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Al fresco lunch
- The Lamb
When I was a teenager in the early 80’s the Lamb was
a no-go zone, hang-out central for the skinheads whose politics
were diametrically opposed to those myself and my friends
vociferously espoused on a Saturday night. Now they serve
al fresco fajitas in a pleasant little yard full of yucca
plants. This town has changed.
It’s a sunny day and the Lamb courtyard is quite a suntrap.
It’s tiny, but they’ve managed to fit four tables
in and three are free. We choose the one furthest from the
two wheely bins. Fajitas are on the menu for £6 and
I can never resist anything which you have to build yourself.
Dave goes for a more prosaic steak sandwich. When the food
arrives I’m delighted. The fajita sauce is made with
red peppers and chicken and is swimming in olive oil. There
are three chapattis and bowls of chilli sauce and cream to
dollop on. The construction process is what makes fajitas
fajitas: you are given a sense of purpose and you feel you
deserve the multifarious taste of that bundle of heavyweight
calories as you chew and swallow. There are three chapattis,
which keeps me fairly busy for quite a while. The single serviette
I am given has its work cut out too. All washed down by a
cold lager. Inevitably, as I get up to leave, I feel rumblings
of digestive discontent. Still, I muse, the Lamb has come
on. A spot of indigestion is much better than a kick in the
head from a fourteen-hole Doctor Marten. AL
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