UNFORTUNATELY, I have to be the bearer of some bad news for Cathy Cullen of Portadown, Co Armagh. Ms Cullen wrote to me last year, beaming with the happy news that, at last, there was something exciting happening in the culinary world of Co Armagh. Armagh is famous among food lovers for not having a culinary life. Foodwise, it is, as Cathy pointed out, a desert.
But, at last, there was a glimpse of hope. Roisin Hendron had opened up a restaurant in Gilford called The Yellow Door and "at last there is somewhere closer to home than Belfast, worth visiting", wrote Cathy. "This little gem is situated on the banks of the River Bann but on the Co Armagh side ... Its would make an Armagh girl very happy to have you confirm that at least one small oasis of gastronomic excellence exists in this otherwise barren county,"she concluded.
I am delighted to concur. The Yellow Door is a little gem, a small oasis of gastronomic excellence. There is only one problem.
The Yellow Door is on the banks of the River Bann but, sadly, it is on the Co Down side. It is not in Armagh. Armagh remains, unfortunately, a gastronomic desert. Sorry, Cathy.
But, hell, let's not allow the small matter of a river border blind us to the truth of the matter. The Yellow Door would be worth the trip wherever it was, for it is a restaurant distinguished by an admirable determination to do things properly.
You don't think this when you first get a glimpse of it, however. Tucked tight into the side of the road, on a hill, opposite a small housing estate, it looks like a mix of shebeen meets steak house. Even an estate agent couldn't get much further than "unprepossessing" to describe it.
You walk into a small reception area, a mix of sofas and comfy chairs, and the first hint that you are someplace serious is the presence of a pair of glass cabinets which are strewn with much-leafed cookery books. Reassuring.
The attitude of the waiter was likewise reassuring. A young man, he greeted us with an appropriate low-key style, offering menus, fetching mineral waters, calm and unfazed by the fact that we were the only two lunch guests.
The menus promised intriguing cooking - Moroccan spiced fillet of lamb with couscous and roast vegetables; fresh pasta with smoked chicken and a fresh herb pesto; cannon of pork with cabbage and bacon and a parsley cream sauce; supreme of chicken with Thai fried rice - and the kitchen did not dissipate that promise.
There are five starters, five main courses and five desserts, and even reading the menu one was struck by how intelligently it was written. None of the cliche's of menu-speak and none of that flowery verbosity which is so off-putting has been allowed. It gives as much information as necessary and no more.
BUT the most reassuring thing about The Yellow Door is the cooking itself. Roisin Hendron and her team are serious and it shows in the attention to detail. A starter of salmon and leek tart served with dressed salad leaves, for example, had a perfect pastry: crumbly, buttery, rich, which perfectly conjoined the eggy collation of salmon and leeks. The salad was lightly dressed, refreshing.
The fresh pasta with smoked chicken and a fresh herb pesto scored on all points: the tagliatelle was excellent, the smoked chicken was a presence in the dish rather than an overpowering element and the pesto bristled with freshness. Some fried mushrooms were dotted around the plate for decoration but the fineness of the dish itself made them superfluous.
We were impressed but what followed was perhaps even better. Roast Irish lamb with colcannon and a rich lamb jus was right on the money, a trio of cutlets arranged around a tower of colcannon, with a jus that had been reduced to perfection: syrupy, full of flavour, neither too strong nor too viscous.
Grilled fillet of hake was served on top of some sauteed greens and diced mange tout, the firm flesh of the twin fillets counter-pointed by a dill butter sauce which was, again, absolutely spot on. We hummed a quiet hymn of contentment and enjoyed the well-evoked flavours. A side dish of vegetables - potatoes, cauliflower with a bechamel and broccoli - was fine but largely unnecessary.
At this point in a meal, the quiet hymn of contentment begins to be overtaken by a slightly desperate invocation, which goes something along the lines of: "Please God, don't let them muck up the desserts!" We needn't have worried.
A selection of homemade ice-creams was superb, the half-dozen flavours including one of the most refreshing mint ices I have ever enjoyed. The secret here was freshness. Many kitchens make ice-creams and believe they can be stored in the freezer for ever and a day. They can't, because ices are best when fresh, as this selection showed.
Even better was a dish of profiteroles served with a hot fudge sauce. The little orbs of choux pastry cloaked in chocolate just melted in the mouth, while the sauce was seriously sinful.
During our lunch, the kitchen did not put a foot wrong. We drank half bottles of a fine Drouhin Chablis and an excellent Graves, Chateau Rahoul 1989, chosen from a good wine list which would benefit from some notes about the wines, finished with goods cafetiere coffee and petits fours, and the bill clambered to just over £50.
Co Down's gain is Co Armagh's loss, no doubt about it. Sorry, Cathy.