Totally off topic #1: London Review of F*****g Books

Despite the name, the London Review of Books does not actually review books.  At no point is an opinion given whether the particular book on the dissecting table is worth three hours of your life and fifteen quid of your hard-earned.  It awards no stars out of five.

It is, in fact a literary publication with brow so high as to be invisible unless accompanied by a receding hairline.  It does publish lengthy literary essays broadly around the topic covered by the book in question, fortifies each strand of argument with references to other books which are at or near the apex of that particular subsection of literary endeavor, and often is a better reference on the topic than the actual book being reviewed is likely to be.  Mrs. subscribes, and I'll tend to flip it between the Sunday breakfast table and the recycling bag, reading some of the less challenging essays and looking at the cartoons.

So it was with almost iconoclastic amusement that I stumbled across a review entitled Frog’s Knickers which is a review/essay/dissertation upon a recent book Holy Shit: A Brief History of Swearing by Melissa Mohr.  I think to get the full force of the article, you need to have read some of the other very worthy and/or very dense articles in the rest of the mag before alighting on this review, as it really does change gears without the clutch, but by a wide margin this passage is the best I have ever read from LRB, combining gutter erudition with complex wit in a way that--in the LRB pages--flirts with selfparody:
"As Geoffrey Hughes noted in his excellent Swearing: A Social History of Foul Language, Oaths and Profanity in English, the more charged a swear word is the more susceptible it becomes to grammatical transformation.​ This means that the boundaries between nouns and adjectives and adverbs can all get completely fucked up by swear words, and before you know it the little fuckers are everywhere."

Five star f«««««g brilliant reviewing.  I might even buy the book.

Offa's Lunch (day 1): connecting the dots of great restaurants, mostly along the Offa's Dyke Path

Mrs and I have hiked longer distances as multi-day hikes more than once.  Indeed, it seems to be a theme in our marriage-- we first hiked the West Highland Way before we were married, and have done a number of longer distance multi-day paths over the years, both in the UK and elsewhere.  Some had pleasant dining experiences, too: doing a stretch of the South West Coast Path through Cornwall allowed for a rest day in St. Ives, and a break in Edinburgh before going up to the Great Glen Way was excellent (and a post for another day).

But we've also been a few times to the Welsh borderlands, and were well aware of both the good hiking there and the good restaurants, but had only done day-hiking, sometimes added to other things (eg. hiking weekend attached to tickets to the Rugby World Cup game where Canada frustratingly lost to Fiji in RWC2007).  And of the longer hikes on the list, the Offa's Dyke path was always there, albeit higher on my list than Mrs' list.

Making it happen, however, was a more serious undertaking.  The obvious practical bits required were in place: there's a train station very near the start of the path at Chepstow on the Severn (change at Newport) and if we follow our noses to Ludlow then a train back.  There's well-marked trails in the middle and some lovely places to eat.  And baggage transfer is available (albeit expensive and we found we didn't need it so didn't use it) from point to point.  But the bare bones of a practical trip aren't the same as a completely formed one, and looking through the OS maps for the stretch we were looking at, Mrs had some reservations about the length of the segments... we wouldn't just be hungry at the end, we'd be flattened.  And I suppose (with ill grace on my part) fair enough, a twenty mile stretch might be on the far side of the point when it stops being fun.  If you haven't done twelve or fourteen you don't feel like you've earned it, of course, but once past twenty miles you don't care that you've earned it and just want to lie down.

Well, fair enough-- and we did spend several evenings poring over the maps (I do hope less time than we actually spent hiking) to plot out a few shortcuts, detours, and other options.  And we had two things that made the shortcutting all OK.  The more direct one is that Mrs replaced her boots with some fitted by professionals--this was almost accidental, but we wandered in to Altimus in Kensington for what we thought would be something easy, and wandered out again with something life-changing in terms of boot-fitting and orthotics.  The life in question being mostly Mrs' as it did wonders for her posture and stamina hiking, but also mine as she's now much faster than me.  So would probably have had no difficulty with 20-mile sections if pressed...but after all that discussion, I didn't dare press.

We also were joined by an old friend, the Bon Vivant.  He's a little older than us, and with young child at home, he has not been hiking as much as we have recently and was (at the beginning) not entirely on form, but years gone by he had done harder-core hiking than we've done, including a circuit of Mont Blanc... something we're now playing with doing, since there's also good restaurants in Chamonix town (and the Vielles Luges).  He had found child-minding for a few days, and we were certainly glad of the company, and after the first day or two found his form again.

