Wielding a 'beer bat' three 'thirds', including a smokin' Scarborough Stout

Taken at Just Beer Micropub

The Manner Arms, Knipton.

Here we find another of those 'cannot wait to show this to city-based friends' Inns clustering around Belvoir Castle. All of the GastroChap essentials are pleasingly ticked off: quaint secluded village setting; gravelled drive and parking area full of 4x4s; beautiful old building (with cheery red door and glimpses of lambently lit comfort inside); plush accommodation available with special rates on Sundays, exclusivity (who but Vale locals even knows about it?); the promise of local ales and some well-kept favourites; open fire; well-chosen wine list, free papers; bookshelves (and lending too) and a decent dining reputation.

November, and I could have done without the occasional Christmas tune on the otherwise pleasing music mix (Counting Crows. Tom Petty). A quiet Saturday lunch with most customers eating in a dining room not overly formal but country kitchen charming, segregated thenselves from those enjoying hearty bar snacks and belly-busting sandwiches in front of a roaring fire, while they no doubt plumped for fuller menu options and the tantalising option of local game such as Belvoir estate partridge and Melton venison.

Lunch is unsurprising yet tasty, generous and not fussy. Nice to see fresh moules amongst the winter warmer choices and hearty fare. Service is prompt, casual, friendly. Given the Manners Arms location and the pedigree of the establishment you might be forgiven in thinking it would be more remote and snobby. Not so.

We come here a lot. Typically after the first fire in our cottage has been lit and the temperamental boiler gets set on a timer. Then we're looking for a comfort and The Manners is a winner in winter. It feels seasonally right and a snug treat. Not to dismiss the lovely modern conservatory and terraced dining area at the back, the landscaped garden worth enjoying in summer sunshine. Yet with its real fire cracking and popping in the grate, comfy leather armchairs, warmth and character, the bar area at The Manners is pretty hard to beat locally.

The Wheatsheaf, Dry Doddington

Dry Doddington, Newark, Lincolnshire, NG23 5HU. tel 01400 281458 www.wheatsheaf-pub.co.uk 

 

We were navigating the idyllic villages near the market town of Newark, sans SatNav. Our direction was little more than spur of the moment. The journey was defined by a sleepy wave of a hand, a shrug at a crossroads, a "you choose" lack of planning and, at best, a finger pointing at whatever village had the quaintest name on a roadsign, like 'Hough on the Hill' or 'Dry Doddington'. These little expeditions into rural terra incognita are always punctuated by The Flower's pronouncements of "I'd buy that", "that would be my house", "don't like the way they've done the windows" or a wrinkled nose and "manure! Urgh!" As if we don't already live in a listed cottage in a fine old village across from a stable.

Stumbling upon the Marple-esque beauty of Dry Doddington can be the upshot of these outings. A place put there to inspire property-envy in those passing through. Reminded GastroChap of the villages in kid's TV programmes from the late '70s and early '80s like 'Children of the Stones' or Pertwee-Baker era Dr Who. Gorgeous but distinctly quirky. Take for example its little village green complete with church, its spire like a crooked finger, and picturesque and traditional pub. Like a film set waiting for actors, the film crew cunningly hidden from shot. Streets quiet. Very few people can be seen. Peaceful. Who knows (in a Midsommer moment) what might be happening behind shutters and net curtains. Ever read Bradbury's perfect novel 'The Martian Chronicles' (first published as 'The Silver Locusts') and filmed for TV in '80s with Rock Hudson? There is a haunting section which sees astronauts landing on Mars only to find themselves in smalltown America: white picket fences, flags flying... (Michael Bay clearly finds this stereotype resonant). The archetypal vision, here peopled dreamily by dead friends and relatives. Once the initial shock and fear is overcome the visitors start to question the situation logically. Can they believe what they have found? Is this an illusion or is this heaven? Did they somehow die during the journey to Mars? Various theories are entertained but the astronauts are lulled into a false sense of security. Their suspicions are overcome. Doubts bled away. They are seduced by nostalgia. They do not act on concerns that this might be a Martian trap. One by one the astronauts are slaughtered, peacefully, in their sleep by aliens who come to them disguised as loved ones.

Why did this come to mind? Bit spooky for a spot of lunch in the late August sunshine. I think because if I had to conjure up an image of the quintessential English village it would be Dry Doddington. Timeless, in the sense that you cannot see much in the way of modern trappings: even SKY dishes are inobtrusive and generally hidden, most vehicles seemed to be old jeeps, most of the pub's clientelle dressed in country casual garb or farm / estate working wear. Clearly if I were signed up for a trip to Bradbury's Mars I won't be so easily fooled.

