I only wanted some sauce…

 

The Three Cornered Cross, a pub in Wimbourne, Dorset, has the boldness to serve lunch throughout the afternoon on a weekend, unlike the more ‘traditional’ pubs nearby which stop serving lunch at 2pm (I know! I have barely got my appetite by 2pm – it seems very old fashioned). Anyway, The Three Cornered Cross turns out fairly decent fare, but much to my consternation, my lunch there was marred by a total overbearing slavishness to ‘Health and Safety’. Every time I hear this phrase, my eyes start to roll into the back of my head, as it usually signifies some way in which to curtail enjoyment or spontaneity.

My friends and I sat outside in the garden to enjoy the good weather and all ordered fish and chips. Always, when I order this dish, part of my enjoyment ritual is to slather everything in masses of vinegar, over several intervals, plus a liberal serving of ketchup on the side, and tons of salt. The reapplication of vinegar throughout is crucial, as I believe that its power wears off after a few minutes. I know other people that enjoy the same ritual, as weird as it sounds. Anyway, the pub served up a very handsome looking plate of fish and chips, but I could see no sauces on the table, so I requested them. We waited a few minutes, during which time I tried to contemplate eating my food without cutlery or salt and pepper, as we were still waiting for these too.

Eventually, a young member of staff appeared at our table wearing a starched white apron and holding aloft a narrow, horizontal tray with 10 china pots. He asked what sauces everyone would like. We requested vinegar and ketchup, expecting to be given two pots for the table. But oh no. We were solemnly presented with the pots and tiny spoons, which we had to pass round the table dosing our food with little dabs, before having to give them back to our waiter. Oh no, this would never work, I thought.

I asked: “Could we keep the vinegar on the table please?”

He replied, “Sorry, I need it back I’m afraid.” He looked a little sheepish.

I said: “But what if I want more vinegar in a minute? I need lots of vinegar…and will possibly want more ketchup too…”

“Sorry, it’s for health and safety reasons, we can’t leave the sauces on the table.”

“I beg your pardon? Health and safety?”

By now, this young man looked tired, and possibly a little afraid of me. I wasn’t giving up – this was ludicrous.

“We need to keep the sauces refrigerated. Which is why I can’t leave them here.” By now, he was edging away. Don’t hurt me, crazy lady…

“But vinegar never goes off! And ketchup is also very vinegary, it would take ages to go off…” (Vinegar is a preservative, FFS…)

By now my husband was kicking me under the table. Leave the poor guy alone, his eyes were saying. I took a deep breath and smiled. “Never mind. We are finished with the sauces,” I said, even though I was ready to scream. Our friends looked down at their plates and their small dabs of ketchup.

I watched our waiter scurry off with his platter of sauces, whereby he retreated to a small wooden shed at the side of the pub garden. I saw him crouch down and open a fridge, no doubt refilling his little jugs with more fridge-cold condiments, ideal for making your food go chilly the moment you sprinkled them on. It looked like an immense palaver. I bet he questioned his job and got asked this question about the sauce situation over and over again.

I wasn’t finished with my ranting, especially as the acquisition of cutlery had also been a mission (but I’m not going to go into this now). As I shovelled rapidly cooling chips into my mouth (their heat loss hastened by the chilly vinegar), I exclaimed: “What a RIDICULOUS system! It’s totally mad not leaving the sauces here…” and so on for the remainder of our meal. In my mind a scenario of surreal and inescapable proportions was unfolding itself, a bit like Russian dolls, where you open one to find another lurking inside. 

“What if a table of eight people sat down and all wanted different amounts of sauces and took ages serving themselves, and then another table of six sat down moments later, and also wanted sauces at the same time? There is only one sauce waiter…” I was in full flow. “…and then, one table wanted more ketchup because someone had forgotten to request it at the time, but the sauce waiter was occupied with the newly arrived table? And then, another table wanted mustard, but the sauce waiter was busy refilling his tiny pots in the shed?”

Dear God. This had really got my goat – it was ‘Health and Safety’ gone completely up its own arsehole!

Anyway, rather than calming down, I continued to scrutinise the poor sauce waiter as he made his dismal trajectory around the pub garden, his pots of sauce clinking ominously on his wobbling tray. It seemed like a laborious waste of time.

And this, dear readers, is where The Three Cornered Cross lost all my respect as a diner – humiliating their waiter into this bizarre ritual of sauce Nazi-ism, and frustrating their vinegar/mustard/ketchup hungry public. Just give us a selection of bottles of sauce that we can help ourselves to, or at least a basket of sauces per table like any normal pub, and don’t fob us off with silly rationing, as it makes you look incredibly tight-arsed.

And don’t get me started on our epic wait for cutlery, and the salt and pepper pots that were delivered in an ornamental tin watering can, I’ll bore you to death! Harrumph…

The Three Legged Cross
Wimbourne
Dorset BH21 6RE

The Pear Tree

 

  

 

Tucked away down a quiet side-street in Fulham is a hidden gem of a pub called The Pear Tree serving wonderful food – but it wasn’t ever thus. The management (cheery bar staff wearing cute vintage attire, a fresh-faced chef) took over running things not so long ago. Before the change of guard, this was a gloomy rough boozer where (according to one local) you were likely to ‘get stabbed’. So dodgy was its reputation that my mother-in-law, a Fulham local, had never dared set foot in the place in all the 10 years she had lived here, and looked aghast when we said where we’d been! We will have to take her for a visit…

 

Don’t be put off by the eyesore temporary scaffolding that covers the front of the building – once inside you will be charmed by a magical space that has a little flavour of ‘Alice in Wonderland’ to it. Quirky lampshades, mis-matched furniture and yummy vintage crockery – all serve to create a lived-in and characterful atmosphere. It feels like an artistic aunt’s living room where you want to hang out for a few hours with a good book and some plonk. An interesting mix of people were in attendance on our Sunday afternoon visit – old geezers enjoying their pints, young families tucking into roasts, friends meeting up for a gossip.

