Alan Cookman visits Cleopatras at the George Hotel,

Burslem

Six half-naked Nubian slaves fanned us as the feast

began.

Actually, that is quite untrue - they don't do Ancient

Egyptian banquets at Cleopatras.

In fact, we were there for the Sunday roast.

If I were Arnold Bennett, though, I'd be sneaped in the

extreme to be usurped by a Pharaoh.

Contemporary photographs suggest that the old boy was not a

barrel of laughs at the best of times.

You hardly every hear references to his easy charm and sunny

disposition.

So I can't imagine him being sanguine about the erstwhile

Bennetts being reinvented as Cleopatras.

The Last Of The Pharaohs may have been better looking than

our revered novelist - a man who seldom, if ever, bathed in

asses' milk - but her links with the Potteries are, frankly,

non-existent.

So why insult the author in his home town?

The new management at The George, which is known to readers

of Bennett's books as The Dragon, have said the name was

changed in recognition of the fact that the hotel restaurant

overlooks Nile Street.

But Nile Street, one assumes, is so-called because of

Nelson's defeat of the French in the Battle of the Nile in

1798, just as nearby Waterloo Road takes its name from

Wellington's later victory over Napoleon, as opposed to Abba's

Eurovision winner.

And yet my fears for what is one of the most attractive

dining rooms in the city, with its sparkling chandeliers, deep

carpets and mauve colour scheme, were unfounded.

Paintings depicting views of Bennett's Five Towns have not

been replaced by pictures of pyramids and sphinxes, and the man

himself has not yet been ousted in favour of Cleopatra,

Tutankhamun or Mohamed Al Fayed.

The service is friendly, competent and informal without

being familiar, and the presentation is what you'd expect of an

historic hotel - even one that's had a rather chequered history

of late.

All-inclusive dinner at Cleopatras is £14.95 for three

courses or £11.95 for two, which is hardly exorbitant

considering there are three starters to choose from, four mains

and five desserts.

The mains are a mix of British and foreign, a typical

selection being chicken Proven??al with spaghetti, beef Madras,

homemade lasagne, homemade steak and ale pie, or fisherman's

pie.

Sunday lunch is £9.95 for three courses and £6.95 for two,

which is exceptionally good value - cheaper, in fact, than some

pubs.

For starters we were offered soup of the day (broccoli and

Stilton), smoked salmon bruschetta, melon cocktail or wild boar

pat?? with cucumber sauce.

My two scoops of wild boar pat?? ware soft, pink, smooth and

tasty, and were served with a well-dressed salad and toast -

just enough to whet the appetite without filling space reserved

for the roast lamb and trimmings.

Herself started with the smoked salmon bruschetta, an

artistic arrangement of same which was evidently as delicious

as it looked.

I rather hoped she might offer me a morsel in exchange for

some of my wild boar pat??, but the gesture was not forthcoming

and I'm too proud to beg.

She followed the salmon with roast beef, which looked a bit

well done to me, but that was only round the edges. She said it

was well cooked and full of flavour, and gave top marks to the

Yorkshire pudding and roast potatoes too.

My roast leg of lamb, which came with a mint jus or gravy,

was also lean and tender, and not carved so as to be

practically transparent.

The vegetables were fairly predictable - cauliflower,

broccoli, carrots and new potatoes - but hot and not

overcooked.

I declined dessert, but Herself enjoyed her rhubarb pie (the

alternatives were chocolate fudge cake and apple crumble) - the

last remaining portion, as it happens.

Afterwards, I wondered how long it would be before the

Arnold Bennett Society started picketing The George, demanding

the reinstatement of their literary hero.

But as we left the hotel, I thought I would hear Arnie's

ghostly voice insisting: "I'll be back."