Planning survived the failure of one of our intended stops--we had been looking forward to a starred first stop at the Crown at Whitebrook, when it suddenly announced it was just giving up.  Thank you and goodbye.  This was at a ticklish phase of the planning, but fortunately there is a place that won "pub of the year" recently only another mile or two up the road, that swapped in nicely.  As a side note... writing this some time after the fact, there are suggestions it might re-open...

Day 1 ~~~ Paddington to Chepstow to the Inn at Penallt

We now know Paddington well, and our second breakfast order is settled and automatic.  Since we were booking well in advance (and this was in the lead-up to a long weekend) we splashed a remarkably small amount of cash to get first class tickets on the train.  While this is a relative bargain if booked a long way in advance, there's first class and there's first class: Mrs commented, looking around Paddington, "it's not exactly the Concorde Room".  Train took us to the carpark at Chepstow, where I had to do one last work conference call (getting some strange looks from the staff of the caf, who were hanging around outside smoking: the finer points of Italian securitisation law are apparently not everyday conversation in their caf) while we waited a few minutes for Bon Vivant's slightly later train.

Although the path skirts that selfsame carpark, the first couple of miles didn't look like much fun, and as the first of several compromises we picked up a taxi to a lookout point, Wintour's Leap.  The taxi was £6 (slightly more than the flag fall in London) and dropped us off in excellent time, excellent spirits and even in excellent sunshine.  The lookout area was a wonderful place to lounge and relace boots, with a great overlook of a bend in the river and hills off into the distance (if Wintour did leap, he certainly wouldn't have survived it).

After a first little bit along the road, the Offa's Dyke path ducks into the wood, following closely to the ridgeline of a cliff overlooking the river, in a wood with a very well-made trail, and apparently following very closely to some visible remains of the actual earthwork itself... and though I thought I had spotted parts of it, it's not obvious.  On the right as we walked, were cow fields, and in one, two young bulls facing off against each other and clicking horns (this was springtime, so we can guess what they were fighting about).  After a good bit of up and down--and a magnificent view of Tintern Abbey from the ridge down to the romantic ruins on the far bank of the river--and after only five miles feeling that second breakfast at Paddington was quite some time ago now, just as we walk down off the ridge into Brockweir.

As the first bite on a gastroramble, this is not unpromising: the pub claims (and looks) to be a 14th century monks' house (presumably the overspill annexe for spare monks from Tintern?).  The menu at the pub is of old standards, chili con carne and sausage sandwiches but comes with the first of many lovely local pints, this one local-ish from Wiltshire called Tunnel Vision with enough heft to feel warming and not a bad match to the mildish spice in the chili.

At this point we changed banks of the Wye river, crossing to the west side and picking up the Wye Valley Walk that took us up the opposite bluffs and back into the woods.  I think we'd cheerfully have stayed for another pint and snooze, but it seemed too early to knock off and take another taxi... though the path became less well made and it was a bit of a long walk through the forest... parts of which, it would appear we did not just share with horses but also Amish-style wagon trains, to judge from the signs.  We kept hearing but never saw woodpeckers in the woods.  With a good lunch and pint and a good dinner to look forward to and a soft bed, well, someone said, it's active and good exercise but not very Bear Grylls, and nicer for it...which sparked discussion of an idea Mrs. had been kicking around and elaborating for some time: that there are hard-charging type A personalities and introspective laid-back type B personalities, but there should be something in the middle for those who have done enough type-A to have gotten somewhere in the professional world and know they should be pushing harder but it's all just so much work and we're not sure we can be bothered... the "type A minus".  This wandered through a discussion of the mastery of strategic sloth (exemplified in the Dilbert world) as a corporate tactic... and a lengthy riff on type A- in action = type A- inaction.  This seemed to fit the day's gentle pace.

We wended through Whitebrook, thinking that really this would have been the better place to knock off, but with dinner booked further on, we descended to the riverside for a last couple of miles along what felt like dismantled railway path, past river birds and even a few fishers in the late afternoon sun.  After some debate--since it all looked a bit similar--we did find the right path up to take us to Long Lane, the road into Pent-Twyn.  For complex reasons of their own, the Inn at Penallt is not in fact at Penallt but about a mile south... as that's a mile we weren't going to have to hike this particular afternoon, we weren't complaining, but it did feel a bit lacking in the "truth in advertising" department.  The last stretch of inclined climb up Long Lane was where we all were feeling our long-neglected boots, though Bon Vivant more than the rest of us since he might have neglected his boots for longer, but there were enough things to take the mind off, as it was a postcard lovely village lane, with goats in some front yards and a garden party at one house.  Over the fields on the far side a hawk was being mobbed by some crows in mid-air.

