MACCLESFIELD and Astra Zeneca.
It was as fine an ensemble as you could gather for the price and made you feel as fresh as a breeze across the Øresund Straits
I find the mix of sturdy Britishness and fantasy in this pair of names appealing and unsettling. You see I don't want Astra Zeneca to be a pharmaceutical company, I want the name to belong to an alien minx with super powers. I want a cross between Wonderwoman and Xena Warrior Princess, but in Macclesfield fighting evil, where, of course, the endless conflict between good and evil - forget Manhattan - has its epicentre.
Meanwhile back in reality, aka, Macclesfield, where Astra Zeneca is based, I found a town with an attractive and archetypal central core. It ticks all the small town elements. There's the old church and a handsome classical (former) Town Hall elegantly looming over a square drawing in all the little streets. At lunch on a Friday there was an art fair in the Town Hall, locals of all ages milling around chatting, a small clump of blazered King School boys carrying the unmistakeable air of teenagers in private education, a shouty, aggressive beggar (the on-trend British street-motif at present) and genteel old ladies walking in and out of the church setting up for Harvest Festival.
While in a meeting at Astra Zeneca I'd asked for a recommendation for a lunch review. Indian? No. Thai? Didn't feel like it. Italian? Couldn't be bothered. Wetherspoons? Who said that? Scandinavian, really? Let's go.
The former Town Hall dominates the square
Cute Salt BarOne of the best things about Macclesfield is that the centre is on a hill with glimpses of the Pennines hills to the east and a very sweet street leading sharply down from the main town square to the station. This is called Church Street and this is where Salt Bar - a very happy little place - sits. Given its Danish accent, this is appropriate, because apparently Denmark is the happiest nation on earth despite the immense amount of mayhem and murder in those Scandi-noir TV series.
The exterior of Salt Bar is a picture of a pretty whitewashed cottage and begs you to enter. The dining space is light and airy and simple with a lovely big window boasting slender pointed arch mullions.
The food is just as wholesome.
The pan fried plaice at £7.50 was unassuming but charming. It had been dusted with rye flour and pan-fried and there was a herby crème fraiche and prawn topping, together with sourdough (as ubiquitous as shouty, aggressive beggars) and a collection of zesty healthy stuff, leaves, onions, tomatoes and cucumber. It was as fine an ensemble as you could gather for the price and made you feel as fresh as a breeze across the Øresund Straits.
"What do think?" I asked my hypothetical beauty from across the Galaxy.
"It's perfect," said Astra. In my mind she was sharing a bottle of wine sat on the other side of the table and drawing lots of stares.
Then because I'm all man and didn't want my fantasy humanoid alien to fall out of love with me I ate all the healthy stuff.
"My hero," she huskily whispered as the last lump of cucumber disappeared.
I (we) went off menu with the other dish at Salt. I said to the waitress, "I want the goats cheese and pickled beetroot with the walnuts and the crispy onion but no extra greens please and leave the sourdough too." She looked confused at first but when she returned, lo! she had one of my favourite dishes of the month for the bargain price of £6.50. All the aforementioned elements, beetroot, cheese, nuts and onions together with chives, bunched up on a fork produced a raft of delicate flavours with stronger flavours. Hypothetical Astra loved it too. Hypothetically.
Time and the plaice
Lovely goats cheese and beetrootThe Scandi-ness of Salt Bar is more apparent in the decor, the atmosphere and the mood of the food than with the menu descriptions, especially as there was no salt beef on that day. Still, it is an effortlessly pleasant space to while away a couple of hours. There are Macc ales available plus live music nights (accoustic of course).
Hypothetical Astra and I then wandered back to the church because I wanted to show her something. St Michael's features a very rare Pardon Brass, in this case for Roger Legh. This recalls one of the abuses of the Roman Catholic church before the Reformation. Rich Roger Legh paid money for the clergy here to pray his soul through Purgatory quicker than all the grubby poor who died young and could scarcely afford a loaf of sourdough a week. This practice was a nice earner for the priesthood. Legh got a good deal too in 1506. For handing over loads of dosh he would lose 26,000 years and 26 days in Purgatory and get to Heaven that much quicker.
"Twenty-six thousand years and twenty-six days?" said Hypothetical Astra. "He needed to buy himself out of all that? Wow, this place really needs my help. It must be very evil."
She paused and then said, "Not sure why you've included this in a food review though."
"Ah," I said, "but when will I be back in Macc again? I feel Confidential readers are the sorts who like a good fact. Anyway what about a whizz up to Rainow clutching on to your winged heels, then a spin at five hundred feet around Lyme Park?"
Salt Bar, Church Street, Macclesfield, SK11 6LB. Tel: 01625 432 221
Rating: 13.5/20
Food: 7 (plaice 6.5, goats cheese and beetroot 7.5)
Atmosphere: 3.5 a lovely space to while away a couple of hours
Service: 3 happy - like the Danes
The Pardon Brass
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