Exploring the area, one pub at a time

We've been in the new house for about six weeks now. Things are gradually coming together. There are still a lot of boxes about the place, but we are slowly buying furniture to unpack into. We still say, almost daily, "Do you know where that thing is?" but with increasing frequency we're able to say "Yes, I unpacked it and put it here". The last day of the move was more than a bit fraught, so we're realising some of the things that didn't come with us and with fading optimism expecting to find other possessions.

We went out for dinner the first night - The Three Tuns

As we're completely new to the area, we're having to learn our way around. Bless google maps. And pretty much every time we set foot outside the house it's uncharted territory for us. We've figured out where the supermarkets and Majestic are. I have found a hairdresser. We've started what will be the work of years, investigating the local pubs.

The first night we were in the house, we went out for dinner. We were sleeping on a mattress on the floor, the cat was sulking, we didn't have a fridge and hadn't unpacked any of the kitchen stuff, so cooking really wasn't an option. It's a bit strange, moving from a place where there were about a dozen places (of varying quality...) to eat within a 10 minute walk, to a place where you could walk to a restaurant, if you were really feeling motivated and had half an hour to spare. The Three Tuns is the closest to us, about a 5 minute drive away. We'd been told that it's almost perennially under new management but that the food was generally pretty good. It was. A bit overwrought - every dish we tried had one element too many - but reasonably priced and served with the kindness we needed in our equally overwrought post-move state. I had a potato and goats cheese rouladey thing, which very nice, and a massively filling but slightly undercooked fish pie served with an utterly sublime hollandaise.

Halloumi fries - The Falcon

Paul's gone from an almost 4 hour daily commute on motorways to a 50 minute daily commute on pleasant country roads. He seems to spend most of that commute now identifying pubs he wants to try. The Falcon was one of those - it's on a bend in the river, which always adds tone to a pub. To be honest, I can't remember what I had to eat and I certainly didn't take a picture of it. Ham, egg & chips, maybe? But the big thing were the absolutely delicious halloumi fries we shared to start. They did them so well we're pretty keen to go back for a Sunday lunch.

Arancini at The Horse & Jockey

Our first (and so far only) crack at a Sunday pub lunch was one of our misguided ones where we only decided at about 11am that we wanted a pub lunch. So we made a list of about 5 places and called down it until we could get a reservation. We ended up at The Horse & Jockey and weren't sorry for it. Being offered delicious little chicken and lemon thyme arancini before our meals arrived was an unexpected but lovely refinement. The food was very good, although the shell-on prawn garnishing the prawn cocktail was watery and flabby, and I don't think the oil was quite hot enough to fry my fish and chips. Paul's roast beef looked excellent though, with proper attention to the veg.

Old school prawn cocktail at The Horse & Jockey

It was my birthday last week, so we had a good excuse to give another pub a go. The Plough came recommended by Sharon and the menu looked good so we made reservations. The food was excellent - I had a lovely fig, blue cheese and hazelnut salad to start, followed by grilled plaice with herb butter, chips and a beautiful sprouting broccoli dish. Unfortunately the service let them down a bit - our waiter seemed very nervous and untrained - and the people at the table next to us were loud and a bit abrasive. You'd think they'd never seen people taking photos of their tea before.

Fig, blue cheese and hazelnuts at The Plough

Grilled fillet of plaice

On Saturday, we made yet another trip to IKEA. Even more hellish than usual, as we realised we couldn't actually fit the stuff we wanted to buy in the car. It was 2.45pm by the time we got to Ye Three Fyshes and the kitchen was closing at 3, so we quickly ordered beers and sandwiches. The fish finger sandwich was very good, but I think they cut corners with the sausage one - it seemed very rusky and the skins were flabby. And they hadn't washed the salad for the garnish, so it was gritty. But the rest of the menu looks quite good, so we may get back there for another go at some point. When we've worked through a few more places.

Massive sandwiches at Ye Three Fyshes

Start as you mean to continue - The Hourglass

Yesterday I had my first meal outside my home of the new year. And I have to say it set a pretty high standard for restaurants for the rest of 2016.