The Wheatsheaf is a fine looking venue, parts dating back 600 years. White painted exteriors, with a gravelled drinking area at the front presenting you views of the green and the nearby church. The kind of pub so beloved of Hollywood's idea of everyday British drinking (and for some a blessed reality of course). Inside there is a well-appointed bar area with plenty of real ales (delicious Timothy Taylor Landlord served in the correct glass) and good wine choices. Snug little drinking areas with wood burning stoves, decked out smartly in country chic with throws, rugs and cushions. A more formal dining area at the back - but perfectly comfortable. Wooden beams (but of course), and all trim and tidy. The sort of place you can enjoy on a gorgeously sunny day eating rather tasty bacon and brie sandwiches out the front (with homemade chips - double baked, crisp and then spot-on fluffy), with a flight of wasps stuka-dive bombing your golden ale. And then picture at Christmas, decked out traditionally, swaddled in snow, with fires roaring and hearty food steaming on the tables.

I can't imagine us not returning before then.   

      

    

The Riverside, Farndon

North End, Farndon, Notts. NG24 3SX www.riversidefarndon.co.uk

Is there any polite way to eat a decent, generously portioned club sandwich? Especially one layered with thick cut fluffy fresh bread? Nope, didn't think so. The one served up to GastroChap this lunchtime defeated civilised nibbling. Served up on branded (very swish) greaseproof paper on a platter (not a plate) and loaded with thick cut bacon, tomato, chicken and slathered in rather delicious mayonnaise... hardly dainty. Nice bowl of homemade fries too (there is an option to hit the salad bar instead of the fries). Came with a knife and fork of course, but who eats a cold sandwich with cutlery? Not I. So to work, manfully ploughing in and not a pretty picture I daresay (to which one might add Mayo on the chin). Good quality pub fayre, washed down with what is becoming the ubiquitous pint of Old Speckled Hen. The Flower went for the cheese and pickle sandwich - with a commendably sharp, mature and tangy cheddar.
The Riverside has changed considerably since it's days as The Britannia Inn. It now has to it a lush, plush almost colonial vibe. Lots of expensive looking gleaming wood, very comfortable seating, cushions, and ferns. Uniformed, young staff are keen and helpful, they work the dining spaces smoothly - checking on guests with just the right amount of formality without service impinging on a relaxed, casual lunch.
Menu is pleasingly tempting for two reasons: firstly it's uncomplicated and well balanced with nothing too fancy or fussy. Secondly it's surprisingly reasonable. Lunch for two with sides and drinks came to under £20. And free wifi with a good signal is always a welcome bonus.

The Riverside, Farndon

North End, Farndon, Notts. NG24 3SX www.riversidefarndon.co.uk

Is there any polite way to eat a decent, generously portioned club sandwich? Especially one layered with thick cut fluffy fresh bread? Nope, didn't think so. The one served up to GastroChap this lunchtime defeated civilised nibbling. Served up on branded (very swish) greaseproof paper on a platter (not a plate) and loaded with thick cut bacon, tomato, chicken and slathered in rather delicious mayonnaise... hardly dainty. Nice bowl of homemade fries too (there is an option to hit the salad bar instead of the fries). Came with a knife and fork of course, but who eats a cold sandwich with cutlery? Not I. So to work, manfully ploughing in and not a pretty picture I daresay (to which one might add Mayo on the chin). Good quality pub fayre, washed down with what is becoming the ubiquitous pint of Old Speckled Hen. The Flower went for the cheese and pickle sandwich - with a commendably sharp, mature and tangy cheddar.
The Riverside has changed considerably since it's days as The Britannia Inn. It now has to it a lush, plush almost colonial vibe. Lots of expensive looking gleaming wood, very comfortable seating, cushions, and ferns. Uniformed, young staff are keen and helpful, they work the dining spaces smoothly - checking on guests with just the right amount of formality without service impinging on a relaxed, casual lunch.
Menu is pleasingly tempting for two reasons: firstly it's uncomplicated and well balanced with nothing too fancy or fussy. Secondly it's surprisingly reasonable. Lunch for two with sides and drinks came to under £20. And free wifi with a good signal is always a welcome bonus.

