'The Europa is no more': One blogger laments the loss of the famous Teesside parmo house

It is done.

The last serving of béchamel sauce has been whammed.

We don’t drizzle or garnish round here - onto your pork slab or chicken breast (cue backlash from purist gastronomic Teessiders) or even fish...for there was, but once, a fish parmo.

The breadcrumbs have been shotblasted into position for the final time and the last beer bottle has been emptied.

The Europa is no more.

Savour then, the Bolognese-tinged net curtains, the dented radiators (whose dents always looked suspiciously head-shaped to me) and the drunken ascent of the stairs to the toilets that made a steady jog up Roseberry Topping look like an attractive proposition.

Even though it looked like it hasn’t been troubled by a paintbrush since the 1970s, the place has become a local nay national institution, thanks it to its flagship antichrist-on-a-plate dish, the parmo.

An adult male’s weekly recommended calorie intake is crammed into one dish - this is a deep-fried dollop of destruction.

It was said to be introduced to the Europa by one-time chef Charlie Constantine and soon became synonymous with the venue.

But you’ll rarely hear the word ‘parmo’ in a sentence that doesn’t contain the word ‘Europa.’

Its preparation and recommended point-of-sale divides opinion like nothing else on Teesside.

Originally veal was used but now pork is preferred.

As if to highlight this, one local internet forum contributor on the subject says: “Anyone selling chicken parmesans are impostors and should be drowned at birth.”

Whatever the ingredients, the definitive version will always be from the Europa.

I haven’t been for over a year, but I hardly think my absence contributed to its closure.

I was never what you’d call a ‘regular’, preferring to enjoy such an exquisite dining experience as a rare treat.

My last visit coincided with an equal parts amorous and arduous trip to the toilets for one couple and a frankly unacceptable amount of carbonara sauce in my hair (before you start, we had parmos too).

It was agreed that it would have been considerably less messy if we’d simply swan-dived into our meals wearing nothing but one of those lovely floral napkins.

It’ll be back open by the end of year, possibly as some sort of parmo museum.

:: Will Nett is the author of My Only Boro: A Walk Through Red & White and Billy No Maps