I was expecting pretty good things. After all, Fay Maschler rated The Hourglass in South Kensington as one of her favourite restaurants of 2015. Of course, being so convenient to the museums and because Fay said such good things I wasn't expecting to be able to get a table, and indeed the online booking said there were none. But tweeting them got me a booking (and there were several free tables so maybe the online system isn't working?).

After a fantastic couple of hours at the V&A (The Fabric of India, closing this weekend, is amazing if you are remotely interested in textiles, and Bejewelled Treasures, for all the magpies) I was well and truly ready for food.

It's one of those menus where you could close your eyes and point and be completely happy with your choices, but I went for fish and chips. Which wasn't perfect. The batter was a bit thick and hard, and the fish inside a bit overdone. But the chips were so delicious (I know some people get arsey when the chips are too big, and one of these was about 1/4 of a large spud) and the tartare sauce so perfect I didn't mind.

Sharon's venison suet pie with red cabbage sent her off into plans for learning to make suet pies and bringing her husband next time they are in the area (which is pretty often; they are very good about galleries and museums). It definitely had a lovely savoury aroma, but it wasn't really the sort of dish I could ask for a taste of without making a hell of a mess with the gravy.

I'd valiantly passed by the crab on toast (one of my favourite things) on the starters menu to save myself for pudding. We both had the buttermilk pudding with butterscotch pear (Sharon's very sound reasoning was that she was too full for sticky toffee and she likes her own apple crumble), although the salted caramel chocolate almost won me over. I do love it when there is a small, sweet option. The buttermilk pudding was a very good choice though. Really light, wonderfully tangy with a proper wobble. And I always love a poached pear.

It was a very good start to a year of eating out and very much to be recommended if, like me, you tend to feel a bit overwhelmed by the prosperity of South Kensington and just want nice friendly people to bring you nice food at a fair price.

The Wicked Lady, Wheathampstead

We didn't renew our cherry tree rental this year. We still have a lot of preserves, frozen fruit and a couple of pies left from last year and Paul decided that he really doesn't like cherries enough to go through all that again. What he does like is the occasional weekend dessert of fresh, unsweetened berries, bathed in a hefty slosh of cold double cream.

I did some research and found a really nice-sounding Pick Your Own farm a pleasant drive away from us. It had the advantage of a variety of soft fruits, whereas the ones closer to us seem to mostly be strawberries. I liked the idea of some red and black currants and some raspberries as well.

What with one thing and another we weren't going to leave the house until late morning, so we felt that the best thing would be to find a pub for lunch before we went fruit picking. It wouldn't have done at all to have a car full of berries languishing in the sun.

The Wicked Lady is not far from the PYO, and both the pub name and the menu sounded pretty good to me. And then as we pulled into the car park we saw a Hendricks Gin bus which I thought was an excellent omen.

They were fully booked inside, but were doing table service outside, where they were having a summer party. As well as the Hendricks bus, they had a little gazebo set up with a waitress pouring Pimms, there were giant games of jenga and battleship and children were having their faces painted.

I had a Hendricks and tonic while Paul had a pint of Doom Bar. As soon as I spotted the guinea fowl kiev on the menu I knew Paul was lost and that we would not be having a quick sandwich.

So I started with a crab and crayfish pot. It was a bit too mayonnaisey, but the flavour was excellent. Paul had brie in a pumpkin seed crust. The crust was crisp and greaseless but there was too much over-sweet chutney for his taste.

I dithered for a while over my main course before choosing corned beef hash topped with a fried egg. The corned beef was excellent, punctuated by little coriander seeds, but I think in a perfect world there would have been half the amount of potato and the rest of the bulk provided by some shredded kale or something. It was a lot of potato per bite.

And in a perfect world they would not have committed the sin of halving the kiev. The whole point of kiev is that sensuous moment when you cut into it and the garlicky butter pours out. But the guinea fowl was moist and tender and the sauce, roesti and veg were all just what he wanted.