The Inn took us in immediately, and we showered happily.  Our rooms overlooked a long lawn that descended into the valley and the hills rolled away in the distance.  Birds still chirped as the first hint of sunset blushed.  And the bar would be open in just about the time it'd take to shower and change.

We reconvened at the patio near the bar-- benches faced the glorious view, and a pint of local (Wye Valley brewery) helped.  We went though to a dining area, more formal than the pub.  The menu listed "posh chips" and these, taken as a side to the starter, or perhaps as a starter itself with a side of starter, turned out to be very nicely done chips with truffle oil, that had a wonderful high note on the nose and filled your mouth with truffle earthiness.  There was a somewhat eccentric-sounding blue cheese donut starter which Bon Vivant ordered and ate with enthusiasm.  Mains were more main-stream: tagliatelle with crustaceans, cod with chorizo, and a dish called chicken faggots which was the meat stacked as a bundle (similar to firewood, a now archaic use of the word faggot, I believe).  This probably makes it sound like they gave us turkey twizzlers, but if they did there was something in the prep because they were lovely.  The wine list included a crispy Spanish white (which we drank) and a Brazilian wine (which we did not).  Lovely end to a lovely day... we drifted off to bed well fed and happy.

[more pictures and map to be added]

Shameless Plug for People We Like #1: Feast nights at The Table, Southwark

Well, you can't get out to the countryside as often as you'd like, no matter how often you'd like.  And London is not short of dining options.  Every now and again, we hit one worth writing about.  And although completely unremunerated in any way for this blog (and not bitter about that at all) we'd like to offer one of our better recent dining experiences a SHAMELESS PLUG.

The Table in Southwark is a bit of an oasis: one of the few good eating places in easy reach of the Tate Modern--so tends to be somewhere we go to relax after the rigours of modern art (believe me, after the Damien Hirst retrospective, you'll want a drink).  And it's trying to do something very interesting, occasionally, as their "Easter Feast" suggests.  They're aiming to do this sort of thing once a month, and we're trying to make sure we get into the next one since we had a blast at the Easter meal.  Very much Italian-themed, mostly around family traditions and childhood food memories of their head chef Cinzia Ghignoni with wines matched to each course by Matt Walls

Others have covered this better and more thoroughly than your humble correspondent can (particularly http://www.bookatable.com/uk/blog/post/the-table-cafe-italian-easter-feast) so I won't go into too much detail, but I will say it's excellent value ("early bird" was forty a head including the wine match, fifty if you're not so early) and say that you can tell that they're still fine-tuning the food portion size...what looked to be excellent value was superb value once you saw the amount they were giving you... we waddled out very slowly after it all.  The only photo we took was of the Pasqualina, since we were so very full that we were contemplating slipping it into Mrs' handbag and would have wanted to at least try to recreate the presentation.

Well done, and more of these, please

--menu--
Baby cuttlefish spiedini, Datterini tomatoes and marjoram
Broad beans, speck,  peas and pan fried duck livers
Grilled asparagus, egg and Parmesan

Lamb ragu lasagnette
Stuffed veal breast, artichoke and sheeps milk ricotta with roast Duke of York potatoes
Swiss chard and curd Pasqualina, castelfranco and poached pear salad

Semi-fredo ~or~ Gubana, creme anglaise ~or~ Pastiera Napolietana ~or~ if you're as impressed with the rest of the meal as we were, well, all three (but to share among two, as we were very well fed by now)

Newbury to Bedwyn via the Harrow‏ at Little Bedwyn

Restaurant: The Harrow
Trail: there's some debate about what the name of the trail actually was, though it's clear enough that there is a trail... we just used the map printed from web and followed the canal from Newbury right to the door.  Coincides with National Cycle Route #4

• Eating: good and interesting, but the best value was the prix fixé menu with wine-match, so we all had that...which cut down on the variety we usually have at lunch.
• Hiking: 13.91mi, 4hr36mins on the march, but flat and fast and easy, and as we followed the canal mostly, very difficult to lose your way. 
• Wildlife spotted: thin, but then it's February and things hibernate.
• Nature's bounty: February isn't the time, nothing on the bush or branch.
• Muddy boots factor: a little bit, but more due to construction along the canal-side path than anything else...the path itself is very civilised.
• Muddy boots tolerance: the staff spotted us outside changing boots, and our other couple were offered a side cloakroom to change in, as they needed to change all over.  But I think they were relieved that we did change, since their room is more elegant than rustic.

