My friend who tipped me off about this new place to the north of Preston told me, in his best Frank Muir drawl, that its unusual name was to do with ironmongery - big, he said, in these parts during rural times.
My Sparling partner who shared our meal here was convinced it was a garden bird (but she does think ornithology is a science) and I fancied it was a bijou health farm. We were all wrong. Extensive research (a dictionary) tells me it is a general term for baby cold water fish, which maybe inhabit the River Wyre not far from here.
The Sparling is the first establishment run by Wyre Valley Inns, and puts me in mind of the highly successful Three Fishes, at Mitton, in the Trough of Bowland, which is run by the ambitious Ribble Valley Inns, the people behind award-winning Northcote Manor, near Whalley.
The head chef at The Sparling, Warrick Dodds, once had the same job at Northcote. Yes, you can see where this is going.
There is nothing wrong with a successful template being copied and both enterprises specialise in modern, northern, no-nonsense cooking with locally-sourced ingredients, and both do it well. But there are distinct differences.
The Three Fishes is much more the countryside inn, a typical gastropub, while The Sparling feels a little more metropolitan - Preston is, after all, a city now, more European even, and would probably better suit the restaurant/bar tag.
It used to be the Barton Fox, a rather dowdy hostelry on the A6, five miles north of the city centre, where Alan Partridge types would drink pints with their driving gloves on and coo over the value of the steak and chips.
The Sparling has since chucked out most of the chintz and tastefully blended traditional materials in a new century way, with flagged and honey-wood flooring, timber sculptures, frosted screens which mute the barn-like feel of before, white chairs, dark-wood tables and a nice glass and metal, wood-burning stove in the centre of the restaurant proper.
And whereas The Three Fishes adorns its walls with black and white photographs of its "food heroes" - the pub's Lancastrian produce suppliers - The Sparling has arty, colourful shots of picturesque Red Rose county: Wrea Green duck pond, Knott End beach, the Ribble Valley viaduct, Pendle Hill, and so on.
There are smaller, non-eating areas with comfy seating and a small army of bar stools to the right of the bar for the drinkers, which shows that some people obviously still regard it as a local, despite its poncification.
Centre-stage
And, despite it concentrating on food, the bar takes centre-stage when you enter the squat, but not unattractive, brick villa and I was glad to see a line-up of real ales, despite them being the ubiquitous, if reliable, Black Sheep, Old Speckled Hen and Old Peculiar.
If they care enough to keep keg at bay, it must say something about their food and the interesting menu has a line-up of traditional northern dishes, with named suppliers in some titles, and a few recipes from farther afield.
The specials are all fish, that day's catch being starters of scallops and sardines and a main of monkfish.
My Sparling darling chose the sardines (£6.95), which were fresh fillets and simply done with rocket to the side.
I picked the intriguingly titled Bob Kitchen's one-day-old organic Lancashire curd cheese (£4.95), which comes from Leagram's dairy in nearby Chipping. Soft and delicate, it looked like a giant pat of Dairylea, but thankfully tasted nothing like, and the strong flavour sat well with its Mediterranean-style salad.
Tenner
We had two young children in tow and they had three courses for about a tenner, choosing white onion soup of the day, which was rich and deep in flavour and wasted on my tomato soup-loving six year old.
They had mains of mini fish, chips and peas. The fish was cooked well in an thin batter with five, pristinely rectangular "hand-cut" chips, which, being stacked on top of each other, gave the added pleasure of allowing an impromptu game of Jenga. The peas were the type that famously fooled Peter Mandelson into believing they were guacamole.
My main was peppered steak pie (£9.95), in a pot, with a bowl of 10 `Jenga chips', on two separate wooden blocks. I could have done with a simple veg side and a plate, but the pie was meaty with a great, light, golden pastry, if a touch too eye-wateringly peppery.
My Sparling partner had the "Vincigrassi 18th century lasagne", with parma ham (£9.95) (there is a veggie version for a quid less) which stole the show on the day.
It sounds a flowery title, however, before the 1800s lasagne was prepared without tomatoes but rather with truffles and prosciutto. This was obviously a value option compared to that, but no less special, with the merest hint of truffle oil in the mix of mushrooms and ham, showing there was a subtle, accomplished hand at work in the kitchen.
It being lunch, we didn't go overboard with wine, but I had a drop of fruity Cotes du Rhone (250ml, £5.75) from an averagely-priced list which includes, not surprisingly with the bar credentials, 16 wines available by the glass.
Service was relaxed, but attentive. We even had our table brushed between courses, but that may have been down to our crumb-scattering kids rather than pretensions to silver service by our heavily-accented French waiter.
Desserts were rather special. My rice pudding with toffee sauce and boozy prunes (£4.95) was a revelation, with al dente rice and not overly sweet, and we also had a "hand-flamed vanilla and mascarpone crème brulee" (£4.95) (other restaurants must use a robot to blow-torch the top). It was subtle, again not too sweet, with a generous dot-to-dot of vanilla specks.
After all that I think I need to send notification of a new definition to the Oxford English Dictionary. Sparling: spär'ling n. Eng. Successful template for British version of the European bar/restaurant.
The Sparling, 807 Garstang Road, Barton, Preston (01772 863789, thesparling.co.uk).
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