The food is absolutely delicious. First of all, before you even make your menu choices, an enamel tub of rosemary-sprinkled foccaccia bread is placed before you, with dipping oil and vinegar. Light dough, fruity oil and herby rosemary - like crack cocaine for a bread-head like me:

 

 

Then to the main courses:

A tasty roast pork loin stuffed with leeks and apricots, served with perfectly cooked carrots, asparagus and green beans (well-cooked veg is so rare in a pub!):

 

A very tender duck breast, with similar exemplary veg:

 

 

Outstanding steak with pepper sauce and chips - holy moly:

Our puds were a bit less successful – a lemon ricotta tart didn’t actually taste of anything, and had stodgy pastry, but no matter – some good coffees cheered us up. My husband was wowed by the quality and immense generosity of the cheese plate – a great variety of British cheeses, and so plentiful that we had to take some home with us in a napkin…

We shall return! Perhaps for one of their knockout brunches...

The Pear Tree
17 Margravine Road
Fulham
London W6 8HJ

The Duke of Cumberland Arms

 

 

I can be extremely demanding, often. One one such occasion I wanted to have lunch in a country pub that had all of the following things: a log fire, beams, a display of friendly dogs, relaxed and amiable staff, proper ales, nice wooden tables and rustic charm in abundance. Not to mention a total absence of a TV blaring in the background, silly posh furniture and novelty ornaments. When it came to the food, I wanted delicious hearty home-cooked food NOT served on irritating square plates, and not heated up out of a sous-vide packet. Not much to ask is it??? Well I find that sometimes country pubs have all the charm of a Harvester, with those horrible over-long menus filled with flowery menu descriptions, that always have some strange kind of faux-Asian crispy duck pancakes in the starters menu, or something ‘drizzled in balsamic jus’. (Weird).

This pub happily ticked all of the boxes that I needed it to – no mean feat! Tucked away down a verdant country track, flanked on either side by tiny houses that look like fairytale woodcutter cottages, The Duke of Cumberland, near Midhurst in West Sussex, is a little jewel shining in a sea of lacklustre country taverns, serving wonderful food and ales in a blissful setting.

 

It looks like something out of a Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale:

 

 

 

The homely interior, like a cosy front room:

 

 

On one afternoon in February, the friendly staff at the Duke accommodated 16 hungry adults and 3 energetic toddlers with such a chilled out friendly attitude I thought I’d died and gone to service heaven. They seated us in a lovely snug room with wooden trestle tables at the front of the pub, which we had all to ourselves. Even though we were chaotic, noisy and messy, the staff catered to all whims with wide smiles. It’s not easy finding a pub that will happily let kids run riot and make a mess. The Duke has pretty gardens and ornamental trout ponds which kept the kids captivated, and the adults didn’t feel they were having to compromise on having a grown-up style lunch. Oh, and I nearly forgot to mention a splendid wooden outdoor seating area inside which a log fire was kept roaring all day, so you could sit outside and have a ciggy while keeping warm and dry.

And now to the food…

Ham, egg and chips - mighty fodder:

 

  

 

Hare pappardalle: rich delicious sauce, light buttery noodles:

 

 

The Duke’s signature Cumberland sausage and mash - hearty:

 

   

 

A crab risotto, full of spring-like flavours:

 

 

Desserts were also good, although I was slightly mystified by the need for the sticky toffee pudding to be cut up into several ornamental pieces and presented on a swanky square (tsk tsk) plate – I would have preferred it wedged in a bowl drowned in custard. But it still tasted lovely:

 

 

 

The chocolate fondant was deliciously gooey:

 

I can’t wait to go back to the Duke of Cumberland for a lazy summer afternoon where we can all sit outside in the beautiful gardens and sip ales in the sunshine – followed by a light lunch of sausages and puddings!

The Duke of Cumberland Arms: website
Henley, nr Midhurst
West Sussex

The Lewes Arms

Sometimes it's so hard to find a pub that serves decent ales AND food. But happily we stumbled upon the gem that is The Lewes Arms, a stone's throw from the castle and tucked away behind the law courts in the historic town of Lewes in East Sussex.

We arrived, bedraggled and a tad depressed from having driven around the surrounding countryside, having walked out of a gloomy country pub where we could smell kitchen bleach upon walking into the bar, and where the locals peered at us (not in a good way) when we ordered a drink. So when we arrived in Lewes in the middle of a rain storm and found this little pub with its roaring log fire, cosy little rooms and the smell of wonderful food, our hearts were lifted.

This is Fuller's pub, so you'll find Fuller's ales alongside a good range of guest beers from around the UK - they seem to be passionate about serving really decent brews. The food is hearty simple fare, and done extremely well. We sat at a little corner table and a lovely black dog came and made itself comfortable at our feet. (It's always a good sign when a pub allows dogs inside, I think.) I had a very tasty smoked salmon salad that came with lovely crisp selection of salad, including watercress and radiccio (posh!), nice dressing (rare for so many pubs) and tender slices of smoky salmon with great wedges of buttered brown bread. N had the most stupendously juicy gammon steak with caramelised criss-crossed chargrilled marks, a rich parsley sauce and new potatoes. We both licked our plates clean, and when the handsome young goth barman came to clear our plates, he winked and said 'I see you didn't enjoy your food', to which we replied 'yes, it was rubbish and we won't be returning'. The Lewes Arms is about as perfect as pubs get, to be honest.

Address: The Lewes Arms, Mount Place, Lewes, East Susses, BN7 1YH. Tel: 01273 473 512