My friend F’s mum was in town as part of a sightseeing trip of the North East this week, so I met her for dinner. We had a wander down to the Quayside so she could see the Tyne Bridge in all its glory, with a stop off at one of my old haunts, The Red House, for a cheeky glass of wine.

Deciding it was wiser to eat halfway up Dean Street than try to scale the whole thing with full bellies, we went to Marco Polo. A fairly traditional, unfancy Italian place with friendly service and good food – my penne arriabiata was so deliciously rich I couldn’t finish it – it hit the spot for an unpretentious dinner.



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