Ideas and inspiration for gastrorambles come from many sources, some obvious and some less so.  The Harrow crossed our radar with 160char from Jancis, 

Jancis Robinson ‏@JancisRobinson  SuperTuscan bargains now avlble at The Harrow, Little Bedwyn (Sassicaia 01/02 £150 + Michelin star food). Train direct ex Paddington. Steal!

If Mrs and I weren't doing what we do, we'd very much like do do what Jancis does, though we do suspect she works too hard.  Well, if there's direct trains, then nothing easier than jumping off the train a little early, and getting some exercise.  Mrs. sent me the tweet along with a promise that she would order something more pocket-friendly than the Sassicaia.  The website showed winematch set lunch at bargain prices (historical note: was £35 and seems to have been republished on their website at £25?  and now back to £35?) and who wouldn't be up for that?

Well, who indeed--we mentioned it to a few friends and acquaintances and another couple popped up to say that a long walk and a long lunch might work well.  I don't know why we were surprised by this-- it's the reason we're tapping these diaries after all.  But in further conversation, they turned out to be harder core hikers than we are...Mrs always looks out for baggage transfer service, for example, when doing multiday hikes, where Hardcore Couple go with quickdry smalls, which they wash in the sink each night, and carry everything on their backs.  But they do enjoy a good meal, and weren't daunted by the thought of an 8:18 train (this hike is further from London than we've done previously) so why not?

Gastroramble-planning should be simple: link train from London with restaurant with path.  When we two travel together, the only thing we need to worry about is keeping to schedule so there's time for a glass before lunch.  Add more, and it becomes more difficult... especially at the start of London's winter 2013 cold snap (two months later when writing first draft and it's still glacial out there) when people's boilers start feeling the strain to keep the houses warm, and more often than not, packing it in.  And such happened to Hardcore Couple's boiler.  They might be hardcore about some things, but a cold house and cold showers are not among them and the boiler repair guys don't make housecalls early enough to hit an 8:18am train.

This turned out to be one of the hidden positives from the hike-- that it was a modular design walk.    The train in from Paddington--close to where Hardcore Couple live--follows the canal, and therefore the path, quite closely.  This doesn't distract from the rural idyll (there's only a couple of trains an hour) but it's one of the few where people can say "I'll catch you up" and actually do so.


Mrs. and I walked round the town in Newbury, though what would (in a few hours) be a busy farmers' market but at the hour we came through (the 8:18 drops us off at 9:30am) was just farmers assembling their marquees and setting out their stalls.  A quick turn up the high street (around a very good looking but very shut pub) and straight onto the canal.  This is pretty to the point of twee: swans swirling (shivering, perhaps, given the February weather) with the weak winter sun on the water and I tap a couple of notes into my phone for reference while Mrs. makes jokes about "our public"


At Kintbury the Hardcore Couple join us.  If fact, it's easy to spot their train as it flashed down the way and we waved at them though they didn't see us.  Indeed, rather than hang out at the station for us to catch up, they started marching down the path to meet us.  Having been in a cold flat until the engineer arrived, they were dressed for winter: Mrs. Hardcore was in Himalayan felt-lined trousers, which I'm sure were very toasty.
The canal path is quick and comfortable and the Hardcores set a cracking walking pace, rather quicker than our usual bumble along, which was good in that it kept us warm.  Chatting as well kept up the pace--I hadn't seen Mrs.Hardcore for quite some time and we work in the same narrow speciality, and neither Mrs. nor I had met Mr.Hardcore before...so before we knew it, we were at a point where the road diverges from the canal and slopes gently upwards to the village of Little Bedwyn, and a short time again we're at the door.  Here Mrs. and I simply slip from our hiking boots to our dining boots, unrolling our jeans and donning a slightly nicer sweater.  The Hardcores however need to sneak into the side cloakroom as they needed a fuller change.


But this is where things came a bit unstuck.  The pull was the wine list-- Jancis doesn't lie.  There's a by-the-glass selection, but the list is the draw...and Mrs. had counted on the fact that there were two couples meaning we could order a couple of bottles from the list, and the set lunch meant that it'd be easy to match...well, not quite.  Hardcore Couple were heading on to dinner with other friends later, and didn't want to arrive snapped, and the set lunch with winematch--while clearly the best value on the menu--was unbreakable.  While we all pondered the difficulties that this threw up, and Mrs. contemplated the wine-list in hope that some other option would turn up, we ordered a glass each...rather than fizz as is usual at the end of a hike, they had a Dog Point Sauv Blanc from NZ on the glass list, and that sounded very tasty.  And then they brought out an amuse of beetroot and blue cheese...and while we are certainly not picky eaters, Mrs. dislikes beets and neither of us are keen on blue cheese, so that sort of heightened the sense that things weren't going in the right direction.