Just as the band were starting up we left. Unfortunately we took one look at the queue of families at the PYO and headed home - far too many people had the same idea as we did. We'll try again another weekend and I suspect we will have another lunch at The Wicked Lady.

A pair of pubs

We're pretty familiar with, and not very impressed by, most of the pubs in our immediate area. Some that were really good have gone downhill and some were so disappointing that they don't get a second chance. So we're exploring a bit further afield, partly as a lure to get Paul's mum (who loves a pub) over for a visit.

Paul spent a while working in Marlow last year and assured me that it was a good place to find a pub. Marlow is, of course, the home of the Michelin-starred Hand and Flowers, but I figured they'd probably laugh at me if I phoned on a Saturday morning and asked for a table in two hours time. It is still on the wishlist. But Paul spotted The Queens Head so we headed for that.

We were very happy to see an open fire and even happier to get a table during a very busy service. The menu was very promising: things like oxtail ravioli, rabbit and partridge suggested that it wasn't your average pub. The prices pretty much confirmed that they weren't aiming for the jacket-potato-with-fillings, 2-4-1 meals pub clientèle.

Paul had a whole roast local partridge with bread sauce, root crumble and cranberry jus. The root crumble was served in one of those adorable little cast iron Staub cocottes and the cranberry jus was in a little jug, allowing the meat with fruit avoider to avoid it completely. He loved it and was fantasising about getting a couple of the cocottes until I brutally burst his bubble with the information that they cost upwards of £50 each for regular retail punters.

I had a ploughmans. The two little triangles of cheese and half boiled egg were a bit unprepossessing, but fortunately a second dish containing a generous pile of thickly sliced ham arrived. The ham was excellent but everything else was a bit underpowered - bland chutney, tomatoes that tasted of November and mild cheddar. I was pleased that the salad leaves were dressed though!

We also shared some sweet potato wedges with blue cheese dip. The wedges were cut very unevenly and a couple of the largest ones weren't cooked through, but the flavours were excellent. Infinitely nicer than the usual bought-in wedges with the weird spiced coating.

I definitely want to go back: at first glance I think their strength lies in the more seasonal, unusual dishes rather than the pub staples and there is a lot more I would like to try.

We were pretty pleased about the success with the Queens Head but didn't really trust our luck to finding another pub of that quality off our own bats. So we bought a copy of the Michelin pub guide -  and actually delayed setting off on a pub-seeking venture until it had arrived.

I know nothing about ecclesiastical architecture - why would they need three crosses on the roof? Holy Trinity Seer Green

I haven't quite got to grips with how the pub guide is laid out: it's not immediately clear what areas each bit covers. But as far as I could make out, the closest recommended pub to us is the Jolly Cricketers, at Seer Green.

I was pretty optimistic. Not only because of the Michelin recommendation or the tasty-sounding menu, but because while we waited to be seated I noticed that the cups on top of the espresso machine were mismatched floral china, which I thought was absolutely charming.

We pretty quickly decided to go for two courses and to hell with dinner.

Paul had  smoked mackerel pate, followed by venison with kale and barley. The little taste I got of the venison was lovely! Even though all the pieces look pretty much the same, apparently there were two distinct textures from different cooking methods. I thought the barley looked a little unplump and thought it might have been undercooked, but Paul said not.

I had squid followed by fish and chips. The squid was crisp and light, not at all rubbery and despite the huge amount of chilli sprinkled on it, it wasn't overwhelmingly spicy. The dipping sauce wasn't particularly pleasant, seemingly a sludge of soy sauce and grated ginger. I think a nicely balanced nuoc cham-style sauce would have worked better.

The fish and chips at the Jolly Cricketers is very grand, and I suspect a trap for conservative eaters who don't read the menu. It's grilled cod with battered cod cheeks, sauce gribiche and crushed peas. I thought it was excellent. I tend to get a bit tired of batter about half way through a normal portion of fish and chips so this was just enough batter to suit me. And the cod cheeks were lovely little morsels. The chips arrived in a separate bucket and were HUGE, more a quartered potato than a proper chip. I loved the grilled lemon. I loved the perfectly seasoned sauce gribiche.

