The Fat Cat, Chester - The Cat’s whiskers

Jan 19 2007 By Tom Evans

The Fat Cat

Who remembers Britpop? For a couple of years in the mid-1990s, Britpop was everywhere. It seemed the whole world was obsessed with the question who would release a single that was less bad: A gang of cocky Southerners with art-school pretensions and irritating fake Cockney accents or a bunch of knuckle-dragging Northerners with superiority complexes and real (but no less irritating) Mancunian accents. But while Blur and Oasis slugged it out at the top of the Britpop Premiership, there were many more bands scrapping for points in and around the relegation zone – nobodies like Menswear, Sleeper, Lush and probably a load more I've long since forgotten.

And in between – pleasing the purists and springing the odd surprise on the big boys but never really getting results – we had bands like Pulp, Supergrass, the Bluetones and, of course, Mansun. correct spelling

Mansun, named after loveable pop culture icon Charlie Manson, turned heads with their epic debut album Attack of the Grey Lantern but failed to live up to their early promise. The odd single gave a glimpse of what could have been but they faded slowly before disbanding in 2003.

What sets Mansun apart from the rest of the is that they were from Chester. They found their guitarist, Dominic Chad, working behind the bar in the Fat Cat.

It hardly puts the place up there with Liverpool’s Cavern Club or Manchester’s Hacienda but, for pop music heritage, it’s the best Chester has to offer.

And apart from the inexplicable absence of a commemorative blue plaque and a signed guitar or two, it’s lovely. Within the city walls but tucked away from the hustle (and, indeed, the bustle) of the city centre, it offers plenty of convenience and just enough isolation.

It’s a flourishing bar as well as a mid-market restaurant so a meal there is accompanied by the animated chatter of strangers and low-volume indie music (sadly, no Mansun).

Erica and I were ushered to a table tucked into an alcove, so far back we were practically underground. It brought back happy memories for us of the basement bar of the Jacaranda in Liverpool, where we used to go a-courting. All that was (thankfully) missing was the sweat condensing on the walls.

The restaurant and adjoining bar were busy – heaving, in fact – but the alcove felt like our own secluded little hideaway.

It may have been down to pre-Christmas high spirits but the atmosphere was infectiously terrific. It was party time – I was even moved to order a non-alcoholic cocktail, an adventurous move by my standards. Pineapple juice and ginger ale is an unusual combination but my Bora Bora Brew went down a treat – even though it did look a touch, erm, girly.

‘Is this for you?’ asked the waitress. I accepted with as much dignity as I could muster.

The food menu was a little lop-sided in that almost half the main courses – 10 out of 21 – were listed as ‘specials’, which implies they are anything but special. The dishes on offer ranged from Thai green curry to good old English fish and chips; the phrase ‘jack of all trades’ sprung irresistibly to mind.

I went for nachos followed by grilled salmon; Erica chose the butternut squash soup and the vegetable rigatoni from a varied and large vegetarian selection.

My nachos obeyed the three Universal Laws of Nachos, namely: There will be four or five burned nachos at the edge; there will be one nacho near the middle which, when picked up, will take all the cheese with it; and by the time you get to the end, the last few nachos will be absolutely sodden with salsa. Nachos are party food first and foremost so they fitted in very well here.

Erica’s soup was thick and delicately seasoned. Butternut squash is an under-rated flavour and the spices complemented it rather than overpowered it. It was served with poppy seed bread, which got us thinking about something we’d seen on TV which said eating too many poppy seeds can make you test positive for opiates. Honestly. Try it, if you like.

Normally, once the starter’s out of the way, I can’t wait for the main. This was different – we were having such a good time, I didn’t care how long it took. It’s difficult to put into words and impossible to quantify but there was something special about the atmosphere. Maybe it was the poppy seeds – or maybe there was more in the Bora Bora Brew than they were letting on.

A group started raucously singing Happy Birthday to someone called Alison; we joined in. I can’t quite remember why but at one point we had an arm-wrestling contest (2-0 to me). We laughed like drains when someone on a faraway table loudly joked: ‘Get a bucket of water, he’s having an asthma attack!’ for reasons that probably seemed very good at the time.

Safely tucked away in the depths of our alcove, we felt totally at home and relaxed. It was a far cry from the formalised stuffiness of some restaurants.

Sadly, there was a trade-off: The food was good but unspectacular. The presentation was very slick and professional but I occasionally got the feeling that we were eating glorified pub grub. For example, my salmon was crispy and tasty, especially the skin, but the promised wok-fried greens were disappointing. The leaves in particular were a bit bland and limp.

Erica enjoyed her rigatoni, which was seasoned just enough to let the vegetables do the talking. It tasted very fresh and the individual flavours stood out from each other.

Her portion was huge and the waitress looked slightly cross that we had both failed to clear our plates. It was a decent meal – and exceptionally good value – but the glossy presentation had led us to expect just that little bit more.

Not that it mattered. By the time our desserts arrived, our faces ached from smiling so much from the sheer joy of being there. We knew just what to expect from Erica’s deliciously stodgy chocolate fudge cake and my sickly-sweet strawberry pancakes – and we were not disappointed. It was a cheery end to a very cheery evening.

Most of our fellow diners were in large groups and for that kind of evening out, the Fat Cat is ideal. The service is flawless and the quality of the food good enough to be the perfect accompaniment to a lively evening out with friends, even if it doesn’t quite stand alone as a reason for going out.

The Fat Cat may not be remembered for its contribution to British music but it should go down in the history books as a fantastic night out.

FACTFILE

Fat Cat, 85 Watergate Street, Chester CH1 2LF

Tel: 01244 316 100

Starters: Butternut squash soup £3.45; nachos £4.95

Mains: Vegetable rigatoni £6.45; salmon £11.95

Desserts: Chocolate fudge cake £4.65; strawberry pancakes £3.95

Drinks: Girly cocktail £1.95; bottle of water £3.25

Total (for two): £40.60

Best bit: Oh, what an atmosphere – I love a restaurant with a happy atmosphere (apologies to Russ Abbot).

Worst bit: Food that is sometimes no better than ‘good’.

Would suit: A large group looking for somewhere to eat, drink and be very, very merry.

Wouldn’t suit: A snobbish gourmet without a sense of fun.