"A meal, conjuring up memories of my childhood in Cheltenham and nostalgic feelings of family time well spent, started like many other evenings out on the town back home when I was younger — wet from rain and wandering the streets, wondering where to go, or, as was the case when I was underage and overconfident, wondering which places would let us in. Nowadays, substitute nightclubs and surly bouncers for restaurants and clueless hosts. A night of catching up was planned to be spent at a new restaurant in my hometown called 'Brewhouse ' but sadly when, at about eightish, when we arrived, the place was full. That 's reasonable, considering Brewhouse is newly opened, it was peak hour, it was raining outside and we had no booking. Less reasonable was an odd mumble and a one word No from the host when I asked about a waitlist or chance to book a table. I mean, it 's not The Ivy, for god 's sake. There 's going to be some space at some point that evening, isn 't there. Anyway, I have no time to rant, so in the same reasonable vein as they seem to entertain at their door, let 's just call Brewhouse and its entire staff a gang of twats and move on. And move on we did, back into the drizzly July evening and uptown to Montpellier, the 'posh bit ' of Cheltenham, home to the infamous bar crawl 'The Montpellier Run ', which I was subjected to on only the second night out of my life (thanks to my Bella Pasta teammates) which resulted in the coming of age experience of being sick down my front in my bed. Anyway, wet from rain (but thankfully not from vomit) we tried a few places in the area but they were full too, but at least those establishments were able to handle this better than Brewhouse. The Tavern, an awesome restaurant and one of my favourites in town, seemed to be shut. I learnt soon after that it was because of a large fire in the kitchen, but it’s so good I hope it’s not gone for long. After eroding the last of our energy on a loop around Montpellier, we became aware that we were getting quite close to a place called Flynn 's. This is one of those amazing, tucked away neighbourhood hangouts in all ways possible. It’s nothing too special but crucially, in all my years of going there, it hasn 't gotten anything wrong either. Simple food. Duck confit. A couple of steak choices. A burger. That kind of thing. Though I make it sound like I 'm a regular, I really haven 't been since maybe school time or my uni holidays, where my dad would take mum and I after she finished work in the Promenade just down the road. For years, Flynn 's has has seen off hearty competition from more established brands, especially up at this affluent end of town, where the only things you can do in the locale are to eat well, drink hard and shop posh. It is nestled in a sunken courtyard that also hosts a few other shops including Cheltenham’s Bang Olufsen store and a fancy schpancy independent shop that sells shawls, trinkets and dreamcatchers. From the outside and indeed the inside Flynn 's doesn 't appear to fit in to such a place; its façade is slightly scruffy and worn from its lengthy time on the mean streets of the spa town, and the interior is an uninspiring, insipid spread of over polished beige woods, tables and chairs crammed into an inconveniently shaped space and a well stocked but shaky looking bar that wouldn 't be out of place in the 'games room ' of a slightly mid life crisised divorced D.I.Y. enthusiast. Despite the battle hardened looks, it 's nice enough for what the typical diner needs; specials blackboard, some quaint artwork and a lovely terrace area in the courtyard are the simple reminders that Flynn’s is definitely a brasserie, not a diner. I think that one of the reasons Flynn 's has become so well established in Cheltenham is that the food lives up to the promise of the décor simple, hardy and it does the job. On our table of three we had a couple of burgers and a lamb shank, as well as chocolate brownie for pudding. Glasses of wine and real ale to wash it all down. You get the idea of the menu and feel of Flynn 's already, don 't you? Everything was brought to our table by a lovely friendly waitress who, in the cutest way possible was slightly clumsy and didn 't know her right from her left. The food tasted wonderful and the excellent quality of ingredients and exception gave evidence to homely, careful cooking which was all Flynn’s need to do to ensure their offerings are elevated well above the Wetherspoons of the world; great big forkfuls of hugs which, coupled with the conversation and surroundings, made for a brilliantly and much needed night of nostalgia. The burgers were juicy and overflowing with blue cheese and bacon. I almost creamed myself when our waitress allowed me to have it cooked medium to rare. The lamb, by all accounts, was a triumph, as it lasted about six seconds in front of my friend. We all had the brownie; we were all smitten. All in, it was a cheap night out, which, seeing as my friends kindly paid for me, makes me a cheap date. But I don 't put out, so after food, off I trotted, back to mum 's house. Hell, let 's still call it ‘home’. It was raining, and I was full and happy and sated, so I sauntered slowly. Nice to have rain after dealing with Dubai. I walked all the way at back home, past the restaurant I used to work in which that started my career, and past the police station where my beloved dad worked. Further along, as my shirt began to become rudely see through and my pace started to quicken, I passed the petrol station where I filled up my first car, a Honda Civic. We would race the thing to school up the Golden Valley Bypass, where I wold try to eek eighty eight miles per hour out of it while listening to the score from Back to the Future. Near home, I walked past G.C.H.Q., the United Kingdom’s spy base. I always felt quite proud living in a town that was second on the Soviet 's hit list of targets, just after Whitehall. Then round the corner, up the street and down the driveway of my childhood home. Mum was asleep, so I went straight up to another fond memory; my old bed. I was a little piggy back then and would often need to sleep on my back to be comfy after eating too much awesome stuff. So it was again this evening. On my back, sleeping and dreaming of Flynn 's, yes, but mainly of family, friends and the very special town that it Cheltenham. Also published on The Food Thing, via thefoodthing.net/home/flynns"