With the bill we got little squares of cherry cake and strawberry jelly, which was another charming touch. We also got significant entertainment from eavesdropping on the table next to us, who were planning their family Christmas. Obviously we can't guarantee the floor show for next time, but the food is definitely worth a visit.

Guildford Arms, Greenwich

A couple of weeks ago I went to the launch of Mimi's wonderful book Noodle! (regrettable exclamation mark is correct) - which will get a whole post of its own one of these days. It was loads of fun, got to put several faces to twitter names and I think it is safe to say that a jolly good time was had by all. One of the people I met was the lovely woman who does PR for one of the launch party sponsors (SeeWoo supermarkets). She very sweetly followed up our meeting with an invitation to try out The Guildford Arms, in Greenwich.

Now, normally an invitation to go to Greenwich would be declined with thanks due to the relative inaccessibility from my North Western neck of the woods, but this happened to coincide with a long-standing date to meet up with a couple of friends at the Fan Museum. Clearly, it was Meant To Be.

The Fan Museum didn't hold our attention for quite as long as we'd planned for (only 37 minutes, including reading the guidebook cover to cover), so we had some time to kill before our lunch booking. We wandered about the market and quite by accident I bought a very pretty dress. Then, fortunately, it was time to head towards the pub, before I spent any more money.

The Guildford Arms is a little bit out of the way, a very pleasant stroll downhill from the main bits of Greenwich. When we arrived I thought for a moment that we were going to have the whole pub to ourselves, but of course as it was a beautiful day the action was all outside on the terrace and in the garden. Sophia had completely misinterpreted the weather forecast and was wearing Melbourne autumn drag, and Ellen wasn't wearing sunscreen, so we took a comfortably shaded table on the terrace.

The weather was crying out for a jug of Pimms, but Ellen was driving and I wanted to be moderately respectable, so I ordered a glass of the house white. Once supplied with water, wine and menus, I realised there was likely to be a slight space problem - there wasn't really enough room left for plates, let alone any sort of side dishes. But that really was the only flaw in a superb demonstration of what pub food can be like.

 Sophia's cheeseburger had just tomato relish and cheese on it, much to her relief (she is a vocal opponent of lettuce on a burger). The salad garnish stayed unmolested, but the whole burger and a decent proportion of the chips disappeared, which was pretty impressive given that she generally has quite a dainty appetite. 

 Ellen and I both had cod and chips. And very good it was too. I am such a sucker for the muslin-wrapped lemon. I know it must be a pain in the backside for the kitchen to tie the lemons up in their little nappies, but I think it makes the plate look so polished and it is so much nicer than having bits of seed flying about. The pea puree tasted more like proper marrowfat mushy peas than most of the peas fraudulently called mushy, but I still appreciated the accuracy of the title. The fish was well-cooked and fresh-tasting, the batter light and not too greasy. I think this was the best fish and chips I have had this year.

We saw several plates of food being taken to other tables, and they all looked similarly good.

With the weather being so lovely (it really is - I can't help banging on about it because it is such a treat) and the fact that this was the first time in six months we'd managed to catch up, our lunch was feeling very festive. And a festive lunch calls for dessert (and another glass of wine).

Sophia's brownie was delicious - very moist and nutty but not dense.

 But my pannacotta was absolutely the dish of the day. Very light, subtly flavoured with lemon verbena, the raspberries dressed with just a drop of grappa, it had the most perfect wobble (video below).

Would I go back to the Guildford Arms if I was paying myself? Absolutely yes I would, without hesitation. It's definitely worth the visit even if you don't have a date at the Fan Museum.

Burger Breakout at the Old Crown

One London food trend of 2012 which shows no sign of disappearing is the appallingly-named "dirty" or even worse "dude" food. This is, for anyone happily ignorant of London food trends, the sort of American-style fast food that foodies usually deride made acceptable by careful sourcing, good cooking and social media buzz. Fried chicken, burgers, ribs and fries topped with all manner of extras.

