After we’d negotiated who was going to sit next to who, they chatted and told jokes to each other (“what was the astronaut who was surprised to land on the moon called? Neil Alarmstrong”, etc), happy to be out and with their friends.

When their food arrived, they ate their meals sensibly.

There was no running around, throwing food, or other general unpleasantness or misbehaviour.

The youngest, a one year old in a high chair, made a bit of a racket at times, as a one year-old will, but his mum and dad did a good job of keeping him quiet by walking him around the foyer.

I was sat at the end of the table, and I could hear what the couple on a nearby table were saying.

“You can’t go out for a quiet lunch these days”.

“Next time, we’ll get a takeaway and eat it in peace at home”.

“They just can’t control them”.

“Disgrace”.

I don’t know if they knew that I could hear what they were saying. I suspect not, but I did hear, and it left me with a difficult problem – should I say something or just ignore it?

Well, I’m British, so I inevitably kept my counsel, but I wasn’t happy, and I should have said something.

The relationship between children and restaurants is always going to be slightly strained. It’s nearly impossible for a restaurant to cater successfully to everybody, and one of the most obvious clashing points is always likely to be that between young families and people who don’t like the presence of children.

I don’t think there needs to be friction, and I don’t think there should have been on Sunday, but there are some important things that this couple should have borne in mind:

• Some restaurants are set up to cater for kids. This was one of them. It serves fish and chips. You have to walk past a row of high chairs on the way in. There’s a dedicated children’s menu. At least five tables are set up to seat eight people. The presence of the under tens in a place like that shouldn’t come as a surprise to anybody.

• Sunday lunch is not the time for a quiet lunch in a family orientated restaurant – it just isn’t. It’s blindingly obvious. There are going to be children there.

• This place isn’t a ‘dining experience’ – Thomas Keller isn’t in the kitchen, Gordon Ramsey isn’t on the pass. It’s just some guy with a big fish fryer. You shouldn’t expect to eat your meal in hushed reverence. This was no temple to the art of gastronomy.

• Commenting on my parenting skills is just rude – at least have the courtesy to speak to me directly if you have a problem. Maybe I could have done something to help you, although, from what I overheard, I doubt anything except the complete removal of all five kids would have satisfied you.

I’ll always try and teach our kids how to behave well in public, and they generally do, with the odd exception that’s to be expected of any three and seven year old, of which Sunday was most definitely not one.

This raises a bigger question. Children clearly cause some diners difficulties, so, should they be allowed to eat in restaurants at all? Should kids just be barred?

I think my views are fairly clear in that I positively encourage our children to eat out in cafes and restaurants.

Food is always best when eaten with other people and eating together is an important part of ‘being a family’.

Above that, eating out teaches children valuable lessons in manners, behaviour and how they should conduct themselves in different social situations.

The main reason, though, is that it’s enjoyable, and everybody benefits.

Apart from the intolerant people on the table behind us on Sunday, that is…

Fish and chips somehow always taste better in faded surroundings, in places that harbour echoes of more glamourous times past.  In this sense, the The North Sea Fish Restaurant’s lack of interior design and unwitting nostalgia do nothing but add to its pub function room like charm.

It’s had it’s ups and downs over the years, and more than a little intrigue and espionage, too – MI5 apparently bugged the place in the eighties, trying to eavesdrop on miner’s leader Arthur Scargill, who used to eat there regularly, discussing tactics with his comrades from the National Union of Miners over plates of cod and chips.

The (laminated) menu is exactly as you’d expect.  Fish, a few varieties, including cod, haddock and plaice, deep fried, served with chips and tartar sauce.  There are other embellishments and quirks (they’ll grill instead of fry, if you’d prefer), but frankly, if you veer towards that end of the menu, you’re missing the point, and, dare I say it, the fun.

Fish fried in batter is what the North Sea does best, and their best is extremely good indeed.

Fillets are served in two sizes, normal and ‘jumbo’, which roughly translates as ‘insanely large’, and are fried crisp in a light and airy batter, the fish steamed perfectly inside it’s batter case.  Crunchy chips are served, a little pointlessly, on the side in a retro basket, along with a first rate, freshly made tartar sauce.

The restaurant prices are acceptable for a proper meal, but the takeaway next door is where the bargains are.  After all, don’t fish and chips taste better eaten out of paper in the open air, anyway?

