LADIES who lunch enjoy a bit of flattery and attention from charming waiters with equally charming foreign accents.

Being made to feel important is such a massive part of customer care that proprietors of restaurants who neglect it do so at their peril.

Nothing travels quite as fast as gossip about bad service and Basil Fawlty-style rudeness.

But I will not be spreading any gossip about 41 Kirkgate, the new kid on the Huddersfield Hotel block.

Full marks to our waiter, who had continental charm aplenty. In fact, if all waiters are like him in the Czech Republic, from whence he originated, then it must be a delightful country indeed in which to vacation.

Unfortunately, I was not quite as charmed by the unusual choice of furniture in this recently-refurbished restaurant.

“I don’t think I’ve seen such a bright red,’’ said I to my dining companion Soreta, who was equally gob-smacked.

Leather padded chairs are de rigeur in restaurants of a certain quality these days, but at 41 Kirkgate the leather is in an almost luminescent red, the sort that hits you between the eyes and takes the rest out of restaurant.

The pictures on the wall, clearly chosen to match this fiery glow, were as colourful as a toddler’s paintbox. Our waiter handed us a leaflet, which proclaimed them to be by one Marcus Levey of Leeds, a former nightclub owner.

But, of course, we weren’t there to buy a painting - although they did provide a talking point over the table (Soreta’s a bit of a dab hand herself with the paintbrush). We were there to try the lunchtime menu.

It spoke of simple fare and a desire to cater for all tastes. Lurking between the Sausage and Mash, Lasagne, Gammon and Pineapple, Caesar Salad and Spaghetti Carbonara, were Thai Green Curry, sirloin beef dinner and fish and chips.

It was a cold day so just for once I made a firm decision to stoke up on calorific battered fish and chips.

Soreta asked the waiter what he could recommend and he said the sausages and mash had a nice red wine gravy.

There were no starters, but diners can ask for smaller portions of almost anything if they want to have two courses.

My fish was sitting pretty on a sea of mushy peas with half a dozen of those huge, voguish chunky chips on the side.

The batter was hot and crispy, the fish fresh and flaky and the chips tasty. I’m not a great fan of the deep fat fryer but in this case it had been put to good use.

Soreta got what appeared to be a pound of fat sausages swimming in sauce with two gigantic quenelles of mash. The sausages and sauce, she said, were yummy, but the mash was “awful.’’

“It’s just not creamy enough and too dry.’’

We asked to see the pudding menu but instead the waiter did the memory-man act and reeled off a list of cheesecake, tiramisu, delice and the usual suspects.

Strictly speaking we didn’t have time to eat a pudding but we ordered the strawberry cheesecake and tiramisu anyway; ate half; drank half our creamy cappucchinos (made with full milk, said Soreta), whacked out the credit card and ran back to work. Proper ladies who lunch wouldn’t have do such things, of course.

We’d like to have left more of a tip for our waiter but could only scratch £1.50 between us.

He probably thought we hadn’t enjoyed our meal anyway, as we’d left some of it. But, in truth, we did (apart from the mash).

This is an unpretentious restaurant with a lunchtime menu that offers a few favourites, modern and old.

In the evening I’m told that the new Huddersfield Hotel owners see the restaurant as a venue for fine dining. Lunchtime prices were of the £6/£7 mark for a cooked main course, which is about the going rate. We bumped our bill up with the puddings and coffees.

As we were the only diners on a damp Tuesday lunchtime it’s hard to say how it fares during busy times or in the evenings. But it’s a venue that has enjoyed great popularity in its previous incarnation as the Rosemary Lane Bistro.

These days it’s up against stiff competition but, I hope, will rise to the challenge.

Unfortunately, I suspect that not a lot can be done about the chairs. But, as with food, it’s all a question of personal taste.