It picked up a bit with the starter, a very delicate whitefish on orange and red peppers.  But the wine match turned out to be Dog Point Sauv Blanc... a fine choice, but a bit of déja vu.  The mains were proper winter-warmer solid: meat on top, meat on bottom, and spuds in middle, served with a hearty red.  Things picked up strongly when we got to pudding, though the best was arguably a pseudo-pud rather than a full item: served in an egg-cup, with meringue whip and passion fruits, and a sugared finger, arguably the standout of the meal.  And a ginger loaf, and a bread pudding, served with ice cream...possibly inappropriate given the cold day, but very tasty.  
The walk to the trains is a bit more than a mile, so towards the end we were watching closely the time, and calculated we had just enough time for coffee with the puddings, before heading off again.  Direct train has a lot to recommend it, we didn't even have to wake up for the connection.  Though we're not sure whether Hardcore couple did make their dinner, or snoozed through.

Next month: unclear--we've left planning a bit to the elements as we have some holiday booked, and then winter weather, etc. means it's more difficult.  But we've booked Offa's Lunch for the first May bank holiday, and very much looking forward to it.

Other people's reviews (historical): 
http://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/food-and-drink/reviews/the-harrow-at-little-bedwyn-little-bedwyn-near-marlborough-wiltshire-2250833.html
http://www.thewinedetective.co.uk/blog/australia/have-a-good-good-friday-at-the-harrow-little-bedwyn/
http://www.viamichelin.co.uk/web/Restaurant/Little_Bedwyn-SN8_3JP-Harrow_at_Little_Bedwyn-188357-41102
http://www.squaremeal.co.uk/restaurants/uk/view/81637/The_Harrow_at_Little_Bedwyn
  and Andy Hayler (who is apparently famous for scoring very harshly "five is pretty good")
http://www.andyhayler.com/show_restaurant.asp?restaurantid=734&country=UK
...actually surprisingly little said about it, which is fine by us.  One of the more interesting reviews was another Jancis one from 2005
http://www.jancisrobinson.com/articles/winenews051031.html

• Train: £35 return for the two of us, from zone 2 boundary to Bedwyn, though we jumped off at Newbury on the way there.  I believe Hardcore Couple paid something similar, though they're not on the annual passes that we are.
• Map: off the web, printed--easy to follow
• Second Brek: Caffe Nero Paddington, which we are getting to know quite well, £7.90
• Carbohydrate Energy Drink on trail: I was cruelly denied here, no stopping.  I suppose that's what happens when you invite the Hardcore along,but still.  I'll bring a thermos next time.
• Meal: four set lunches for £140, two glasses of Dog Point Sauv Blanc 2008 for £14, and four cappucini for £16 made the credit card bill £85 per couple -- tip in cash was probably a tenner or so.

All in cost: £130, which is about right for this sort of quality.  But Mrs. didn't have an opportunity to put her sommelier skills to work on the excellent wine list.  That means--she tells me--that we'll have to go back for dinner when dusk is later in the evening and give the wine list a proper workout.  And perhaps tackle it from the other side, from Pewsey.

[The GPS trail from the Garmin finally worked!  It even put a little knife/fork symbol in the right spot]

Eurozone dining solidarity #1: Cyprus/Xynisteri

I don't know how much you've been watching the news, but the story of the last few weeks (off and on) has been the financial difficulty in Cyprus.  There's a lot of different takes on the story, and a lot of complexity on levels I certainly have no intention of getting into here.  But in the interests of demonstrating some solidarity with the bits of the Cypriot economy that have nothing to do with finance, we were drinking a Cypriot Xynisteri with dinner tonight.

Unlike most that seem to be mentioned, this is not a sticky but a dry-ish normal table white.  I thought it was sort of like a minerally Torrontes, but Mrs.--who has a more refined palate than I do, she reminds me--described it as sort of Chenin blanc with a dollop of Chardonnay when we had it with chicken a little while back, and tonight with salmon thinks its closer to a white Rioja.

However you describe it, tasty, and £14.50 at the Sampler in South Ken, or slightly cheaper by the crate from others.

By some coincidence, the cases of eurozone bailout/stress/whatever have coincided so far with well-developed traditional drinks culture, with either long and good wine tradition or, well, Ireland with a long and deep alcohol tradition.  Coincidence or not, it's a great excuse to show some solidarity at dinnertime.  And if Slovenia is next for a eurozone bailout, well, that's fine: they've been producing some good, underrated crispy whites recently...

