Highchair dudgeon for Sunday lunch.

AMELANCHOLY consumes me as I join my husband and son in the car. We are relieved to be leaving The Carpenters Arms.

Pete and I are frazzled – taking a young child to a restaurant can be exhausting when everyone has a great time. More so if nobody does Unfortunately, Jacob’s mood was set on realising he would have to stay in a highchair – now he can walk he likes to be free. To convey his displeasure he passionately opposed his imprisonment, hurling several items to the floor.

Among the damned was some Yorkshire pudding, a roast parsnip, two mobile phones, a plate and a bit of dinosaur. Thankfully, manager Jim Dobbin and his waiting staff were patient and good humoured.

Not so child-friendly was the baffling absurdity of being offered a highchair but discovering there was no children’s menu or changing facilities.

The back of the car it is then.

Also, I was disappointed to have to tell a waitress not to carry steaming hot soup over my son. Spectacularly missing my point, she later returned with a large, very hot dinner plate and plonked it in front of my 19-month-old.

Still, I grabbed his hand before he burned it, which was good.

The Carpenters Arms, a traditional 18th century inn with a roaring log fire, promises delicious meals made from North Yorkshire produce.

Nestled in the picturesque village of Felixkirk, near Thirsk, it was officially reopened in September by John Sentamu, the Archbishop of York. Chris Blundell and Michael Ibbotsen took it on as one of their Provenance Inns.

I liked the interior – despite low ceilings and terracottacoloured walls, it felt spacious and, with its wooden beams, stone floor and fireplace, it felt cosy.

Shame this was slightly spoilt by an attempt to add a dash of the contemporary with tasteless glasses and coffee pots that clashed loudly with their surroundings.

The toilets were clean but unfortunately located. With the ladies’ door at right angles to the kitchen door I had the unique experience of being able to view inside both simultaneously.

The menu was predictable and extremely limited. After searching for the “proper”

menu, we realised the A4 sheet of paper I thought was the Sunday specials was “it”.

In the absence of a drinks menu, we ordered Cokes, though the tonne of unasked- for ice in mine made it too watery to drink.

Still, the bread was delicious and the salt crystals next to the unsalted butter were a nice touch.

To start, we ordered potato and leek soup. What we got was white pepper soup resembling potato and leek.

Tastebuds cauterised, we moved to the main course.

I’m not a vegetarian and, for me, fish just doesn’t say “Sunday lunch at a traditional village inn” so, backed into a corner, we ordered roast beef.

It tasted beautiful and was cooked to perfection – the best Pete had ever had. It was accompanied by a cold-ish Yorkshire pudding, a dribble of gravy and a few small “roast potatoes”. There was no promise of vegetables on the menu. Was this it? Indeed not. But we couldn’t eat them when they finally arrived.

My husband loathes cheese and I can’t abide parsnips, which rendered the cauliflower cheese and roast parsnips out, and the carrots joining them in the dish.

To be fair, on learning of our dilemma, the waitress whisked the offending articles away and replaced them with Savoy cabbage, green beans and cauliflower, sans cheese. If these options were mentioned on the menu I could have saved us all the trouble.

The new vegetables were lovely but their late arrival meant the rest of our food was almost gone, the gravy but a distant memory – the stingy dribble was no match for the absorbent Yorkshire pudding and “roast potatoes”.

What happened there? They weren’t undercooked so much as dense, leathery on the outside and greyish yellow in colour. Roast potatoes should have fluffy white insides and golden crispy outsides.

We waited in between courses.

I wouldn’t have minded but the place wasn’t heaving and I’m not convinced the food was cooked to order – or that all of it was created on the premises.

While we waited, staff sailed past without feeling compelled to clear the dishes from the previous course, prioritising tables without customers.

Pete ordered treacle tart and vanilla ice cream for dessert, which he said was “OK”. I plumped for sticky toffee pudding, which was sent back because it was cold.

Considering they hadn’t made it themselves it took a long time to return – was there a problem with the microwave?

The second offering was hot but just as bland as the first. I did well to manage three mouthfuls.

Our bill for two came to £51.60 for three courses, including a couple of Cokes.