In these days of dreadful corporate scandal, it’s good to have a positive post office story! [For any readers outside of the UK just Google ‘UK Post Office Scandal & Fujitsu‘, grab your popcorn, and settle in for a real life horror story!].

Meanwhile, back in the land of minor horror stories (i.e. Cardiff), a place where a good few fabulous old Victorian buildings are left to rot presumably until they fall down of their own accord… Listed Building or not! The former Head Post Office was completed in 1897 built in The Dutch Revival style. It ceased its function as a post office in 1983, briefly became a British Telecom hub for bureaucrats before those with great power and little imagination decided it should be left empty for 20+ years.

Now, as the Parkgate Hotel, a great building breathes new life; and another presumably ideal location for a bland office or multi-storey car park has thwarted the ideals of the town planners. [As a former town planner I say three cheers to that!].

Stepping off a damp Westgate Street into the reception area you’re greeted with a large and brightly lit welcome, at the centre of which is a modern chandelier. Well, I guess even the riches they robbed off poor innocent postmasters and postmistresses probably couldn’t stretch to restoring the original!

The restaurant off to the right side of the reception area is aptly named The Sorting Room in keeping with a previous use. Where’s the imagination? those downtrodden town planners yell at me! There’s always room for a nostalgic reflection of past uses, my dears; not everything has to be in pursuit of destroying historical reference!

But, as those innocent victims of corporate greed and institutional incompetence contemplate their years in bland cells, behind bars, pleading their innocence, what can us luckier mortals expect? Well, the spacious wood panelled room provides an excellent setting for sipping a nice Rioja while perusing the interesting menu. Not bread and water rationing for us, oh no!

Smoked Mediterranean Octopus and Penderyn Single Malt Welsh Whiskey Cured Salmon for starters. Former upstanding post office people might well be thinking what they can spend their viciously hard earned compensation on (if they lived to see it, that is). Well, a little bit of squid ink sponge, chorizo, tempura samphire, roasted garlic and herb oil will help the octopus to dance delicately across the taste buds. As for the salmon… Brecon vodka creme fraiche, deep fried avocado, pickled cucumber and a fresh mini loaf are set to tempt those beauties of the deep to swim back upstream into the catchments of emporia of fine dining.

Yes, my reader… if you’re of the pile it high and shovel it down (i.e. all-you-can-eat buffet) bent, look-away now. This is one of those strange places where large areas of porcelain (slate/wood/whatever the current fashion) are on show. This is where incredible flavours blend to satisfy exquisite tastes, leaving you more than fulfilled by the experience.

Good service can be identified by the time they allow between courses… though clearly not the length of time the post office/governments of the day/Fujitsu had in mind when torturing innocent workers who had dedicated their lives to serving their local communities.

So for the main event… I’m not sure what noises octopus and salmon make, but it was definitely time for an Oink & Quack show. Slow Cooked Pork Belly & Crackling and a Pan Roasted Garlic & Thyme British Chicken Breast would just have to offer up their sacrifices for this particular table… with a shared side of Thyme & Honey Roasted Root Vegetables… For the record, the belly pork arrived with toffee apple, smoked carrot puree, chorizo jam, sticky red cabbage, Pommes Anna, and Welsh cider sauce, and it was definitely slow cooked… but not as slow as the aforementioned post office employees would recognise as the definition of the word ‘slow’. The chicken had to make do with being brined in Welsh beer, with Tatws Pum Munud, confit onions, leek and bacon lardons, crispy chicken crackling, Welsh rarebit, confit chicken croquette, and Glamorgan ale jus.

Now, if you were left to rot in a jail cell for something you were entirely innocent of, just so those higher ups in society don’t lose a little face (or a few quid for their daily fine dining excursions), you might well be wondering how do they get all of this stuff onto the plate? Well, somehow they do, and even find room for the pan of gravy to reside by the awaiting nosh. Amazing!

Until we speak again, who needs the pan pipes to serenade away such a great dining experience when you can improvise your own instrument? Just don’t forget your humanity, and save the water and the mini loaf of bread for the poor unfortunates who had their whole lives stolen from them by a bunch of lying, cheating, disgraceful and despicable rich and entitled b*$t@*%s.