Don't get me wrong, I am a big fan of chicken and burgers and fries, especially when made from high-welfare meat. What I object to is adding value judgements to food - I don't like "naughty" or "guilty pleasure" either and as for the implication that this food is not for girls... well just don't get me started. Anyway, the "dirtiest" food I know, from the point of view of dripping down your elbows, is a beautifully ripe mango which hardly fits this trend.

Most of the places that specialise in this food don't take bookings. So what with one thing and another, aside from a quick solo lunch at Pitt Cue Co I haven't tried any of the new-wave luxury junk food.

Then an old friend came to town. I suggested a couple of lunch location options and The Old Crown got his nod. I've been following @burger_breakout on twitter for a while, so I was very much looking forward to trying their food.

I knew that with only two of us we wouldn't be in a position to try the pig in a pail, but I had hopes for burgers, a few side dishes and possibly one of their boozy milkshakes. Unfortunately Kendal was in recovery from eating way too much cheese and sausage on a ski trip: he shuddered at the prospect of deep-fried pickle spears and was faintly judgemental about the size of my beer. He restricted himself to the Camilla burger (chicken, of course) and the accompanying fries.

With a limited number of seats and the lunch time rush, the staff were pretty keen to get people fed and out (not unpleasantly, though) so I didn't get to consider the menu in quite the leisurely way I prefer. I ordered the first thing I saw, the Bambi Bought It - a thick venison patty, Tunworth (a Camembert-style cheese from Hampshire), beetroot pickle, chocolate & quince BBQ sauce. I also ordered the deep-fried pickles.

As soon as it hit the table I knew I was going to have to cut it in half. There was no way I could approach the monstrous mound of ooze any other way. The bun was good, although I had to turn the burger upside down to eat it - the bottom layer was pretty well saturated and soggy with juice. The lettuce and tomato were redundant as to flavour, but I suspect did help prevent the total collapse of the bun. The patty itself, whilst having a pleasing pink middle and good venison flavour, had spent a little too long on too hot a grill and featured a bitter and crunchy layer of char on the outside. The beetroot pickle could have been a little more assertive to stand up to the sweet barbecue sauce, but the soft cheese was just the perfect thing.

The skin-on fries were just how I like them, although I couldn't detect any horseradish in the salt. The deep-fried pickles were the best deep-fried pickles I have tried so far, with a good, crunchy layer of batter keeping in the explosive juices. I couldn't possibly eat the whole portion myself, sadly.

Kendal said his burger was among the top burgers of his career - pipped by one he'd had in New Zealand. Mine, although flawed, was still excellent and the best burger I've had for ages. I will happily go back to try more of the menu. Next time, though, I have to take a girl with me, because I want a witness for the eccentricity of the ladies' room. I ducked in before we left and was confronted by two toilets occupying one long cubicle. Fortunately I didn't have to share.

A Consolation Prize - The Clarendon

Or, an object lesson in how not to run a business.

Once upon a time - about 6 weeks ago - I received an email. This email was notifying me of an autumnal wine dinner at a local gastropub. I was excited. I phoned to book. The person who answered the phone didn't know what I was talking about, but told me that named event coordinator would call me back that day to discuss it with me and take my booking.

After a week, named event coordinator hadn't called back so I rang again. Again the person who answered the phone knew nothing about it and took a message. I am reasonably sure he did actually write it down because we had a big old laugh about my very South African name not matching my very Australian accent.

Another week passed when named event coordinator failed to return my call.

The friends that we planned to go to the dinner with were actually dining at the gastropub, so they asked about it while they were there. The waitress didn't know anything about it, but reassured them that named event coordinator would call back within the hour.

Three days before the event my friend made a last ditch attempt. The person who answered the phone on this occasion said that she thought the dinner had been cancelled due to lack of interest. OH REALLY? Lack of interest and not extreme disorganisation? Not a lack of customer service? Not the fucking uselessness of an event coordinator who can't manage to return 6 phone calls in 4 weeks?