The Riverside, Gunthorpe

North End, Farndon, Notts. NG24 3SX www.riversidefarndon.co.uk

Is there any polite way to eat a decent, generously portioned club sandwich? Especially one layered with thick cut fluffy fresh bread? Nope, didn't think so. The one served up to GastroChap this lunchtime defeated civilised nibbling. Served up on branded (very swish) greaseproof paper on a platter (not a plate) and loaded with thick cut bacon, tomato, chicken and slathered in rather delicious mayonnaise... hardly dainty. Nice bowl of homemade fries too (there is an option to hit the salad bar instead of the fries). Came with a knife and fork of course, but who eats a cold sandwich with cutlery? Not I. So to work, manfully ploughing in and not a pretty picture I daresay (to which one might add Mayo on the chin). Good quality pub fayre, washed down with what is becoming the ubiquitous pint of Old Speckled Hen. The Flower went for the cheese and pickle sandwich - with a commendably sharp, mature and tangy cheddar.
The Riverside has changed considerably since it's days as The Britannia Inn. It now has to it a lush, plush almost colonial vibe. Lots of expensive looking gleaming wood, very comfortable seating, cushions, and ferns. Uniformed, young staff are keen and helpful, they work the large dining spaces smoothly - checking on diners with just the right amount of formality without service impinging on a relaxed, casual lunch.
Menu is pleasingly tempting for two reasons: firstly it's uncomplicated and well balanced with nothing too fancy or fussy. Secondly it's surprisingly reasonable. Lunch for two with sides and drinks came to under £20. And free wifi with a good signal is always a welcome bonus.

Pontefino's Italian Restaurant & Bar

80 Main Street, Gunthorpe, Notts. NG14 7EU. tel. 0115 9663711 email. info@pontefino.co.uk

You will find Pontefino's where the old Anchor pub used to be at the riverside, Gunthorpe. I mean it literally - this is where the Anchor used to be. Pontefino's is not just a perfectly serviceable tarting up of a boozer into a restaurant, a subtle refurbishment in which you can still feel the spirit of the former building and catch a glimpse of the ghost of the place. It is a complete eradication of all traces of the the previous venue. Completely unrecognisable now with its pristine decor, clean white walls, cool spaces and sparkling glass. Handsome, classy, confident and clearly contrived to impress. If one might employ anthropomorphism then Pontefino's would be a date dressed to seduce, someone who had clearly spent considerable time in front of the mirror straightening a tie, smoothing back hair, tilting their head left then right in admiration of a fine profile, knowing - with arrogant certainty - they could never be a disappointment.

Perhaps I would have done without the framed black & white rat pack prints (natch): Frank, Dean and Sammy kicking back. I get the message. You are a modern Italian restaurant. You are cool. Yes, yes... and do bear in mind this is still Gunthorpe chaps, by the river with its narrowboats moored up, the fantasy can only be taken so far before it becomes a pastiche. And with that in mind note the effortlessly skillfull (and much too good looking) Italian waiters working both a cliche and the room, shoes polished to a blinding gleam, all artful stubble and slickly professional charm. But if this desciption makes Pontefino's seem too cold for you, please don't get me wrong: it isn't. Service is warm and welcoming, the owner himself gave us a tour (nice old school touch that), couples at our neighbouring tables were chatting to each other about menu choices. And it is relaxing - despite the 'shiny' smartness. GastroChap was soon unwinding with some Cabernet del Veneto, the house red, fruity and bright with a pleasantly surprising spicy finish, as we enjoyed a wonderfully light and flavoursome garlic bread for a starter and bowl of olives.

The Flower knew what she wanted even before we arrived (she is one for her online research of menus) and could not wait to order the Pesce Spada - her absolute favourite: chargrilled swordfish marinated in oil, garlic, lemon and herbs. It came served with roasted veg and french fries. Spot on. A generous portion of fish steak and cooked to prefection. I went with Spiedino di Manzo: chargrilled pieces of succulent fillet beef marinated in oil, garlic and saffron. Best piece of meat I've had for a while. Doubtless I was grinning as I went to work on it. Nicely presented too on a wooden serving board with a hollowed out yellow pepper (hiding more lovely portions of beef), with tomato, salad and a bowl of fries.

I never even had a chance to try The Flower's tiramisu as it was wolfed down with embarrasing speed before I had even finished my espresso. She assures me it was a decent effort (but lacked a boozy punch). Perhaps I will get a chance to try for myself someday soon! 

A good evening, if a tad pricey.