Solo dining at The Boat Yard, Peel

Peel is a lovely old historic town on the south side of the Isle of Man. Its castle is on the tidal island of St Patrick’s Isle, the causeway of Fenella Beach—the only way to get to the Viking fortress—is one of my favourite spots in the world. Instead of sand, it has queenie shells. Sometimes the sea is so large and wild in this tiny bay, the waves could crash above your head. On the night I arrived this trip, the Irish Sea was whipped up by the growing winds, a violent bar of black cloud striping above an orange sunset, lighting the tips of the grey, choppy waters in unusual, sunny shades of turquoise and gold. For days, the weather had been perfectly bright—cold, but resplendent, awakening thoughts of spring and polishing up old feelings of hope. Now, on my last evening of my trip away, the air was changing, some northwesterly storm was pushing into the sandy promenade, bringing hail with it. I stood as long as I could bear the windburn on my cheeks, then ducked into The Peveril, an Okells pub on the harbour where coal fires are tended obsessively by locals who still use Manx slang. I’m eyed up suspiciously, partly because I’m not from round here, but most likely because I’m clearly not wearing warm enough clothes. The friendly woman behind the bar tells me there are more seats in the lounge—the bar is full up with a regular post-work crowd of high-vis fisherman, workmen, and couples from the town. I recognise someone from a bus journey earlier in the week. It’s a small island.

Above the bar are two signs, one reads “Yessir” and the other “Hey Boy”, both Manx phrases I’ve heard surprisingly often on my trip. In the lounge, a teapot collection encircles the room, and a pool table stands unused, but worn. I sip my pint of Guinness (I didn’t fancy an Okells pale and their excellent Smoked Porter was all gone) and talk to a man across the room about Norton rotary engines and the Manx GP. Too soon, it’s time to go and eat. I realise I’m starving.

The Boat Yard is an award-winning restaurant that specialises in Manx seafood — that’s why it wins its awards. I have been a few times before, with Tom, but both times it was absolutely packed to the rafters. When I arrive at half past six on a cold, wet March Wednesday, I’m the only person there.

The menu is as fishy as I dreamed it would be, and while I’d normally order something picky or snacky or fried for a starter, I couldn’t think of anything nicer on such a cold night than a bowl of chowder. It came hot and creamy, filled with Manx kipper and mussels, and a healthy incorporation of curly parsley. Slurping it felt like warmth and health and happiness.

To drink, I had a glass of champagne. And then another. How incredibly off-putting of me, to ignore wine tasting regulations and all common decency, but I wanted some Champagne, so I had some. End of story. If you want to fight me about it, I‘ll meet you outside. Doing champagne by the glass is not ideal for any hospitality venue, and I apologised for being so awkward. Then I apologised for apologising. My lovely host was gregarious: “You deserve to have what you like,” she said. I wondered if had I been with other people she might not have added life coaching to my menu free of charge, but I appreciated it nonetheless. And anyway, I did like it very much, because it was rich and biscuity, with a squeeze of lemon sherbet.

My main was a lemon-buttery plaice, white and pure, served on a generous bed of sauteed samphire and scattered with plump and juicy queenies. Queenies, or queen scallops, are a Manx delicacy — voted the island’s national dish — and it was beautiful to enjoy them here as part of a dish, holding up their end of the bargain. Normally I’ve only ever eaten them as the start of the show, taking in their sweet, mellow fishiness. As the plaice’s supporting role, they added subtle depth to the butter-basted fish, layering up each white flake with a light sweetness reminiscent of langoustines. It felt luxurious to be eating this alone, and I congratulated myself, particularly whenever runners bobbed past the window and looked in. I’m in here, eating delicious fish. You’re out there, in the rain. I win.

I never get dessert, so let that be an indicator of how little I wanted to leave the table and this moment. I went for a pina colada panna cotta, and it was a blast of rum, coconut, and tart, zingy pineapple. Super fun, extremely good. Well done.

As I finished up, more couples came in to take their seats. Apparently there was a party later, which accounted for it being quiet early doors. What a relief — it seems as though people really do appreciate having this special place on their doorstep. I get up to pay and my host gives me a hug. I hope that it’s because she enjoyed chatting whenever she came over to my table, and not because she felt sorry for me for eating alone. I certainly didn’t. I loved every minute.

My Stuff

I’ve been having the best time on my zine tour, and I wanted to thank everybody who has come to one of my events so far. Your questions are always so thoughtful, and I’ve loved being able to share my stories out loud.

The next A Place To Be event is on Thursday 3 April at Runaway Brewery & Tap in Stockport. After that, I am heading to Caps and Tap in London on Saturday 16 April. I hope to see you there!

There are still zines for sale on the Pellicle website, and I will be selling them in person at my events. If you would like to sell them from your bar, tap room or shop, please let me know — I have wholesale prices ready to go.

See you soon I hope xox