Felicitous Happenstance

As the Crown Prince of fantasy politics calms the markets - why on earth would anyone listen to him in the first place? - by insisting the Iranian War will be over in short order, so nothing further to worry about folks; the rest of us are looking at the price of fuel at the pumps with wonder at the alacrity with which prices rise when the 'cost' of crude rockets in the heat of a Middle-Eastern conflict, and how slowly they return to 'normal' when the reversal happens just as quickly, as the markets wipe their metaphorical brows in relief. Its just like marvelling at the speed at which daily outgoing financial transactions leave one's bank account compared with credits back into the same. Funny that, ain't it?

Anyhow, not wishing to dwell on the barely fathomable nature of the larger world of politics and economics this evening, I'd like to offer the observation that we discovered a rather fine eatery that has been staring us in the face for years, unwittingly disguised as it is, as a kind of old-school Victorian seaside tea pavilion. And old-school Victorian seaside tea pavilions are not normally my cup of fish: I prefer eating premises to be licensed and serving some manner of adult beverage at the very least. Anyhow, the three of us; Jane and I and number one son [his hubby was at Uni, working hard towards his degree] had aimed to go to The White Eagle at Rhoscolyn, one of our favourite spots for lunch. As we wouldn't normally need to book there off-season in the week, we went on spec, only to find the dining room dark. So we decamped to Trearddur Bay and tried a likely looking cafe/deli that proved to be an equally unsuccessful off-season destination, it functioning only as a shop with coffee and cake readily on tap: not what we were aiming for.

So, we decided to head for the only other open venue on the strip, the aforementioned 'old-school Victorian seaside tea pavilion', which on entering, we discovered was actually the most amazing venue, with, right inside the door, a genuine, working 'Nickelodeon' player piano, proceeds from its use to a local charity. The interior of the place is impressively large and wonderfully, eclectically decorated with hundreds and hundreds of artefacts with an over-riding nautical theme: they've even got the shipping forecast on continuous loop in the toilets there. Importantly - for me at least - was the sight of an impressive and well-stocked bar with every drink imaginable and including guest real ales on hand pump. On discussing the menu - we only wanted a light lunch, so stuck to starters, sides and light bites - we noticed how good the acoustics were for conversation, despite the large open-plan space - and it is large - we were in the centre of. We came to the conclusion that the upturned kayaks, canoes and dinghies  a few feet above our heads were a deliberate choice: not just to reinforce the watery storytelling of the place, but to act as acoustic absorbers, offering a little cone of 'dead' air above each table: genius; if I could locate the designer who dreamt this up, I'd buy them a meal and a few drinks there myself.

As to the food, however, although we kept our choices simple, and in my case very simple, choosing a plate of fried calamari with reduced soy dip from the starters menu; the food proved excellent. The choice of simple calamari on my part was deliberate: it's my standard test to see if a kitchen is up to snuff or not. It is: to compensate for the obvious issue with cooking and serving calamari when not in the Mediterranean, ie. absolute freshness, and the fact that a plate of food in a normal, relatively inexpensive establishment will have to sit for a little time at least on the pass before coordinating the table's service, the chef slices the calamari more thinly than most would before frying. This serves to take the inevitable excess chewiness out of it. Also, it was notable that the delicate fried crust was thin and still crispy at the table. So, along with Jane's tomato and chilli soup, and a side of fries which we all had a share of; and James' crushed avocado salad with poached egg; all of which were deemed excellent, I think we have found a real gem of a place in the rather understatedly-named Sea Shanty Cafe in Trearddur Bay, Ynys Môn. We'll be heading back there mob-handed for our regular monthly lunch club a few weekends hence. Serendipity strikes once again...