The Plough Motel, Stoke: Alan Cookman restaurant review

ERNIE, the fastest milkman in the west, was on his way to the milk round in the sky.

Two-Ton Ted from Teddington had caught him in the eye with a stale pork pie and that was the end of Ernie (who, of course, will not be forgotten).

Background music in restaurants comes in all flavours – cool jazz, light classical, blues, swing, soul etc – but piped Benny Hill was a novelty.

Although I've always rated the ballad of Ernie the milkman one of the best things Hill ever did, it did seem an odd accompaniment to a quiet dinner for two.

I wondered if it might be followed by Who Put The Turtle In Myrtle's Girdle? by Sid King and the Five Strings, but we were obviously listening to a completely random assortment of tracks of no common vintage or genre.

After Ernie came Duran Duran, and then I thought I recognised the voice of Anne Shelton, the vocalist who competed with Vera Lynn for the devotion of the troops during the Second World War.

"She was a local girl, then," said Herself. "She was not," I replied with some authority. "Anne Shelton was no more a native of the Potteries than singer KT Tunstall, composer George Fenton, or child film star Jimmy Hanley."

I was ready to elaborate on this theme when the starters arrived, an unwelcome interruption from my point of view.

That's because the buffalo wings I'd ordered had skins like buffalo hide and were quite raw in parts. "I thought buffalo wings were supposed to be deep fried," I said to Herself.

The largest of the three chicken wings, the one with the toughest, most rubbery skin, hardly appeared to have been cooked at all.

We were checking out the Friday and Saturday steak nights at The Plough Motel where two courses are £7.95 and three courses £9.95.

From a choice of starters that also included soup and melon cocktail, I took a chance on the buffalo wings against my better judgment.

In my view, the amount of meat yielded by a chicken wing, whether coated in barbecue sauce or not, does not justify the effort and mess required to separate it from the bone.

I pushed the buffalo wings aside, and sat sullenly coveting Herself's starter, she had wisely chosen the freshly-sliced mushrooms in a creamy garlic sauce, which looked delicious.

If I felt badly done by, things were about to look up, as my choice of main course was inspired.

Mains with the inclusive deal range from classy burgers to sizzling steaks and salmon fillet, but I fancied the 8oz gammon steak. I often fancy gammon, but it seldom lives up to expectations.

This one did, bigtime. It was a thick, juicy slab of ham, the colour and texture that gammon steaks used to be. In short it was classic gammon, more than satisfying enough to compensate for The Great Buffalo Wing Horror.

It was served on a bed of onions and peppers, garnished with a grilled tomato, and served with a large pile of curly fries that were vivid orange, like Cheesy Wotsits, which are demonstrably not one of my favourite snacks. These Dayglo chips might have appealed to five-year-olds, but serving them to adults seemed eccentric in the extreme.

Herself seemed pleased with her 6oz sirloin steak, despite its being more tender in some places than it was in others, and she enjoyed the strawberry cheesecake and ice-cream.

If you're wondering why I didn't send the wings back, by the way, I was afraid it would break the heart of our sweet an obliging waitress.

And apart from my starter, and the bizarre fries, the meal had not been bad for under £10 for three courses.

As we finished the wine, I told Herself about Bertie Burslem, the Victorian music hall entertainer who was regarded as the outstanding plate-twirler of his day.

He was from Ipswich.