Pick this Lilli

THOSE great battalions of middle- aged and elderly ladies (to whose ranks may be added Mr George Brown in Spennymoor) who not only suppose that the sun radiates from Ms Sharon Griffiths's every pore but that incandescently it crystalises there, may be surprised to learn that the lady is given to bouts of querulousness.

Translated, it means she can be a grumpy beggar.

Thus two Saturdays ago, and worse yet because of querulousness's quintessential paradox. The more it's your fault, the grumpier you get.

Timorously we adjourned - to cut to the chase, and perhaps to the chaste - to Caf Lilli, described as licensed and continental, in Norton-on-Tees High Street. Though there was a danger that the night might blow in whenever the door opened, the chill evaporated forthwith.

It was 6pm and it was heaving, those arriving without bookings advised, even then, that they might have to wait half an hour.

Since there are no reservations after 6.30pm, things subsequently became so busy that it must have been a bit like the old lead miners' dosshouses in the dales, where shifts changed but sheets never grew cold. The technological term is hot-desking, apparently.

The moment a table became empty is was cleared, cleaned, re-set and offered to the next in line. That it was done with wonderful efficiency, and with not the least suggestion to the previous incumbent that he may have been in dead man's shoes, spoke silently for the entire operation - for this is in every way a first-class establishment.

Open for two years, it's owned by Roberto Pittalis and Daryl Chadwick, who'd worked together in the early 1990s at the Imperial Express in Darlington.

We'd last seen Roberto, who's Sardinian, when he had a place in Durham where the Advertiser office used to offer all that was fit to print; Daryl had Chadwick's in Yarm.

The wall hangings were mainly French, the no-smoking sign in Italian, the waitresses mostly English and mainly tiny. It suggested the opposite of those new-fangled fun fair rides, where you've to be measured before being allowed to make yourself ill.

They were all that is supposed about good stuff and little bundles - switched on, focused, bright, bonny and brilliantly organised. Mostly, too, they went about their business quietly, Roberto himself occasionally upping the tempo.

Boys will be boisterous, after all.

The clientele appeared as eclectic as the menu. There was an elderly lady in a wheelchair, another with a walking frame, a three-year-old in a ballet dress who every so often would give it, and us, a twirl. In a room filled with the happy hubbub of conversation and not the cacophony of canned music, few could have failed to feel at home.

Another paradox, the more conversation there is, the less you feel inclined to eavesdrop someone else's.

We'd booked, shown at once to a table for two about six inches from a table for four. It is not, perhaps, for the unsociable.

Paradise regained, Ms Griffiths ordered what she considered to be a delicious Merlot, house red. We had a bottle of Double Maxim, described on the label as being full of Northern character since the year dot (or 1901, whichever was the earlier.) The evening menu offers around eight courses in each section - including a risotto and a pasta dish of the day - plus a gigantic specials board which from time to time one of the fellers would hump around to a table, a bit like pumping iron.

The girls, presumably, couldn't see over the top of it and, even if they could, would have had the place prosecuted under some arcane Health and Safety regulation.

She began with antipasto, we with a wonderfully aromatic sweet potato, ginger and carrot soup which for once lived up to its bouquet. Other starters ranged from a seafood platter which included Loch Fyne salmon and olives to salami and bread with olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

The roast confit of duck leg (£11.95) came with succulent French black pudding, warm potato salad and some quite wonderful caramelised apple and was a masterpiece of the art.

There's a large duck pond at the end of the High Street. Had it been billed as Norton duck there might have been a locals' rebellion; as it is, they can't get enough.

Across the table, things - that is to say roast cod with roast Mediterranean vegetables and a sun-dried tomato sauce - were getting better by the minute.

"Wow," she said. "Brilliant," she said.

("Phew," said I.) Heaven alone knows what was going on in the kitchen, but the impression was of a similarly professional approach, seamlessly translated up-front.

Puddings - "created by Elizabeth, our famous pastry chef" - included a sculpted blackcurrant and liquorice iced parfait which the lady thought looked like something from the Aztecs and a goats' cheese and lemon tart which, like the bad mood, melted forthwith. The bill, including good coffee and a couple of drinks either side, was around £58.

In the manner of Mr Adrian Gill, who writes restaurant reviews in the Sunday Times, we tried devising five phrases linked to the name - thus ranging from Lilli livered to Lilli the Pink, and with Lilli Laundry and pick-a-Lilli in between - before ticking one of them. This, though, would have been Lillibellero, because it sings.

If we'd a restaurant of the year award, maybe even of the decade, this would be it. (And they all lived happily ever after).

● Caf Lilli, 83 High Street, Nortonon- Tees 01642-554422. Open 11am- 11pm, lunch menu 12-3pm, dinner from 5.30pm, last bookings 6.30pm.

No smoking, no problem for the disabled.

THE following evening to the Hardwick Hall Hotel at Sedgefield, above which the natal star still shines, among 88 guests at the Echo's Local Heroes awards. The next night the marquee would be catering for 990, throughout December it'll serve 17,000 meals.

"Come and have a look behind the scenes," said John, the manager, and revealed a scene of extraordinary, high speed but entirely ordered pandemonium.

They borrow staff from all over, a variation on the Parable of the Rich Man's Feast. "Go into the highways and hedges and compel them to come in, that my house may be filled."

At Hardwick, back and front of house, they worked together admirably. We should give them thanks more often.

BLACKFRIARS restaurant in Newcastle, claimed to be Britain's oldest and about which we wrote a couple of months back, has duly won the Mouton Cadet sponsored award for Britain's best Sunday lunch "served with a touch of theatre". Owner Andy Hook received the award from film star Kevin Spacey.

CURRYING FLAVOUR

AGAINST a backdrop of dancing girls and some no less enchanting food, Kayani - described as the world's first Indian real ale - was launched last Wednesday evening at the Garden of India, in Darlington.

Arshad Kayani, after whom it is named, is a Sunderland-based property developer who by happy coincidence owns the Grand Hotel at Bishop Auckland, where Simon Gillespie and his Wear Valley Brewery hold sway.

The engaging Arshad is also a philosopher, who'd been reading Wittgenstein and Bertrand Russell (honest) before bedtime. Finding his mind still spinning at 2am, his thoughts turned to a soporific beer.

"All that was in the fridge was fizzy, cold stuff,"

he recalled. "Even at two o'clock in the morning, I didn't much fancy that.

"Then suddenly I had this idea about creating a real ale to go with curry and similar dishes and after that I didn't sleep all night. Next morning I spoke to Simon."

Kayani is brewed from lager hops. "Flat beer,"

says Arshad, vibrantly. They hope to market it internationally. As Ludwig Wittgenstein once observed: "The world is everything, that is the case." Think on.

and finally, the bairns wondered if we knew what you get by crossing a centipede with a parrot.

A walkie-talkie, of course.