Well fed and exercised occasional #1: Chamonix, les Vielles Luges

Chamonix is a funny place--a bit like the girl with the curl, when it's mediocre or bad, then it's very very very bad: expensive and hassle-filled and difficult and just not a holiday.  But when it's good, it's the best in the world bar none (in my admittedly non-comprehensive experience) and the hassle and expense either dissipates or seems sooo worth it.  That's as true of the skiing as anything else, including restaurants.  And one of the things that make the difference seems to be insider or local knowledge... the other seems to be luck.

So for what it's worth to those gastroramblers who also ski, it's worth mentioning les Vielles Luges ("the old sleds"), a shack on the side of the mountain over les Houches, just down the valley.  I went there as part of a ski group, and it's worth saying the meal was stellar.  It wasn't complex, and it wasn't subtle, but for a hard-pounding exercise day on the hill, it was exactly the right thing.

There were no shortage of good options, but the ski guides recommended the diots and farçon and then proceeded to order same themselves, which is always a good sign.

Diots were smoked sausages--but the texture and taste were extraordinary: normal sausage runs the gamut from the fine-grind of the sort Café Anglais serves as a pike boudin through the coarse meatiness of a good kielbasa, to the density of a heavy savoyard salami...this sausage was extraordinary in that it hit the texture of a very tender long-cooked pork steak, as a consistent texture from one end of the sausage to the other, without gristle or chunk...just smooth smoky meaty wonderful.  The smokiness of the flavour matched the smokiness of a woodfire... I never did find out if there was a woodfire in the restaurant, though it does seem the sort of place that would have one, but the flavour came through wonderfully.  The Hungry Skier gives them a plug, and I have no idea whether the sort that VL does are available at market.

Farçon was a sort of potato-bacon cake with prunes, cooked, gelled and refried in butter to brown it.  Nuff said: you can't serve something like diots with a salad on the side, can you?

Of course, I did this while skiing: while that is exercise--and hard exercise when done right--it's not something Mrs enjoys, so she had to make do with photos of the meal via blackberry, or so I thought at the time.  But while researching this short post, I now realise that one branch of the famous GR5 hiking trail marches right through the VL's patio...

We're now booked for a version of Offa's lunch (which we've been talking about for months) and will march off in a few weeks on a 5½day version.  We've already had fate intervene when our first night's dinner and first night's bunk, the Crown at Whitebrook, closed suddenly.  But I have great faith we'll make a go of this hike in Wales... there's a number of other excellent restaurants all in a row with 15-20 miles between them.  But if thinking about a 2014 or 2015 longer distance multi-day hike, well, we'll see... and maybe Mrs will see the diots first-hand after all.

http://www.lesvieillesluges.com/restaurant-de-charme.html

White Oak (Cookham) via Thames Path

Restaurant: White Oak
Trail: Thames Path National Trail  map printed from web

• Eating: good, and stunning value-- you can see why they got their bib.  We had celebrated our 10th anniversary together the night before at Launceston Place (one of the best in London) which was spectacular; White Oak isn't in that bracket, but there's a lot of places where the lunch after a dinner like that would leave you with whiplash of the palate... White Oak managed to stand up.
• Hiking: 10.43mi, 4hr00mins exactly on the march, very flat and would have been difficult to lose the trail since it follows the river so closely
• Wildlife spotted: thin, really-- not much at all until getting very close to Cookham, with one exception (more on that later)
• Nature's bounty: thin on this particular path, and although it was December, it wouldn't have been better any other time of the year.
• Muddy boots factor: bit of mud, but not very much considering it's soggy wintertime.
• Muddy boots tolerance: very laid back place-- although we did change into clean shoes just outside (bench helpfully placed by the door), I can't help feeling they wouldn't have been that worried if we had shown up straight from trail.

This blog is dedicated to the rural idyll and the beasts that live there, whether on the wing or on the hoof or on the plate.  So, gentle reader, it is with heavy heart that I must report a planning error on our part-- on this particular walk, the first 5/6ths of the walk were seriously lacking in rural idyll.  Mrs. grew up in rural and remote parts, and I grew up in a ex-urb of a medium-sized city, and where we now live is full urban central: we both agree that it makes sense to go full urban or full rural, but that some sort of halfway compromise is a muddle that doesn't have the benefit of either yet has the annoyances of both.  And that is precisely what we found ourselves walking through for the most part.  Unusually, we're doing this one twice: once with Mr. and Mrs., then a second time with friends--while we did get a good lunch the first time, we certainly didn't get the best of the hike.

