18th January 2020
The journey home from Cornwall, a dozen GBG ticks in the bag, via the now ritual overnight stop at Weston-super-Mare.
Bur first, the just as inevitable pub lunch down country lanes near the Eden project.
Now, you’ll know I never resist an opportunity to ridicule myself and my loved ones.
So if my sister’s navigation was garbage I’d tell you.
But she gave clear and unambiguous instructions to go down ever narrower lanes off the A30 to the Crown. Look at this blue line (actual width of lanes shown).
“Stay calm” said Sis.
4 miles took 20 minutes, and I’ve never been more pleased to not see another soul on the road. They were all in the giant car park of the Crown.
“A parish church is dedicated to St Brevita or Bryvyth, a saint of whom nothing is known”
and one of the oldest pubs in Cornwall.
Modest exterior, stunning flagstoned multi-roomed interior.
I thought the whole effect was pretty pubby, with the main dining room soaking up the gentlefolk and leaving space for a couple of regulars.
We picked the room with a couple in it, and then annoyed them by talking. They still stayed for pudding.
I drank the dregs of an excellent Harbour IPA with an even better pork belly and crispy potatoes, and awaited the opprobium from the Two Mudg(i)es for eating kale.
Sis declared it top quality, and after consultation with the Pub Tickers Rulebook(Ch.5.3) declared the dregs worthy of a tick, which she administered herself.
just as well, my hands were still shaking from negotiating those bends.
That’s the kind of pubs that Americans walk into and say “awesome.” Really. What does happen when someone is going the opposite direction? Does this really come down to chance?
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Yes. There’s about four farms in two miles, and only four passing places. You hope the tractor is more competent at reversing than you are
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Mention of “tractor”, “competent” and “reversing” reminds me of my ten years daily negotiating thirty miles of lanes and the tension when an inexperienced tractor driver unable to reverse with a trailer met a service bumpy bus not permitted to reverse with passengers on board.
I don’t get that excitement now I’m retired.
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So the safest way to drive is on a bus as I wouldn’t need to reverse?
Good to know.
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Yes, and the Select Bus Services bumpy 877 between Stafford and Wolverhampton goes the scenic route taking 85 minutes, 72 minutes longer than the train.
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Don’t talk to me about buses.
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St Brevita is actually the patron saint of recently scrubbed station platforms.
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What, not of toastie makers?
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That’s the trouble with gastro dining. You can’t choose your accompaniments. You get your Dinner On A Plate, with its sticky red cabbage, leeks in prune purée, kale with raisins, or whatever the chef imagines would make you read it again.
I prefer to stick with Indian, Greek, Chinese, Italian etc. where you stay in control of these things.
But the first saves on washing up, and deals with those who never served themselves at home too, I suppose.
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Had he been eating gastro, then there would have been something sweet with the main course. Problem solved.
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“the trouble with gastro dining” – the “chef” makes out that he’s doing you a favour by cooking a meal.
– and at the end of it all you realise you’d have been better off with a pork bap or two in the Great Western.
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Or the stew in the Stile or the Bailey Head in Oswestry.
This lunch was definitely NOT gastropub. Just a plate of great food.
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Oh, yes, that beef stew in the Stile.
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