I am old enough to remember real school dinners.  The days of “Eat what is put before you and be grateful.” I cannot remember being grateful, but I can remember the names for some of the least edible dishes. Mince was “chopped up worms in mud”. Semolina was “pink puke”. Any sort of steamed or baked pudding enjoyed the generic label “stodge”. Pilchards and winter salad were too awful even to be renamed. Vegetarian options were unheard of. In my last year at school I spent most of my lunchtimes in the potting shed with my friends and whatever we could afford between us from the tuck shop.  

I had already been to one of the Good Intent’s themed evenings or nothing would have induced me to go to a place advertising school dinners. The menu was reasonably priced – three substantial courses for £19.95 – and fancy dress was required. The headmistress, Hermione Crabbelotte, greeted us and showed us to our table. Almost everyone was in fancy dress (there was even a beastly lacrosse stick to be seen) and all of the diners were having a wonderful time. What was interesting was that the people who were entering into the spirit of the evening with the greatest enthusiasm were of my own generation. Monty Pythonesque cries of “Spam! Spam! Spam!” were to be heard as the first course was served. My dinner partner and I sampled each other’s starters. A little tower of chips and some baked beans accompanied the Spam fritter. It was delicious and bore no resemblance to the soggy creations of my schooldays. Crisp, light batter and light, tasty chips – need I say more? I did enjoy my vegetable rissole, complete with tangy home-made ketchup, but I think that my other half made the better choice.

 After the first course, we were all given a test. Can you work out the following without a calculator?

Pencils were plied and there was much discussion as to what fraction of a mile a kilometre is. The Head Girl (in a smart red gymslip and matching unmentionables) became very indignant when the other diners at her table would not accept that that there were zero millions of penguins at the North Pole because penguins live at the South Pole. She was right, of course.

It all added to the fun. There was much banter between tables and jokes about detention, prefects, head girls and six of the best.

After our tests had been marked there was a choice of beef stew and herb dumplings or vegetarian sausage casserole. I chose the vegetarian option but was allowed to sample the stew. I enjoyed both. The selection of vegetables was good and the portions substantial. No school that I ever attended had food of such quality or quantity.  I hardly had room for the pudding, so I chose the lighter option of cornflake tart – light, sweet and crispy, with a little cream (it said evaporated milk on the menu, but tasted far too good to be that!). I envied my husband his spotted dick, with an ocean of creamy custard. He told me that it was as good as it looked; plenty of fruit and not a trace of stodge.

If you want to try one of the Good Intents themed evenings, or just go for an excellent meal in a fine old pub, log on and go to www.stuartinns.com. I do not believe that you will be disappointed.