So there we were. All dressed up (so to speak - it was still a couple of days away so there would be several changes of clothes before we were ACTUALLY all dressed up) and no place to go. And my friend suggested another local gastropub, The Clarendon.

And you know what? Bloody good suggestion.

In days gone by the Clarendon had a bit of a reputation. Apparently it was where nice young boys used to go if they wanted a guaranteed shag and weren't too picky about the hygiene of the girl. Or so I am told by men who claim they had "friends" who used to go there. Things have changed somewhat. It has had a makeover. Rumours circulate about how much money was spent on the refurb, and they are all pretty much believable. It is now very clean, very pretty and the staff uniforms are absolutely gorgeous. They have also spent some money on staff training and have people in the kitchen with a real gift.

As a starter, I had pea salad with goats cheese fritters. My sense of symmetry was offended. There were 3 little mounds of pea puree on the plate, but only 2 fritters. How is that right? How can you have a plate designed around a triangular formation of pea puree and only 2 fritters? And what is worse, they were absolutely delicious and I felt sincerely robbed. The tangle of pea shoots looked very pretty and tasted good, but it is a bit awkward to eat greens like that. I suspect I looked like a grazing bovine. The real revelation was the pickled lemon on the plate. It wasn't like a Moroccan salt-preserved lemon, it had a tang of vinegar and a hint of sweetness. If that is what Amy March's pickled limes tasted like, a literary mystery has been solved for me. It was absolutely the right thing with the hot, crisp goats cheese fritter.

My main course was ham & eggs. Lightly smoked, beautifully tender ham that tasted of Christmas, a perfectly fried duck egg, delicious home-made baked beans and a neat stack of triple-cooked chips. I really don't know what the third cook is supposed to do to the chips. They weren't fluffier within, crispier without or more flavoursome completely than a normal twice-cooked chip. But they were very good dunked into the eggyolk. The wee copper pot of baked beans was an adorable presentation, but I like my baked beans a bit zestier. These could have done with a slug of worcestershire sauce or some tabasco.
I was genuinely tempted to give dessert a miss. But then I saw homemade eccles cakes with Wensleydale cheese on the menu. Oh my. They were so good I almost cried. I've never had a hot eccles cake before, but these were amazing. Definitely a far cry from the dry, flaky things one of the coffee chains sells as an eccles cake. The rich, lardy pastry was flaky without crumbling, the currants in the filling were spicy and plump. The Wensleydale wasn't quite as crumbly as I like it, but the salty creaminess went very well with the eccles cakes. I had a glass of a Rutherglen liqueur muscat. Australia may not produce an eccles cake of such beauty, but they know how to make a pudding wine.
So. The moral of the story. If you return my phone call, I will spend money, smile at your staff, relish your food and recommend you to all my friends. If you don't, you are dead to me and I will be very tempted to reveal your name... and write to your head office.

Piedmont Wine Dinner

Something funny is happening at our local. The staff are the same, the menu is the same, but I have a feeling that management is changing... there is just a funny atmosphere at the moment and the manager is either absent or looking anxious.

But the most recent wine dinner was very good. I have mislaid my menu. so I can't be sure about all the wines, so bear with me.

It was all wines from Piedmont, in the very North-West of Italy, with fairly generic but very tasty Italian dishes to accompany.

The first wine was a red. A Dolcetto by Fontanafredda, it was an intense purple colour with good legs - an unusual choice for the first wine of the evening, but it went well with the delicious melanzane parmigiana. Very cheesy, very well cooked, just delicious, served in cute little individual gratin dishes. A cynical person would suggest that this is the perfect first course - with that much melted cheese and the fires of hell in the tomato and aubergine , everyone would have burned their mouths and destroyed their palates so you could serve any old shit after that. Of course, I am not a cynical person.

The next wine was a lovely Gavi di Gavi. Fragrant, not too sweet and very pleasant. It came alongside a grilled swordfish steak, with a sort of puttanesca sauce (tomato, olive, anchovy and caper) or a courgette stuffed with garlic and ricotta. Very nice. The portion of fish was a little small for the amount of sauce, and swordfish is difficult to get tender and not wooden, but this was a pretty good dish.

