I got some fan mail the other day! All those weeks of painstakingly putting my address at the bottom of this page – and thinking of a food-related pun to go alongside it – paid off when Jane Wells (Mrs), of Saltney, used some of her lovely multi-coloured writing paper to recommend the Olive Grove in Broughton. It used to be the Glynne Arms, she wrote, and is now an Italian restaurant. As I read, my boss walked past my desk. ‘I was driving past the old Glynne Arms in Broughton,’ he said. ‘It’s an Italian restaurant now! You should do a review there.’ Then I had a look at the Chester@Large website’s forum, a goldmine of lively discussion about the city’s restaurant scene (and, it being the internet, some intriguing punctuation). ‘Just driven past what used to be the glynn pub in broughton and saw it has been turned into an italian bar/restaurant.does anyone know any details??’ (sic) asked a user named ‘Tracy’. Then a colleague walked by. ‘You know where you should do a review?’ he said. ‘ALL RIGHT, ALL RIGHT, I’M GOING,’ I yelled. I can take a hint. And Mrs Wells, Tracy and the rest, I’d like to thank you. Because despite its unspectacular surroundings, tucked away by the Airbus roundabout, The Olive Grove is an absolute delight. The early signs hadn’t been good. Apart from the unspectacular view outside the front entrance – basically a hedge and the B5104 – the menu beside the door seemed to offer little out of the ordinary. In particular, vegetarian options seemed thin on the ground. But things started looking up as soon as we walked in. It’s still very obviously a converted pub but the décor in the dining area is tasteful and stylish, all aubergine walls and paintings of Tuscan villages. Our cheery and enthusiastic waitress brought us our menus and told us about the specials, which thankfully included a vegetarian main course. I decided to give the seafood specials a run for their money, choosing line-caught mackerel followed by grilled swordfish, while Erica went for Tricolore salad and spinach ravioli. ‘How would you like your mackerel cooked?’ asked the waitress. Panic set in. What does she mean? What should I say? Medium? Fried? Competently? With an Ainsley Harriot-style flourish? Flustered, I mumbled: ‘I’ve never been asked that before.’ ‘No,’ replied the waitress, ‘I’ve never asked it before.’ Realising we were both out of our depths, I said ‘medium’, playing it safe. When it arrived, it was grilled, perched atop crispy ciabatta bread with fresh tomatoes and red onions. The fish itself was fabulous, with seasoning that added to the fresh flavour without getting in the way. I’m not usually a fan of fresh tomatoes but in this context they were wonderful, contrasting beautifully with the crispy ciabatta. And it was perfectly proportioned – all too often, starters are all carbohydrates and no flavour. By the time I’d picked the last mackerel bone from between my teeth, I was satisfied with what I’d eaten but still ready for more. Erica was similarly enamoured with her salad – the nicest Tricolore she has ever had, apparently. Coming from a sort-of vegetarian who’s married to a food critic in an area with lots of Italian restaurants, that’s high praise indeed. The rocket leaves, tomatoes and spring onion were beautifully dressed in just the right amounts of olive oil and balsamic and the overall effect was pleasing to both eye and mouth. She too used the words ‘perfectly proportioned’, which is good news for the chef but bad news for a writer with a serious aversion to using the same adjective twice. Her mozzarella, for example, complemented the salad rather than dominating it. The gap between courses was short and, thanks to the pub-like surroundings, relaxed. A couple of groups joined us in the dining area and a few men in Airbus overalls chatted and supped at the bar. The worst thing about The Olive Grove is its location – until word gets around, which it should, it will struggle for passing trade. Retail park shoppers will pass it on their way back to Chester and Airbus employees will chat and sup at the bar but food of this quality deserves a wider audience. The main courses only strengthened this view. My swordfish, while itself a bit on the dry side, was served on a bed of rich, creamy risotto, studded with calamari, crayfish and mussels. Seafood can be hit-and-miss wherever you eat but mine was flawless. And once I’d squeezed most of my lemon quarter on it, my swordfish went down well too – it had a lovely meaty texture which made for a delicious contrast with the risotto. The fresh spinach pasta of Erica’s ravioli was complemented by a cream and parmesan glaze with a taste that was subtle without being bland. It had the perfect amount of cheesy tang – strong but not overpowering. And unusually for pasta dishes, her bowl wasn’t piled so high as to obscure her from view. That was all the sense I could get out of her before she started resorting to made-up adjectives like ‘yumdiddlyumptious’ and ‘scrantastic’. The desserts, like the meal as a whole, surprised and delighted us after an inauspicious start. It went like this: Erica ordered vanilla, chocolate and raspberry ripple ice cream. Waitress said OK and walked off. Waitress returned and said there was no raspberry ripple. Erica asked for strawberry instead. Waitress said OK and walked off. Waitress returned and said there was no strawberry. Erica asked for a second scoop of chocolate instead. Waitress said OK and walked off. Waitress returned. We held our breaths… but there was chocolate. Lots of it, in fact. Both the ice cream and my lemon and lime cheesecake were served with a dollop of chocolate mousse. It went down a treat for me – the smooth mousse made for a delightful and interesting combination with the sharp citrus flavours of the cheesecake – but it was maybe too much of a good thing for Erica. So she gave me her mousse and tucked into her thick, fresh ice cream, appealingly served on a long, rectangular dish. After yet more chocolate for Erica, this time in hot drink form, and a coffee for me, we were left to pay the modest bill and reflect on our evening. The only gripe we had that could be solved without dismantling the restaurant and rebuilding it somewhere else was the paucity of vegetarian dishes on the regular menu. In fact, if you’re a veggie who doesn’t like mushrooms or dolchelatte, you’re stuck with cheese and tomato pizza. That said, the waitress did say the kitchen would prepare vegetarian dishes on request, which is a sign of a restaurant that cares about its customers. And Erica struck lucky with the specials board on this occasion. But another couple of options on the main menu wouldn’t go amiss – many diners would be reluctant to ask for something to be made specially. Enough griping. The whole evening had been a string of delightful surprises – the best surprise of all was that a converted pub near an aircraft factory and not much else could offer such a high-class eating experience. Worth writing home about, in fact. FACTFILE The Olive Grove, Broughton 01244 661072 Prices: Three courses plus a side dish and hot drinks for two came in at £49.20. Best thing: Quality food combined with imaginative preparation. Worst thing: Vegetarian options are few and far between. Would suit: Retail park visitors too shopped-out to cook. Wouldn’t suit: Those who like their meal to come with a view. | 
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