I Ate a Lunch with a Total Stranger and Found an Agony Aunt

On my drive over to the Moston Miners Community Arts Centre in North Manchester, I'm apprehensive. I'm going to something called Table Manners, which advertises itself as "an intimate and temporary encounter between two strangers, who in other circumstances might never meet," and I'm not sure what to expect.

Run by Quarantine, a Manchester-based theatre company known for making off-kilter work starring members of the public, the idea of the project is to bring people together over chat and food. Today, I'm one of those people.

A bit of background: the Miner's used to be, as the name suggests, associated with the Moston Colliery coal mine. Originally a pithead baths, it became a working men's club that stayed open into the 90s, long after the pit itself closed in 1952. A surprisingly extensive, nondescript brick and concrete building (now painted white), for decades it was the social heart of Moston. Unfortunately as the area went into a prolonged period of economic decline in the 90s, the community centre closed, and stood derelict for over a decade.

That was until local man Louis Beckett came along. A bullish, energetic Mancunian with a do-it-yourself spirit, since 2011 he and a team of volunteers have worked to return the Miners to its former glory. The centre now hosts activities ranging from live gigs to life drawing classes. It also has a cafe, run by Beckett's dad, where you can get a breakfast so big it is claimed you need not eat again for the rest of the day.

"I've never tried it myself, though," says Beckett.

Oozing with the atmosphere of an old fashioned greasy spoon, upon arrival I'm shown to a table and plied with what turn out to be endless cups of tea.

"Brenda will be over to sort you out in a minute," I'm promised—a statement that does little to settle my nerves.

The menu includes all the cafe classics: pies, chips, eggs, beans as well as sausages, ham, and bacon (in an English cafe, these can be combined in much the same way as cheese, beans, salsa, and guacamole in Mexican cuisine). Unfortunately, I'm a vegetarian, so opt for the safety of a jacket potato, beans, and cheese.

As I wait for the food to arrive and imagine what I might say to the stranger I'm soon to share lunch with, a voice breaks into my daydream: "You must be Andrew! I'm so sorry to keep you waiting."

The voice belongs to Brenda, and immediately all my fears are allayed. A diminutive retiree with twinkling eyes, Brenda is the sort of person you would cast as a loveable auntie in a children's TV programme. After brief introductions, we get down to business: the conversation menu.

It turns out that I have misunderstood Table Manners, and that it isn't a free-for-all at all. Instead, Brenda actually works for Quarantine, and directs me through a "Menu of Questions." For starters I can try "What was here that you miss?" for mains there is the suitably hefty, "What are you glad to see the back of?" and to finish off the sweet thoughts of "Who would be good to have here?"

As with all good conversations though, we're soon off on tangents. I find out about Brenda leaving her abusive second husband ("I just woke up one morning, sat up in bed and said to myself, 'Enough is enough'"), her creative awakening upon retirement ("My life started at 60"), and her reconnection with her sister ("When I was young, I hated her! Now we're best friends").

It all flows along very easily, the meal providing the punctuation as my jacket potato is taken away to be replaced by sponge cake with custard and, of course, more tea.

It becomes apparent that Brenda is one of those people who has a motivational tale for every occasion. When I mention that sometimes I struggle to say "no" to people she tells me how: "My daughter used to always assume I would babysit for my granddaughter, that I would drop everything to do it. Then one day I just said 'no' and you know what? It changed my life and I respect myself so much more."

She's the ultimate agony aunt, and I quickly find myself wondering whether it might be possible for me to adopt her as my own grandma, or at least get her number on speed dial in case I never need a quick shot of confidence.

And the food? Well, it's simple stuff—satisfying without being sensational. But then that's what it should be. This is a cafe where you come to meet your friends, to grab a quick bite on the way to work, or to come in and escape the cold and the rain—not where dinner might be a serious financial setback. The food, like the spirit of the place, is inclusive and brings down, rather than builds up, barriers.

As Brenda tells me about some of Quarantine's other projects, it strikes me that if I wasn't here at Table Manners, the chances are that I wouldn't have had a long conversation with an older person this month, maybe not even this year. As social clubs like the Miners closed down, we lost the mixing of age groups that makes for a satisfying sense of community. At least in this part of Manchester, something is being done to reverse the trend.

"It's been great," says Beckett, as he stands proudly by the club's door. "People seem to have really taken to it and it's brought lots of new faces to the Miners."

Currently there are no plans to continue with Table Manners project but that probably doesn't matter—the Miners is the sort of place where you could come in and get chatting to a stranger on any day.

"I love doing this project, love meeting people," replies Brenda when I ask her what she gets out of Table Manners. "But I'm not always very good at sticking to the menu!"

They say the first taste is with the eye, but having eaten with Brenda I can add another maxim: what leaves you feeling fulfilled is not just the cuisine but the company.