God knows what the third wine was. It was red. I honestly cannot remember a thing about the flavour, the grape or anything else of the spiel the wine rep did. But it came with a really nicely cooked saltimbocca, served with lovely buttery spinach and rather too many small roasted potatoes. I was really impressed - you really don't see veal on the menu very often, and this was cooked very well, so it was tender and had the flavour of the sage and proscuitto right through it.

Dessert was tiramisu. It was OK - there could have been more coffee and booze in the sponge fingers, but it was certainly better than many I have had. The wine was a moscato di asti - a sweet, sparkling white wine not a million miles away from the horrible asti spumante many Australians of my vintage had as their first alcoholic beverage. I am happy to say that this wine, treated as a dessert wine and served very cold, in small glasses and with a not-very-sweet dessert it was just lovely. Not a bit like the wine I had to pour into the pot plant at that engagement party some years ago.

The Rose & Crown does that sort of food so well - and some of the other dinners have been so odd - that I am a bit anxious about the next one. South African, 1st October. Watch this space.

Sunday Lunch - The Crown, Amersham

On a sunny, spring Sunday, we headed out for a pub lunch.

Our first destination, The Bricklayers Arms, was heaving. We couldn't get anywhere near it, not even just to park and see if we could perch at the bar to eat. So we headed off to another favourite - The Swan in Amersham. The Swan does an excellent Sunday lunch, and we've always eaten very well there.

But as we got closer I remembered seeing a rather good review of another pub in Amersham - The Crown. So we decided to try our luck.

It was a good decision.

It's an old coaching inn; you pass under an archway and a courtyard opens up in front of you with blossoming cherry trees and a herb garden on one side and the wide doorway into the restaurant on the other.

It was very busy, but we were given seats at a lovely long communal table (but we didn't have to share it with anyone) adorned with a massive earthenware jug of lilacs.

We were offered glasses of prosecco spiked with home made elderflower cordial, but Paul stuck to a locally brewed beer (Rebellion Blonde) while I had plain prosecco.

Decision-making was quite difficult, because there were lots of good-sounding dishes on the menu. And the house-made soda bread that they brought out was very reassuring about the quality of the food.

The service was fairly slow, and quite patchy in quality. A not-very-engaging young woman took an order for water and was never seen again, and then a really on-the-ball young man eventually took the same order and was back in moments.

As a starter, Paul had a salad of chicken livers and beetroot. I was surprised, because he reckons not to like beetroot and he is VERY picky about chicken livers. But these were cooked very much to his taste (browned beautifully on the outside and barely a trace of pink in the middle).

I had a terrine of local pork with spiced pickled prunes, which was just lovely. Really good chunky texture, not too liver-y and perfectly seasoned. It was maybe a fraction cold, but that is one of my perennial complaints. The prunes were an excellent accompaniment, but I could have done with a little bit more toast.

As main courses, Paul went traditional British and I went traditional French.

His roast sirloin of beef with roast potatoes, fluffy Yorkshire pudding and horseradish cream was a really good example of what a Sunday roast can be.

My crisp-skinned, meaty confit duck leg came on a lovely bed of Puy lentils - slightly too salty if I am nitpicking.

The vegetables are what really makes or breaks a pub lunch. There are loads of places that can turn out a perfectly decent piece of meat and crisp roast potatoes but then let themselves down with microwaved frozen mixed veg. The Crown is not one of those places. We had a generous portion (on a pewter plate, which isn't great for keeping things warm) of sweet little roasted chantenay carrots, perfectly steamed purple sprouting broccoli and buttery, tender green cabbage.

The very on-the-ball young waiter came back to try to sell us desserts. Unfortunately it was 3.30pm by this stage and we were expected at a friend's house for a barbecue at 5.30, so we had to decline. Next time. And there will be a next time for sure.

