ONCE there was a chap in London called Mr Zebedee, obliged to go ex-directory after countless callers simply said "Boyng" - or possibly "Time for bed", though in a strictly non-sexual manner - and summarily replaced the receiver.

Anyone who has ever climbed aboard The Magic Roundabout will understand the method behind the mischief.

It is entirely irrelevant, of course, except by circuitous way of suggesting that commercial operations wishing to draw attention to themselves usually begin at the start of the alphabet - and the telephone directory - rather than at the end of it.

The race to be first in the book, generally involving taxi companies, is presently led by an operation in Bishop Auckland called 1 Aabat, the effect somewhat mitigated because there is no indication of the sort of business 1 Aabat is about.

It could even be a phonetic representation of a Geordie cricket captain. "1 aabat or 1 aabool?"

Zest, at any rate, would be listed shortly after Zebedee - were he not ex-directory - and is a restaurant in Corporation Road, Middlesbrough, just past the capricious crown courts.

"We chose the name because it's because it's new, fresh and vibrant," explains chef/patron Gus Rowcroft and so, happily, it proves.

Gus has been around a bit, cooked at Terry Laybourne's celebrated "21" quartet, moved up one to 22 Coniscliffe Road in Darlington, opened the Zest "eaterie" last October and hopes to develop more throughout the region.

"There's no reason why you can't do very good food at value for money prices," he insists.

Simple as ABC, perhaps.

We lunched there with Mr Jeff Winter, Premiership football referee and man about Middlesbrough, from a menu less expensive than the evening job but inviting, nonetheless.

Mr Winter even showed how greatly top referees have mastered the art of speaking into a mobile phone, accessing an electronic organiser and eating fettuccine (and chips) simultaneously. In the opposite corner, we were being eaten by a plant.

The setting is pleasantly modern, the service friendly and informal. The Zest newsletter already claims a "portfolio of accolades", though they appear not to extend beyond an award from the environmental health department and a decent write up in a local style magazine. Here's another, anyway.

The panzanella - "Tuscan bread and vegetable salad" - was light, unusual and well dressed; Jeff's hot potato cake with smoked salmon and horse radish creme fraiche was reckoned delicious.

He followed with the fettuccine with prawns, tomatoes and olives - the chips were an afterthought, and were very tasty - we with fishcakes, butter spinach and chips.

In truth they were hardly fishcakes at all, more like three scotch egg-shaped objects reminiscent of the golf balls which once bestrode Fylingdales Moor. He could hardly call them fish balls, of course.

Other lunchtime main courses, all around £6.50, might have been spiced sole tempura with soft noodles, chilli, wasabi and soy sauce; flame-grilled lemon chicken with Caesar salad or chargrilled vegetables with couscous and spiced squash.

The lime and coconut parfait with seasonal fruit coulis was terrific - zingy, as they might say at the end of the alphabet - and the ref equally appreciated his hot chocolate fudge cake and ice cream. "I bet you put that in the paper," he said.

He only drank orange juice and soda, though - £2.60 a pint, utterly outrageous - whilst we had a couple of Cokes at £1.30 for each waisted bottle.

Thus inflated, the bill reached £39 with coffee - a restaurant, for all that, to be relished.

WHILST staying several years ago in Bamburgh Castle - the regal real thing, though there is a pub in South Shields of the same name - we chanced upon Pinnacles fish and chip shop, down the sandy coast in Seahouses.

They were sensational, orgasmic, the finest in history. The temptation to have fish and chips three times a day over a long and languorous weekend was resisted only because a) they weren't open at breakfast time and b) because there are killjoys and medical people who reckon you can have too much of a good thing.

The castle quarters were rented by the lofty Mr Garry Gibson, then chairman of Hartlepool United FC. Two Saturdays ago we were again up that way to interview Lord Walton of Detchant, formerly John Walton from Spennymoor.

Though Garry lived like a lord, Lord Walton - one of the world's leading neurologists - occupied The Old Piggery. Mind, that was canny, too.

From the garden he can see Holy Island, by standing on the chimney with a pair of binoculars he can probably see Pinnacles fish and chip emporium, 100 yards up from the harbour.

Ignoring what they say about never going back, we went - but first a livener in the Old Ship, long beloved of the Good Pub Guide, awash with nautical nick-nacks and with pictures of mariners ancient and modern.

"Please note," says a notice outside, "we do not sell cod and chips."

They do sell five or six well-kept real ales, offer set dinner for £17.50, crab soup for £2.70.

The problem, the double jeopardy that afflicts Zest Eaterie and thousands of other places, was that a pint of Ruddles County and a small orange and soda were £4.10 - the latter priced as two drinks. You could almost hear the orange pips squeak.

Pinnacles, too, had slipped from its zenith. It was perfectly good, understand, but where the fish previously so plump and so fresh that it might have skipped up the slipway crying "Eat me"? Where the batter so light and golden that Neptune himself might have come up with the recipe? Where the chips - no, no, the chips were as good as ever. In the window were two enthusiastic newspaper cuttings, both from around 1989 when fish and chips were £1.50. They're now £2.75. Never go back.

LAST week's column enthused greatly about the home made "light lunches" at Ireshopeburn Literary Institute - top end of Weardale - served in conjunction with a series of craft exhibitions.

Three days before the column appeared, but a week after we'd been to Ireshopeburn, a letter arrived from Keith Readman, a retired detective superintendent in Durham constabulary.

Keith, perchance, had also been up there, though "light lunches" had become afternoon teas. "Excellent food at very reasonable prices," he wrote. "Good crack, friendly service and no extra charge for the smile."

By "reasonable", he means that they almost give it away. The "basket-making and blacksmith" exhibition continues until Friday, Frosterley Art Group are there for a week from August 18 and the Gillender Gallery photographic exhibition runs for the week up to August 31. Now Keith Readman's on the case, you can take it from us both.

AN e-mail also from Harry Manuel in Hexham, who'd been charged £1.90 for a mug of tea at an M6 service station - "one of the monstrosities of the motorway" - and a few days later found himself at the Chuck Wagon, a lay-by caravan off the A66 between Darlington and Stockton.

A big breakfast - "two eggs and everything you could name to go with it, beautifully cooked" - cost just £3, including tea. "It's got to be the best value in the country; you should go," says Harry.

We went in July 1999, wrote of coffee from mugs marked "UK Waste", an advertisement offering telegraph posts at £10 apiece and of a "very good" breakfast. In December that year we further suggested that the Chuck Wagon had offered the year's best breakfast bacon. It is another case of great minds thinking alike.

....and finally since the bairns are on holiday, we pinch the joke from the Zest newsletter about the number of chefs needed to change a light bulb.

Just one - the chef holds the bulb and expects the rest of the world to revolve around him.

Published: Tuesday, August 14, 2001