Thursday 16 January
We were meeting up with our
colleague Eleni (oddly in Oxford, not Cincinnati where we all live), and she recommended the Rickety Press, a pub out in Jericho
(oddly in Oxford, not Israel). She has a fine
palate, so we trusted her, and our trust was not misplaced.
The night was raw and rainy, so we
ordered a nero d'Avola from Sicily, which was rich, red, and not too expensive.
Starters included a Scotch egg encased
in venison, and a salted-beef salad, which turned out to be surrounded by
perfect little quail eggs. Those and the meaty Scotch egg were all a bit runny in the yolk, instead of hard-boiled, which was a pleasant surprise.
Our mains were a slow-cooked round
of lamb shoulder, served with roast onions and a reconstructed white whale of
mashed potato; and even better, a bavette (read: sliced flank) steak with grilled tomatoes, a leafy
salad, and a flowerpot of excellent fries (or frites, or chips, or whatever).
Dinner had been so good to that point
that we went further, and ordered a hot sticky toffee pudding with caramel ice
cream (and three spoons) for dessert, not a step we'd often take in a pub. But the Rickety Press continued to please,
and the hot pudding made us warm enough for the wet walk home.
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