For Rach’s birthday, we are getting catering in for the big day itself. The chef was recommended to us by the owner of the villa, and he runs his own restaurant in Agramunt. Fortuitously for us, he closes the restaurant on Tuesdays, which is the day of Rach’s birthday.

We are all following him on Instagram (El Truc) but communication with him regarding the menu has been slight. We weren’t particularly clear on what it is that we’re getting, so when the Chuckle Brothers (Karen and Tibu) went on their shopping spree the other day, they popped in to see the Chef to talk through allergies and intolerances. Even after meeting Karen with all her dietary requirements, the Chef has still agreed to come on Tuesday, which is nice.

So we would have an idea of what sort of food to expect, we thought we would pay a visit to the restaurant ourselves for lunch. Again like our previous outing ng, it was a ”Menu del Dia,” and again the menu was in Catalan.

The thing that Google Translate couldn’t cope with this time was “Bobby beans”. We wondered for some time about what beans they could be. I guessed that they would be butter beans, as the Spanish do a lovely dish of warm butter beans and chorizo (don’t forget to pronounce the “z” as a “th”. I know Jamie Oliver doesn’t, but you are better than him. We are all better than him). We began going down the list of beans that could possibly be called Bobby beans.

Another option was the broad bean, which translates as Habas in Spanish, so maybe Bobby in Catalan? It’s an odd thing when you come to naming vegetables, isn’t it? I mean a broad bean describes it shape (so I suppose to be totally on trend, it should be referred to as a “plus size bean” these days) but a green bean is referred to by its colour (although as a child I seem to remember we called them French beans, which I never understood, as Dad grew them at the vegetable patch up at the bottom of the garden. Perhaps that bit of Ormskirk was technically France, I don’t know. We will delve into these strange independent states in another blog when I tell you about our escapades in Andorra). I mean peas are obvious because they are “pea size” obvs.

Anyhow, we headed off to the restaurant, which was unlike many traditional Spanish restaurants and it was not traditional at all. It wasn’t exactly Scandinavian canteen, but it did have distinct overtones of IKEA. I mean that in a good way, clean lines, clear menus, just really nice.

After being seated, we began the usual tradition that occurs when we go out eating with Tibu.

I guess, when you’re in the restaurant business, every trip out is a busman‘s holiday. But, Tibu does have a certain obsession about napkins.

This napkin was examined to the most alarming degree. It was unfolded, re folded, tugged at, stretched, held up to the lights so he could see through it and at the end he declared it to be the best disposable napkin he had ever come across.

This napkin was a bit like the material you would have in a wet wipe, but not wet, or the material that goes onto a flash disposable mop, but again not wet. It was a quality, disposable napkin.

This was a good sign. Next, the crockery was all turned over to find out who made it, and the magnifying glass was got out so that we could read who made the cutlery. So napkin and table wear had passed the test. Then the service test was next. For a restaurant with 40 covers, there were only two staff on, but they were both very, very good. They dressed in Black trousers, El Truc T-shirt, an apron and a flat cap. This was not a northern flat cap in an ironic sense; I think that these flat caps are coming back into fashion. But probably not the checked woolly ones that we used to wear in the 70s. Tibu‘s other obsession is aprons, and I spent most of the meal surreptitiously trying to take pictures of the aprons so that Tibu can try and source these back in the UK.

We ordered our meal and three of us had opted for Bobby beans, really just to discover what on earth they were. Tibu chose the pig’s ear (that is not a reflection on the cooking of his starter, it literally was a pig’s ear).

When our Bobby beans arrived, they were actually green beans, or French beans, or string beans, or, as I sometimes refer to them, squeaky beans (because they do tend to make a squeaking noise on your teeth). They were sat in a sauce of yoghurt, olive oil and cucumber and topped with Parmesan . They were very nice, but we still haven’t exactly established if Bobby was the name of the bean, or the chef who created the dish.

I guess the only way to find out is to go into a green grocer’s and say “have you got any Bobby beans?” and wait to see what look we get. (Let’s be honest, it could be the look I get in most places I go to ask for anything in this place. Idiot.)

So now that the food has been given the seal of approval, we can look forward to a lovely meal on Tuesday. I just really hope he remembers to bring the napkins, otherwise Tibu will be very upset.