Café 1618, Market Place, Middleton-in-Teesdale

BACK home in the Yorkshire pud old days, Sunday lunch was served at approximately 11.45am, an hour when others might still be abed. The feast has since proved moveable, but still rarely taken after two.

It was thus somewhat disconcerting to find ourselves in Middleton-in- Teesdale at half past four – by which time my dear old dad would have had his tea, washed up and anxiously be enquiring what was for supper – without so much as a morsel since breakfast.

Café 1618, happily, was not only open but still serving roast beef and all the necessaries. Better late? Too true.

Formerly known as Cornforth and Cornforth, an eating place about which the column enthused and others (shall we say) demurred, it was bought at the start of 2007 by Jon Dunn and Bev Major, his partner.

He’d been chief executive of a council in the Black Country, she was a high flyer in Middlesbrough.

Jon talked two-and-half years ago of growing the brand and of “proof of concept”, suggesting that he’d only just escaped local government in time.

We went that March, after church, an upbeat 1618 overture echoed by a warm email in July this year from Rae Black in Durham. “The crackling was to die for,” he said, and much enjoyed the rest, too.

This time we were on the way to church – the 250th anniversary of Newbiggin-in-Teesdale Methodist chapel, the world’s oldest in continuous use – and fresh from an appetising walk on Cockfield Fell.

In Middleton we fell lucky, save for the small matter – the very small matter – of the unisex loo, up the stairs and therefore difficult for the disabled.

Harry Houdini had bigger places than this from which to escape a hard shackle. Others – “bigger than you,” said Jon – back in with all the grace of an elderly elephant on an annual promise. Best bolt the door and leave it at that.

We were at once recognised and warmly welcomed. Though the little parlour still overflowed, its bright cheeriness reflected in the staff, a little snug embraced comfortably out the back. It was hung with Beryl Cook pictures. Beryl Cook, said the Boss, was rude.

The weekday lunchtime menu offers simple, freshly prepared dishes like chicken and mushroom stroganoff or the Teesdale farmer’s lunch (£7.25) with ham, three cheeses, salad, apple, crusty bread and home-made spicy tomato chutney.

The evening menu, short and reasonably priced, could be salmon en croute with tarragon tomato sauce, chicken breast stuffed with stilton and apple with smoked bacon and a stilton cream sauce or an Agabraised lamb shank with red wine and rosemary sauce.

It’s all marketed with the slogan “Honest food, honestly prepared”.

The secret of good food is being bothered, says Jon.

There’s a separate Sunday menu, from all-day breakfast (£6.25) to sandwiches, roast beef and pork with all that might be expected. The pork was finished, the beef cooked and presented by a chef who took as much care at 5pm as he would have at the start of the shift.

The Yorkshire puddings, you’d wager, had been made within the previous three minutes, the vegetables were carefully cooked, the gravy made from the stock. A proper Sunday lunch this, whatever the hour.

The meal was accompanied by nothing stronger than ginger beer – the chairman of the Newcastle upon Tyne Methodist district drinks little else – and followed on one side by a beatific sticky toffee pudding.

Out the back there’s a pleasant garden area. Soon they hope to add a conservatory restaurant – planning permission granted – further to accommodate the overflow.

The chain’s on hold. “Market forces suggest it isn’t the best industry to be lending against at the moment,” says Jon, as a council chief executive might. Besides, he adds, they want to see this one achieve its full potential. They also intend airbrushing the word Café from their title, on the grounds that too many people suppose it to be a greasy spoon. It never did the Café Royal much harm, mind.

By whatever name we headed thankfully to church, never once thinking to ask what was for supper.

Good bloke, Jon Dunn. Cometh the hour, cometh the man.

■ Café 1618, Market Place, Middleton-in-Teesdale, 01833- 640300. Open Tuesday to Sunday daytime and Thursday to Saturday evenings, when booking is advisable.

AFTER being closed for several years, the once-renowned Punch Bowl at Satley – between Tow Law and Lanchester – has reopened. It’s now owned by the chap who has the Knitsley Manor, a few miles north.

“After all the thousands of pubs that are closing, it seems quite a good story that one’s bucking the trend,” says Gemma Price, the manager.

So it does. A report shortly.

IN the Margot Fonteyn Ballroom at Durham University Students’ Union, a “trade hour” launched Durham Camra’s 29th annual beer festival. Inky trade, I joined them, two gentlemen from West Auckland Football Club also dancing attendance.

They’re being given 10p from every pint of Lipton Trophy Ale sold by the Maxim Brewery near Houghton-le-Spring. The cheque said £600. It’s a lot of beer.

The Camra branch also gave out badges marking the campaign group’s 100,000th member – a remarkable achievement – and presented its annual awards.

The Bowburn-based Durham Brewery won the best bottled beer award for its Cloister and had also taken silver at the Great British Beer festival for Benedictus. Steve and Christine Gibbs expect to concentrate more on cask-conditioned bottles but still produce some terrific craft beers on draught.

One’s a Bavarian white beer called Vice. German speakers will understand the pun.

A spring in his step despite two new knees, Geoff Brooker of the Hexhamshire Brewery collected the best draught award for Shire Bitter, while Michael Webster from the superb Victoria in Durham collected his eighth pub of the year citation.

It’s ages since we’ve been in. “It hasn’t changed,” said Michael, the best news we’d heard all day.

Chester-le-Street Cricket Club not only took Durham’s club of the year title but the regional award, too. The team’s running away with the league and are in the national club knock-out final. It could be a hell of an end to the season.

THE Bishop of Durham is called Tom; his chauffeur’s Gerry. Gerry, also chairman of the Wear Valley branch of Camra, enthusiastically recommended the Sportsman at Canney Hill, a mile from Auckland Castle. Outside, the pub advertises Canney food and Canney beer, but is only half right.

There’s no longer real ale. “We just didn’t have the turnover,” said the landlord.

Most meals are a good value £5.25.

There was a nice piece of home-made chicken, bacon and sweetcorn pie and an enjoyable Whitby cod with chips The Boss appreciated.

There was also John Smith’s Extra Cold. One out of two ain’t bad.

…and finally the bairns wondered if we knew why the dinosaur crossed the road. Because in those days they didn’t have chickens.