Onto my last East Yorkshire GBG tick for the year, and a lovely sight on Page 525 it makes.
Eight new entries, 20% of the total, and one new classic with the Board Inn joining the Dog & Duck, Nellies, Whalebone, New Adelphi Club & the Jemmy Hirst in my Top 100 pubs. Not bad.
I finished with a brisk walk out from Beverley to the Ferguson Fawsitt, knocking 15 minutes off the Bing Maps projection by not stopping for photos this time.
The village has already provided the world with one excellent Guide pub in the Barrel, and a nice church.
In contrast the Ferguson, somehow seeming to combine the landed gentry and tractors, looks a bit foody, doesn’t it ?
I expected something cold and formal, but found something altogether warmer.
The sort of “lil ol English pub” that Americans seem to love. Busier than those two photos suggest, as diners seem to have opted for the modern space at the back for some reason.
I always like to sit near the bar, of course, so you can hear lines like;
“I think it’s pear and pecan but I’ll check”. Over the sound of crying babies and Oasis warbling “Half the world away“, of course.
There was a perfect cosy little spot for me, though oddly pushed tight to another table with a “reserved” sign.
Yes, Black Sheep it was, from what I’d consider a model line-up for a Yorkshire dining pub;
Asked for a beer recommendation, the Landlord (I think) was a model of how to promote cask without resorting to cliche and beersplaining. He spent a few minutes chatting to other diners about Masham, and how the Riggwelter would be gone within a couple of days.
Still, I rejected his advice and went for the weaker one. It was a schoolnight, after all.
Yes, this is why BRAPA takes his own supply of beer mats around with him. To avoid the sort of beery mess you see above.
You’ll know I always finish a GBG chapter with a pint of Best and a Pie of the Day, which here was a rather legendary chicken and ham concoction with mushy peas.
Almost as good as the Bridlington Chinese takeaway, whatever you pie purists think of the topping.
Just then, as I was wondering if the reservation next to me was for show, a splendidly dressed gent walked in.
“Oh, hiya John”
Yes, John was the venerable regular, his table reserved by the bar, his orange juice ready, the explanation for the lack of his favourite “special” prepared.
For a dining pub, the banter was as good as I’ve had in a pub.
“He’s lovely, is Alan, but Scottish through and through”
The barmaid failed to smile, was comically booed, and a discussion about the distance to Hornsea kicked off.
“About 12 miles, as the crow files”
“Have you heard that expression Emma ?” She had.
John was a polite man, who told me he came here for lunch every day. I don’t blame him.
He let me finish my pie before seeking my views on Nigel Adkins, beleaguered Hull Tigers manager.
“Play it through Ashbee” I said.
A classy, unpretentious village pub with high quality beer and food. A great place to end any chapter.