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Fat Git at the Renshaw Grill

Our rotund cabbie has been feeling a bit low lately, so we sent him to eat meat on Rapid Hardware Street

Published on January 14th 2010.


Fat Git at the Renshaw Grill

ON my gravestone, it will say, 'He went around the block more than a few times'. And it won't be referring to my prowess with a steering wheel.

No. What it will be referring to is women. La femme. And don't listen to what anybody tells you. As a taxi driver, I have had more than my fair share of the fairer sex, in the Fairway and out of it.

Rumps and loaded skins, caught my eye, but they've been catching my eye a lot lately, especially on the top shelf of the paper shop by us

But even though I've cut out the Pringles in order to get the old stomach down, things have been withering on the vine. And I think you know what I mean.

It is important to get your proper fill of protein, something you ladies know all about, so I thought I would treat myself to some red meat.

Out on the bimble a few weeks ago, I noticed a new place next to Caesar's Palace and opposite Lewis's: The Renshaw Grill.

A look at the menu in the doorway, promised to get my juices flowing, all of them. Well-hung steaks, burgers, surfs and turfs, sausage and mash. If that lot didn't refresh the parts that I haven't been able to reach for some time - not standing up anyway - nothing would.

So I switched the night collar with someone from Barry's Taxis a couple of Fridays ago and in we went. Me and Cousin Tony.

Have I ever told you about Tony? Bloody hell, his life is a car crash. He doesn't say much, but, when he does, he pebbledashes every other sentence with four-letter words. He has a lot of other habits as well, which make people stare, but you get used to it. He's on tablets for his nerves. But a good feed always cheers him up, for a bit.

When I got there Tony was already seated in one of the sumptuous red banquettes, bicycle clips on the table. He hasn't got a bike, mind you.

They've done the place out really smart, with a couple of very fit looking waitresses on the side. They were all smiles when they handed us the menus. Cuz was texting somebody earnestly. His latest in a long line of solicitors, probably. He has had a compo claim going on with the council for years now. Don't ask me what it's about, but just when you think it's sorted, it all kicks off again.

He didn't appear to notice the menu, so I ordered everything.

Rumps and loaded skins, caught my eye, but they've been catching my eye a lot lately, especially on the top shelf of the paper shop by us.

Our friendly server recommended Quesadillas (£4.95), so we had them and some King Prawns (£4.95) marinated in olive oil, chilli and coriander, char grilled on a bed of lettuce and lemon mayonnaise dip. This latter wasn't bad at all. The prawns were good and meaty with a good char taste, and had been cooked so they were still juicy. The dressing OK and the mayonnaise tasted like the real homemade deal.

Such marks can't be given to the Quesadillas, a folded tortilla with a chopped tomato salsa, pineapple, mixed cheese, hot sauce and chicken. There was a lot of it, so no complaints there, but it it looked a bit messy and greasy.

Now even though I have been on incapacity benefit for 15 years, I have travelled all over the world and eaten at some of the finest restaurants, so know good quesadillas. Trust me. You probably wouldn't notice anything wrong, though, and while our Tone wasn't looking, I finished the lot in three big mouthfuls.

And so onto the mains, washed down with a big, plump and ripe number, a bit like myself.

A £19.95 Portuguese Douro from a smallish wine list that only offers a couple of Old World reds, one being a burgundy and the other a French Merlot.

I haven't seen steak with a bone in it for quite a while, but, hello, suddenly one popped up right here. A 16oz T-Bone (£16.95) which stood proudly on a menu that also includes a couple of other relative strangers to Mersey menus: a 120z centre cut sirloin, a 14oz Porterhouse and a 20oz Chateaubriand for two to share at £45. There's also fillet and rib eye.

T won the toss for the T-bone which was served medium with chunky chips in that Jenga arrangement that they do in Korova restaurants, portobello mushroom and garlic baked tomato which he said I could have because garlic brings him out in hives. I asked him was it OK: "It's totally f***ing sound, mate", he retorted, glaring around the room, after being startled by a cabaret singer who had struck up in the corner.

It's all locally sourced beef in the Renshaw Grill, they say, which is good news if that sort of thing bothers you. I was busy listening to Nothing Compares 2 U and thinking about Pauline, the lost love of my life from Litherland, when my rump of lamb (£12.95) appeared. Marinated in rosemary and garlic, it was a generously proportioned and very nicely flavoured piece of firm, just-pink meat, as requested, which I know is exactly how Pauline enjoys it.

The dauphinoise potatoes were, again, excellent, and the redcurrant reduction, veg and all, were spot on. Some might think the sauce a little too sweet, but I could feel it doing me a mansized power of good and I ate every bit without stopping.

