Dear Readers,

I’m at a bit of loss on how to proceed this week. You see for the last two reviews I’ve been riffing off the theme of the ghastly places I’ve visited, which has done a good turn for my meagre writing abilities. My righteous indignation at Milton Keynes in particular got the creative juices bubbling nicely, and I found that each word proffered itself to me with an ease that would make many a superior writer cry out in envy. No doubt my reading public is settling down at this very moment to this blog, thinking to themselves ‘Ah we’re in for a treat here, let’s see how St Nick skewers the latest locale’. Alas I am unable to oblige.

You see this week I was in York. York is one of England’s great cities, and I say that as a patriot, fully aware of all of England’s resplendent glories (and also its perishing defects). The Minster is architecturally stunning, the shops are full of quality, the station is impressive, and as I hope to convey to you in part, many of the eateries are bloody good too.  One particular restaurant was suggested by my good pal, and proprietor of this blog, Cedric. Its name was Rustique.

Image result for rustique york

I have become a zealot for Rustique. Facing out towards Castlegate, its street front is unassuming but what lies within is anything but. The food was superb, the atmosphere just right, and the alcohol flowing as it should. I went there with my dear parents, but the place is just within the budget for the student diner (depending on the student) and one may dine there even if the Paterfamilias is not forking out the necessary funds. To start I had the moule marinieres a la creme which I thoroughly enjoyed. For my main course I opted for the Steak Frites. Jolly excellent I must say. The frites were a particular highlight. They were thin, crispy and went delightfully well with the steak.

The judicious thinness of the chips reminds of something. It is never my desire to disrespect the auspicious proprietor of this blog, but try as I might I cannot stop myself at times from taking a few jabs at the sterling chap, worthy as he is, and I feel just such a moment has arisen. You see, although there is no doubt that Cedric is one of nature’s great suggestors, he is on occasion known to hold some rather unsound opinions. Whether it is through some taint of his upbringing, or perhaps the jejune concoction of Macedonian and Albanian that runs through his veins, I am not sure, but whatever the reason maybe, he doesn’t half have some strange ideas. One silly notion he is got in his head is that baths are immoral. The other is that chips should be chunky.

Now, I’m sure, dear reader you like me, are still reeling from the shock of this revelation, but if I might suggest one way you might re-cleanse your soul, is by visiting the grand city of York and tasting the frites at Rustique. Rest assured they are thin, as nature and nature’s god has commanded. Everything else about the place is superb, this is the very best restaurant I have had the pleasure to review so far on this blog, and another brilliant suggestion by Cedric.