We ate lunch at The Devonshire Fell last week, a hotel and restaurant set high above the River Wharfe in the village of Burnsall in the heart of the Yorkshire Dales.  The restaurant has stunning views across the rolling hills of the Dales, the river flowing slowly below.

It’s an exceptional setting for a restaurant, and the food matches the view.

Nuggets of soft braised pig’s cheek served on silky mashed potato with rich and tasty boudin noir as a starter that I’d quite happily have taken as a main, such was the tastiness of the pork.  For a main course, hake paired with chorizo and haricot beans, soft tender and collapsing, the chorizo punctuating the warmth of the beans with sharp and spicy bursts of flavour, against the satisfying mildness of a piece of perfectly cooked hake.  For dessert, a ridiculously good rhubarb jelly with pannacotta, stacked skyscraper high with a delicious, nutty ice-cream.

The head chef, Dan Birk, at twenty-six, is one of the rising stars of the Yorkshire restaurant industry.  He’s a talented chef, trained in some of the best kitchens in the country and now cooking his own menus.  He told us that he’s got the right team in his kitchen and that he’s excited about his new menu, which draws on the vast range of top quality ingredients available in the Dales.

It’s probably not surprising that locality is key to Birk’s cooking.  His meat, for example, comes from the butcher just down the hill.  There’s a wealth of world-class produce right on the doorstep, so why not use as much of it as possible?

The Devonshire Fell’s local pride goes beyond just its suppliers. The Fell has spent a lot of time getting to know their neighbours.

The occupants of a close by farmhouse are sent off to the Michelin starred Devonshire Arms just down the valley for dinner and a bed for the night whenever the Fell has a potentially noisy wedding booked.  Every Monday night is ‘locals’ night – sausages from the local butcher, cooked a couple of different ways at a reasonable price.  The villagers come for sausage and mash, the odd pint of Copper Dragon and a bit of a chat.  It’s a clever business model, turning a traditionally dead Monday evening into something commercially and socially worthwhile.  The Fell looks after the villagers, and the village looks after it.

The Devonshire Fell’s food is elegant but not fussy.  Elaborate food wouldn’t work in a place like this, which needs a slightly more relaxed style, a bit of homeliness about it.  Birk delivers this, but there’s still the sense of a classically trained hand in his food.

It’s a very good balance between exciting and accessible.

I was extremely impressed with The Devonshire Fell.  It’s a superb restaurant, with an excellent chef at the stove, who’s producing some inspiring and high quality food. Very much recommended – Dan Birk is one to watch.

Paella is the cornerstone of Spanish food.  This version marries chicken with artichokes and the deep, sweet smokiness of old oloroso sherry.

Start by browning 350g of boned and skinned chicken, cut into 2cm chunks in olive oil over a moderate heat in a wide frying pan or paella pan.  The chicken doesn’t need to be cooked right through, just well browned.  Chicken thigh meat is superior in flavour to breast, and should be used in preference, but breast will do, at a pinch.

When the chicken is done, remove it and set aside.

Turn the heat down to low, add a glug or two more of olive oil and gently fry two large onions, finely chopped, for at least twenty minutes until they start to caramelise and sweeten.  Scrape the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon as you go to lift any delicious burnt on chicken bits up into the onions.  This is the paella’s extra body, so be sure not to waste it.

Now the artichokes.  You’ll need three large globe artichokes.  Peel and trim the tough stalks, then pull away the outer leaves until the uncovered leaves seem to be more yellow than green.  This is the tender heart of the artichoke.  Use a small knife to tidy up the base of the head, cutting away any remaining tough parts, then slice the globe lengthways into eight pieces.  Keeping the cut artichokes in a bowl of water with a big squeeze of lemon added helps to stop them discolouring.

Prepping artichokes is a lot of work and there’s a fair amount of waste, but they’re worth it.

Add the artichoke wedges, along with six finely chopped cloves of garlic to the onions and continue to cook for another ten minutes before adding 250g of paella rice.

Turn the heat up and add 150ml of medium to dry oloroso sherry, and let the alcohol bubble away for a minute or two, then top up with 800ml of good chicken stock.  Grate in some nutmeg, four strokes should be enough, season well, add a good handful of chopped flat leaved parsley, stir once and leave alone to cook over a low heat.

After ten minutes, add the chicken in an even layer and gently push it down into the rice and stock.

Cook for five more minutes, then cover tightly with foil or a snug fitting lid and leave for another five minutes.

Serve with wedges of lemon and more chopped parsley.

This paella is from Sam and Sam Clark’s excellent Moro cookbook.