St George's Day Ale Dinner

April 23rd is St George's Day - England's National Day. It isn't a public holiday (which is galling to a lot of people since St Andrews Day is a holiday in Scotland and St Patricks Day is a holiday in Northern Ireland) but there are some festivities. The pub decided to do a special dinner with English food and matched ales to celebrate.

As a starter, I had a fabulous rabbit, black pudding and egg salad. The mixed leaves it was on were a bit on the fatigued side, but the mustard dressing had enough zing to stand up to the rich black pudding, and the flavours of the egg, crumbled black pudding and rabbit worked beautifully together. The ale to accompany it was Robinsons Squires Gold - which was very nice really.

For people who can't come at the idea of eating bunnies or blood sausage (or don't like eggs) there was a roasted portobello mushroom filled with tomatoes and bechamel. Which looked pretty good too.

As the main course there was what was described as "Rump of Salt Marsh Spring Lamb served with Grilled New Season Asparagus, Crushed New Potatoes and a Port & Cranberry Jus". Well, for one thing I am fairly sure that it was a leg steak, rather than a rump. And the jus was the most god-awful, ill-conceived and poorly executed sauce I have eaten in ages. Completely acid, with no sign of port, it threatened to overwhelm the lamb and lovely vegetables. And from the comments at the other tables, we weren't the only ones who thought so. The chef can't possibly have tasted it.

The ale for this course was Charles Wells Bombadier. Which isn't a bad beer, but I just couldn't be bothered with it, so I moved onto wine for the rest of the evening. The waitress very kindly packaged up the undrunk beers for us to take home.

The dessert was a classic Eton Mess. The combination of berries, meringue and cream is so, so good! I could have had seconds. The beer to accompany that was Innis & Gunn Original. I was quite interested to see how it would match with the dessert, but not interested enough to actually drink it. Instead, we had it at a barbecue last night. It was very pleasant - quite light and delicate. I think it would have been OK.

Royal Standard of England

There are debates raging amongst people with time on their hands about which is the oldest pub in England/in London/in Britain/ in Hertfordshire/ in the Northern hemisphere etc etc etc. Blah blah blah. I suppose it does matter if you are building a reputation on it, but I can't bring myself to care as long as the atmosphere is nice and the food is good.
One establishment that claims to be the oldest Freehouse (which isn't a pub or a coaching inn but something else, apparently) is the Royal Standard of England. In the past we've tried to drop in for lunch and been turned away so this time we booked.

They lay on the "rustic charm" a bit thick, with garlands of dried hop flowers and fake tapestries draped all over the place. But there is an open fireplace with a wood fire and a black cat with thick fluffy fur to give the charm a little bit of authenticity. You have to order at the bar - and the bartender seemed a little put out that Paul wanted to pay with cash and not leave his card behind the bar (the last time I did that my card got cloned and they got £200+ before the bank spotted it).

We started with a charcuterie plate. The slightly gormless waitress asked if we wanted a knife or fork to eat it with. I suggested that a knife would be a good thing for spreading the potted pork with. The potted pork would be called rillettes in an establishment that was less invested in Englishness. And it was wonderful. The serrano ham was very good, the salami was pretty standard but none the worse for that. The slab of brawn was mediocre. Really insipid with chunks of overcooked carrot and lots of parsley in a bland over-firm aspic - not at all the savoury delight I was hoping for.

My roast pork would have been better if there had been half as many slices of pork but cut twice as thick. The potatoes, crackling, kale, mashed parsnips, carrots & turnips and applesauce were all absolutely top-notch though.

Paul's roast venison came with all that PLUS an enormous, fluffy yorkshire pudding. And not realising that all those vegetables were coming with the meal, he'd ordered a dish of red cabbage (so good!) and some roasted peppers and onions as well.

There was no possible way I could fit in dessert but I was a bit intrigued about the Chiltern Hills pudding. The waitress said it was a sort of sponge pudding with raisins and tapioca in it. Which sounds too horrible for words. I can see why they don't let the waitresses take the food orders - they'd never sell anything. So is it the oldest pub in England? Don't know, don't care. But it is a fine place for a Sunday lunch!