Our first shot at it had started pretty well-- our train was at a civilised hour of 9:21 (change at Slough) and rolled into Windsor central at 9:53, along with a lot of people who looked like tourists: bumbags around their waists, guidebooks in multiple languages.  And they're thick on the ground--we follow them to the front of the train station, which is set up as a shopping arcade... they seem to be heading for the castle, and we're a bit disoriented even though we saw the path itself from the train as we rolled in, but being a riverside path, our innate sense of direction kicks in ("river is likely to be downhill") and we find our way onto a pedestrian stone bridge with lots of people on it taking each other's pictures.  Turn left off the bridge, find river and start hiking into the countryside... simple? 

Well, sort of.  The meadow where we started had bona fide mud and bona fide ducks, but you could hear the A332 and the A309 in the distance, a constant hum that reminds you how close you are to Windsor which is--despite the twee and tourists--a good-sized city.  We marched and marched: even though it was now midmorning, the early December sun never got very high in the sky.  After a few miles, the path walked us past Boveney Church, which was firmly shut, but interesting from the outside, a fascinating bit of history and an excuse to take a little sit-down.  It broke up the walk a bit, and was a helpful reminder that this is countryside rather than suburb, particularly as the noise of the A308 was just starting to be drowned out by the noise from the M4 freeway.  Just past the church, we rounded Eton Dorney, a man-made pseudo-lake where the rowing events at the Olympics were held.  From the path, you could just about see the paddlers pounding up and down the water, but you had a rather better view of the construction machines that were reshaping the lake, or of the large-ish homes on the far side of the river.  Yet despite being pleasant, the scrub woods on our side of the river and the well-kept houses on the other side, the hum of the roads meant you never ~felt~ like you were out in the countryside... it was always suburb with freeway.  That's not to say that suburban life is entirely ugly: the path ran underneath the M4 (surprisingly, directly under the bridge is one of the quieter bits of the path) and the view of the bones of the bridge is wonderfully modernist and has a certain beauty.  The water was high as well after a fair bit of rain, and some of the docks along the river were under water.

As we passed under the highway bridge, we were watching closely to see where the river crossings were-- the far bank of the river is Bray, famed in song and story among gluttons.  Given that we've got a reservation elsewhere, we weren't planning to eat in Bray, but with so many really really good restaurants in town, even popping in for a pint coffee as mid-journey rest seems sure to be worthwhile: you can't serve bad food with neighbours like that, after all.  The horror of it was, though, that our printed Google maps weren't at a resolution to show any footbridges, and we weren't going to use the M4 bridge (you'd have to run across pretty fast).  I had a poke around at the lock-keeper's islet at Pigeonfall Eyot hoping for a better crossing, but none to be had there (and as the lock-keeper spotted me, I had to pretend I was looking at his flood-highwater-mark thing).  As it turned out, the only way across would have been to ford it.  I had brought newly-purchased knee-high wellies (after the H&F mudbath, that was £26 well spent) but the river looked deeper than that and it was flowing too fast for a swim.  Which is a shame as Mrs. kept telling me there wasn't another pub before lunch (unusually: normally she's trying to drag me out of the pub) but any side-trip would have been miles out of the way for lack of any foot-bridge.  Surely some enterprising local kid with a canoe will spot the revenue opportunity?

We marched on, through undifferentiated scrub on our side of the river, and suburban homes (what in Canada would be called backsplit ranch-style, but I'm sure whatever is the English English term sounds better) on the far bank.  Mrs is now properly awake, and bemoaning the fact that so far, nothing much has happened-- and she's right, it's been a bit of a dull walk so far, with the annoying buzz of traffic (by now the M4 is fading into the distance but the A4 is becoming louder) there to remind us that there's been no compensating amusements.  And we are just coming up on the apparently famous rail bridge (an I.K.Brunel engineering marvel) through Maidenhead, we heard what sounded like the whistle of a steam train... and sure enough, one chugged overhead just as we were saying to each other "that sounds like..." when we were near enough to see the steam-train enthusiasts in the carriages (with sandwiches).  We took this as a good omen that our luck would change.  At some point.

Maidenhead town was not going to be that point, though.  We crossed on the A4 bridge, on the lookout for a pub since it was well time for a sitdown, but none to be.  As we didn't get near the centre of Maidenhead, I can't say whether it's pleasant or not: it doesn't get the same butt-of-jokes treatment that Slough does, but we were quite ready to stop in a bogus-Tudor bar and couldn't find one (Betjeman didn't include any directions or reviews in the poem, and in fairness probably didn't write the poem as a travelogue).  The bit we marched past had its interesting points (one house looked like it had been built as a Victorian astrological observatory) but really, it was a suburban road with the river constrained by a concrete jetty, for a couple of miles.  There was even CCTV, and if you need a hint that your rural ramble has taken a decidedly non-rural turn, then CCTV is a pretty big clue.  But just North of Glen Island, the road drifts left and the river leans right, and as you walk away from the road, the far bank of the river rises as bluffs that block out the A4 noise.... and wonders, you can just about hear the countryside exhale.  We've crossed the watershed, and found real rural at last.  

