Last week, Mr GFB and I went away for a bit of a break.
Even though we had a leisurely time of it over Christmas, this year already has been non-stop, with a slew of events, projects and work. I was a little bit knackered.
And to be honest, so was Mr GFB – he’s the one who has to put up with my whirlwind diving in and out of the house, the mess in the living room while I sit surrounded by papers, accounts, and emails. And supports me, kicking my butt when I need it, and cuddles when I need those too.
So we picked a cosy little cottage in North Somerset (no I’m not saying where, as we loved it and actually want to go back, and we can’t if you lot book it too), I went as offline as I could possibly manage, and got on a train.
But though we had three nights of doing nothing to look forward to, we couldn’t resist sneaking in a little jaunt to Bristol. And though the weather was atrocious (thanks Brizzle), the beer was tasty and the food was, well you’ll soon see.
A very late lunch called, in part due to a very very delayed train, and on recommendation found us at Spitfire Barbecue. After all, who needs sun for barbecue? Cocktails in hand, we settled in to nosey at the menu.
Unfortunately, that late train had meant we were very, very hungry. Which is a good job, because Spitfire like to feed you. A lot. Though we didn’t make things easy for ourselves, my sharing a lunch dish as a starter, because, well, corndogs.
Fluffy, batter, fat sausage, mustard dipping sauce and chips. Chips that happen to be shaped like little scoops so you can get more sauce on them. You’re smart Spitfire Barbecue, I like you.
Appetites whetted, we went in for mains, and what Spitfire is known for, ribs. Of course, after such a large starter, we had to go for the small plate of ribs. Please.
Um yeah. Small.
We knew before we even started that we were going to be defeated. We soldiered through soft tender pork, sticky sweet, barbecue sauce, and crusty bits of rib meat. The topped fries were delicious (though I head meant to get on for us to share, rather than one each), the crunchy coleslaw meant we didn’t feel like we were entirely on a meat feast, but still.
So much meat. And it was so good. We were stuck in that dilemma – carry on because it’s so tasty and quite literally roll back to our cottage, or stop and rethink.
As meat sweats settled in, and we settled back in our seats. We managed maybe half. Maybe.
Thankfully, as it turns out. Spitfire are quite used to this. They’re also quite used to people ordering the ‘large’ ribs and being completely overwhelmed, so our defeat over a small rack and request for a doggie bag was met with somewhat sympathetic eyes.
Of course, this means that we had rib sandwiches for lunch the next day (and still had oodles left over).
Every cloud, right?
All food and drink consumed at this venue was paid for by us.