C is for Cook House...

A wise person once said that into each life a little rain must fall. If the ending of Bambi upset you, I'd advise you to stop reading now...

I used to go to Anna Hedworth's The Grazer for lunch and know a lot of people who have had fantastic meals at her restaurant in the Ouseburn, so the letter C was always going to be Cook House (Foundry Lane, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 1LH). Showered, shaved, new trainers and a lateral flow test successfully passed, I headed in search of sustenance, this time accompanied by my celebrity brunch companion. How exciting.

I'm always early for things, at the very least spot on time. I once arrived at a Harry Hill gig an hour and a half before the doors opened. Not because I got the times wrong, more because I didn't know where Sunderland Empire was and where you parked and which direction you walked in to get to it and what the building looked like. (Turns out it has a massive illuminated sign that says EMPIRE that ships can see). I arrived late. Flustered. It was a portent of doom.

The place - anyway, Cook House is in the buzzing, bohemian Ouseburn enclave. It really is a fab setting - two floors, a dining terrace, shop, garden, and an open kitchen. It's light, airy and has a great feel to it.

The food - it's my own fault. Their bacon sandwich is served in focaccia. We all know there are rules for bacon sandwiches - it is tomato sauce not brown sauce, it cannot be in toasted bread; it cannot be sliced on the diagonal; if it's in a bun, the bun cannot be cut in half; if it is in white bread it must be sliced, at ninety degrees to the long edge. There are more rules, but you get the gist.

My celebrity dining companion is much cleverer than me and ordered tomato bruschetta with a fried egg on top, which she enjoyed; it was nice rather than marvellous, but still a state of affairs that made my sense of loss much greater.

Mine looked really impressive, the kind of thing you need planning permission for. I felt a bit rude picking it up and stuffing my face, but it was also difficult cutting the whole arrangement with a knife and fork. The bacon wasn't tough and it wasn't stringy, but it was difficult to get through. It was kind of chewy - as if you had boiled it rather than grilled it. Given what I know of Cook House, where they source the ingredients and what they do with food, I don't understand what was going on with it. The general sensation was rubbery, exacerbated by the stretchiness of the focaccia. Maybe it was me, but it just felt wrong. I was exhausted after eating less than a quarter of it and gave up.

At various points during my life, I've heard the phrase 'It's not you it's me'. The person serving, who was lovely, asked if anything was wrong with it. I couldn't really explain what the problem was - and went down the 'it's not you, it's me' route. First time I've ever used that line, albeit in a culinary setting rather than a crumbling romantic one. In your face Angela Gray!!

I think it was suggested that I could have a chat with the chef, but I'm not an idiot. They have sharp knives close to hand. They were lovely though and took the sarnie off the bill, which I kind of felt bad about. It was such a shame - I will go back. And have the spiced pancakes with baked plums, yoghurt, honey and almonds.

The score - a souldestroylinglytastic 17%