Echo Bar
Chillingham Road
Newcastle upon Tyne
Tel: 0191 2400614
 With just 10 minutes before kick off, panicky sweats were making it difficult to grip the wheel as the missus and I found ourselves scouring the streets on unfamiliar turf for a pub showing the next stage of our favourite footy team's FA Cup bid. Mrs Eats was sweating too, but for a different reason . . . as time ticked away we were in serious danger of spending a scranless Sunday together. It's happened before, and a most miserable week it was. She Who Must Be Fed is like a tiger with toothache unless she gets her regular favourite food fix. So it was doubly relieving when we spotted a sign tucked away among the busy shops on Chillingham Road in Heaton, Newcastle, promising grub and goals. Parking Starsky and Hutch style, we sprinted - our usual walking speed, but with arms pumping - towards the smell of cooking coming from Echo Bar . . . and only narrowly avoided a comedy moment in the doorway when I remembered my manners and let the missus go first. Safer that way too. It was three minutes till kick-off and, as it happened, three minutes until they stopped serving Sunday lunches. Result. We ordered our meals - beef for me and pork for the other half - and the day just got better when we were told they were "2-4-1" -- my favourite formation - which worked out at just £3.25 apiece. Settling back with a pint of Guinness for me and a glass of white for Mrs Eats, it became clear we were the oldest couple in the place . . . there were students in various stages of dishevelment huddled around almost every table. They all looked as though they needed a break from their diet of Pot Noodle and partying, and had flocked here for a taste of home-cooked Sunday roast dinner. As it turned out, they were a pretty smart bunch. Our meal arrived promptly, with just 10 minutes of the match gone, and the service was friendly and efficient. Condiments arrived with the cutlery, so there was none of that ghastly traipsing round the pub hunting for the salt. Mrs Eats' first reaction was "It's all a bit Heston Blooming-thal" and, looking at the carefully-sculpted pyramid in front of me, I had to agree . . . but it didn't detract from the splendid grub. Slices of tender beef concealed a mini-mountain of turnip and potato mash, with the turnip left chunky and toothsome . . . a winning combination. Decorating the rest of our plates were tasty oven-roasted courgettes, carrots cooked to perfection - with that little bit of bite left in them - and a Yorkshire pudding. At first, it looked as though there were no roasties, and the missus's bottom lip started trembling, until I urged her to try the unlikely-looking spuds on her plate. Were they roasties or mini bakies? It was hard to tell, but they had all the outer crunch of roasts and the soft, fluffy centre of a baked tatie. We christened them "broasties" and could easily have devoured another half dozen. The all-important gravy was tasty but, again, we both felt there wasn't enough of it. However, at the next table we noticed that the same meal, this time with chicken, was served in a huge plate-sized Yorkshire . . . a swimming pool of gravy, meat and veg, so maybe that will be the way to go next time. They also serve these with just bangers and mash, one of our all-time favourites. We both had room for dessert but, sadly, there were none to be had, which was disappointing. However, in typical FA Cup-tie fashion, there were plenty of "afters" being had on the pitch. | 
