This blog likes to bring you the pick of UK culinary hotspots, so here’s Ecclefechan.
Effectively your first service station escaping “BRAPA in Cumbria” on the way to Glasgow, or your chance to stock up on the eponymous tart for your
Scottish friend wife.
It’s a bustling place.
You can see the legendary Premier Stores shop on the right side; that’s where I’ve bought my Ecclefechan cake twice now.
I’d tell you it’s a rustic delight of a village shop if it was, but it really isn’t.
Elsewhere, there’s Thomas Carlyle’s house, of which less later, and a glorious sunset. Or at least there was when I was there.
Look back up the road, and you’ll see the brand new GBG entry.
It’s easy to see how places (they’re generally hotel bars) get in the GBG in Dumfriesshire.
Here’s the WhatPub extract for licensed premises in the area.
And here’s the one (1) place with real ale on.
I instinctively sense this is the sort of place pub tickers live for.
The only life is in the lounge, where a mum and daughter are chatting to a Landlady stoking the fire ready for my triumphant entrance.
At the bar, I see a problem.
“Do you have any real ales?” I ask, mimicking the universally recognised handpump action at the same time.
The lovely chatty Landlady looked at me apologetically.
The Cloudwater pumpkin sour and Windswept Werewolf seem to be stuck on the M74, so I have a can of coke expertly decanted into a Fosters glass, and chat to a young child.
I can’t record what she looks like, or what she said, due to legal restrictions. Something like “You can mark it as NO REAL ALE on your silly spreadsheet then“.
My rules are different to Duncan, who will have to keep stopping here until they do have the cask on, but at least he’ll be able to explore the Art Deco treasures in the Gents.
The Ecclefechan tart was appreciated back home, though the production seems to have been outsourced to Castle Douglas since my last trio of purchases in 2017.
At least the condoms are still made locally, in the back of the Costcutter, so you’re safe there.