an eyebrow at the "Two for one" offer at the Gretna Green, on the A167 near Newton Aycliffe. Colin Grainger raises another.

Colin fancied the 16oz rump, ordered the steak and ale pie instead while his wife had the "smothered chicken".

"Sorry," they said, "no steak and ale pie".

"OK then, I'll have the 16oz rump."

"Sorry, we've no 16oz rump left, but you can have the 8oz."

"Well, in that case put me two eight ounce steaks on a plate, that's 16 ounces in anyone's maths class."

The waitress declined. "We've asked in the kitchen and they won't do it."

Another case of two into one won't go.

Lunch with George Reynolds, never a big eater, at the Fox and Hounds in Neasham, near Darlington. The waitress may never have had a bigger tip.

George, in good form, talked of his time in Walton Jail, Liverpool, endlessly painting lead figures of Robin Hood and his Merry Men.

"I always had to do Friar Tuck's bald spot," he insisted.

The pub's pleasantly by the Tees, making the most of its situation with big beer garden and popular conservatory.

The deep fried Thai vegetables were neither nowt nor summat, Thai my eye, the "zingebar pork" came with a splendidly vibrant orange and ginger sauce and good vegetables. Spitfire from Shepherd Neame on hand pump.

George enjoyed it no end, not least upon discovering that the landlord was a Darlington season ticket holder. "I've got some bad news for you," he said. "I'm coming here again."

The admirable Crown at Manfield, newly named Darlington CAMRA's country pub of the year, has its second beer festival over the bank holiday weekend - May 2-5 - with live music every night.

Landlord Peter Hinds has also asked that, should a photographer go to the CAMRA presentation, he turn up at 9pm. Last time they won it, the snapper knocked at 9am, when pub awards are not normally handed out.

Last week's column mused about the once famous fish shop opposite the County Hospital in Durham. Was it called Wainwright's? - "your memory serves you well," writes Rae Black - was it beloved of Harold Wilson on Miners' Gala weekends? Rae can't remember that bit.

He does, however, distinctly recall his first visit - March 30, 1964. "We'd just moved to Durham, having been married in The Smoke.

"The benches were very narrow, no more than six inches wide. We'd just perched when another couple came in behind us and there was a bit of a commotion. On looking round we discovered the young lady had gone A over T and landed on the floor, legs in air.

"When the meal arrived, no cutlery was fetched. On enquiring, we were grudgingly allowed a fork, but no knife. Folks kept 'borrowing' them, they said. The fish and chips were excellent, though."

...and finally, the bairns wondered if we knew what kind of thief steals meat.

A hamburglar, of course.

Published: 29/04/2003