As a Cumbrian, it’s almost surreal that the area has become a foodie magnet – chefs are going to live there because its restaurants are turning into the best in the world. In the 1980s, when I was growing up, eating out in Carlisle was a special occasion. You did it on your birthday and would get taken to Wimpy or the local Italian for garlic bread, spaghetti and a baked lasagne. The poshest places would be inside hotels, which were quite terrifying for working-class people like my family. You might go for your gran’s wedding anniversary, and you’d have a Florida cocktail and chicken breast – it was plain food.
In the late 80s and early 90s, pubs in the countryside moved into food because they couldn’t live off beer profits as people didn’t drink and drive any more. That’s when we started going out more, but then it would be gammon with a slice of pineapple and chips, scampi in a basket and Sunday lunch.