After a short respite, puddings of homemade, slow baked, New York cheesecake (£4.49), and a homemade chocolate brownie (£4.95) served with vanilla bean ice cream, whipped cream, chocolate sauce and nuts arrived, hitting the spot nicely. Tony had ice cream (£3.95).

You could do a lot worse than eat here if you are in town, I reckon, so go and seek it out.

I could feel the stirrings of something, just as the waitress handed us the bill with a twinkle in her eye. I definitely could. But on prompt investigation it turned out just to be my handheld device vibrating in my trouser pocket. A text from Barry telling me the night man hadn't turned up and could I come and get the cab.

"Come 'ead, Our Kid, I'll f***ing sort it. I'll run you up there," said Tone waving the keys of his Merc about.

As the crooner crooned "One For My Baby, and One More For The Road", we went back into the Friday night air, alive with starry people, with starry eyes.

I sighed. It would be another night, alone, on the rank, for me.

Rating: 14/20
Breakdown: 7/10 Food
4/5 Service
3/5 Ambience
Address: The Renshaw Grill
13-15 Renshaw Street
Liverpool
L1 2SA
0151 708 4008

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20 comments so far, continue the conversation, write a comment.

eL cIDSeptember 12th 2008.

fUCKING HELL, i THOUGHT i WAS A SAD AND LONELY BASTARD. i AIN'T GOT NOTHING ON THIS FAT GIT CHARACTER. WHAT PUBS DOES HE GO TO - WE COULD DEPRESS EACH OTHER ONE NIGHT....

ColinSeptember 12th 2008.

How did that '****ling ell' get past the sensor then?

Sausages like Johnny'sSeptember 12th 2008.

It's certainly a manly life in Hebden Bridge.

Antony Worrall-ThompsonSeptember 12th 2008.

Hard pressed = waiters. Cold pressed = olives. See, it's easy!

NickySeptember 12th 2008.

I love Fat Git! LOL!

Bluebell EndSeptember 12th 2008.

I thought it was his tip to which he was alluding in his 'witherignn on the vine' divergence.

Cockney BarstewardSeptember 12th 2008.

Free Burritos? That's no good; there's four of us.

Spotted Dick like Jamie'sSeptember 12th 2008.

For perfect sausages give them a little prick like me.

NadiaSeptember 12th 2008.

So, this Fat Git is back and now he has the trouble with lady, even being very big man. I think long and hard that this Fat Git could learn lot from Nadia, who never has disappointing result. I am red hot Russian lady who can hold many beetroot in hands at same time to resolve problem better than cheap piece of meat.

Pauline's mateSeptember 12th 2008.

I hear Fat Git always leaves a big tip.

Fat GitSeptember 12th 2008.

To Siobhan: Given my present physical state, I would not drink more than a glass normally, and on this evening in particular, thinking that the cab was boxed off with the night collar, I had one more and asked for the cork. I might have struck lucky with a young lady and I was not going to dampen my chances, shall we say. Tony, on the other hand, has been virtually teetotal since an unfortunate incident in the summer when he attended a fire eating workshop in Hebden Bridge. I cannot say more as this is also the subject of a new litigation he tells me he is mounting against his therapists who, he claims, advised him to go there in the hope of helping him resolve his morbid fear of paraffin. I hope this is a plausable explaination.

TonySeptember 12th 2008.

well **** me!

Hard SuspensionSeptember 12th 2008.

Don't knock taxi drivers! Someone's got to suffer crippling haemorrhoids on your behalf.

Another TonySeptember 12th 2008.

Yeah and i bet they never left a tip for the poor hard-pressed waiters. bastards.

SiobhanSeptember 12th 2008.

So which of the two diners drank the bottle of Portuguese Douro then? The one who was driving his taxi for the rest of the night or the merc driver who gave him the lift there to do it?

Melons like NigellasSeptember 12th 2008.

Yes but maybe a bridge too far

BazSeptember 12th 2008.

I don't ****ing know!

Hard workingSeptember 12th 2008.

I assume these two benefit scrounging low lifes are being paid to eat as well, while people like Trinity Mirror printers have to face a bleak future. What is the world coming to?

Doughnuts Like Fanny'sSeptember 12th 2008.

What is this "LOL" Lots Of Lard?If Mr Git can tell me of a good Lard based eating establishment, I'll be there. Thats's what I want on my white sliced. Bloody Oil and Islamic Vinegar seems to have taken over the world.

Liverpool wagSeptember 12th 2008.

How come the waiters are "hard pressed", missus?

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