Practically the first thing we came upon was an older couple with binos and wrapped up against the cold, watching the rather large congregation of grebes on the line of posts by the weir at Glen Island on the far side of the river.  We like twitchers (though I myself don't know a hawk from a henshaw) and Mrs. is often shameless about rocking up to them and asking what they're gawping at.  In this case, the couple were counting the grebes on the posts, something the often do and sometimes wager on.  We chatted a bit, they were also heading off to a pub lunch... though we never found out what was riding on the bet, nor what the large number of grebes had won for the grebe-counters (dessert? a better pub?).  As we pushed off, a henshaw (or something) was circling over in an odd way-- Mrs. snapped it, and since her camera is better than either of our eyesight, it was only once home that we noticed a mouse-sized-and-shaped blur in the bird's claws.  The annoying bit is that Mrs. had only just adjusted the setting of the camera to take less detailed photos so it didn't fill up the memory card so quickly... or it would have been a remarkable sighting.

The bluffs on the far side now start giving us glimpses of Cliveden, though the sort of entertainments that were on offer in 1963 (and slightly primly alluded to by their own site, using a bit of Andrew Marr-narrated history) were either not on offer or we need to reset the camera to taking sharper pix for more than just wildlife photography.  After all too short a countryside ramble, we turn inland and walk across into Cookham village and lunch.

We returned a few weeks later with countryside friends who had driven in from the hinterland of Oxford for another lunch later-- we did try to do some hiking with them, but this was during the wet times between Christmas and New Year, when the Thames was over it's banks and flooded some of the riverside towns-- fortunately not Cookham, but the Thames Path, which we were hoping to explore on the far (West) side of the village, was a matter for hip-waders rather than wellies.  We did a circuit around town instead, and got back to the restaurant as it was starting to rain again.

And the food?  They deserve their bib--dishes were consistently interesting, clearly they're having fun playing around with things.  And the set menu is value of the sort that doesn't exist many places any more-- it tends not to be their most spectacular items on the menu (if going back, we'd both order from the main list) but it was certainly good quality and interesting.  From the evidence of our two meals there, the White Oak also seem to be on a crusade to reclaim ragù bolognese for the dining classes from the open-the-can school of cuisine that association with Spag Bol has been relegated it to.  There was an interesting crab and greens starter for Mrs. off the main menu and a chorizo salad on the £15 set which was tasty but the crab was a clear winner.  The wine list proclaims that it's all sourced from Corney's and that's the truth of it, but not badly chosen from their fairly large list and lots by the glass so we went through and had a glass of this and a glass of that (to follow the glass of fizz which Mrs. is working hard to turn into an obligatory part of the arrival ceremony at gastrorambling destinations).  For mains, the menu that day had a duck breast plate which was good, but this was where the bolognese came into its own: on one visit it was with game, on another with more domestic meats, in each case over pasta and very, well, toothsome in a way that the standard from-the-can that gets poured over supermarket hamburger and called bologese is not.  After a pause, Mrs. was uncharacteristically eyeing the dessert off the set, a rice pudding, which thoughtfully came with two spoons...I've never been that much of a fan, but it was smooth and sweet and gently spiced and we had done a lot of hiking and was a very pleasant end.  While there wasn't anything that blew our socks off the way that some of the dishes we've described in these pages have done, everything, even the £15 menu items, were done with thought and attention to making it something worth thinking about while you're eating it.  I do hope they're managing to make money on those £15's, as it's not just a loss leader to get people through the door... though I imagine there's some who would see it as a place too fancy if they didn't have that option.

From the restaurant, it was a short walk to the train station (one small train an hour) which had the one of the simplest route maps I've ever seen-- no real way to jump the wrong train here.  With dusk just gathering, we snoozed comfortably back to London.




Next month: winter warming with a Jancis-approved wine list at The Harrow, Bedwyn...we hope, since I've been a bit disorganised with the reservation.

Other people's reviews (historical): 
http://www.fine-dining-guide.com/the-white-oak-restaurant-review-cookham-june-2012
http://www.maidenhead-advertiser.co.uk/News/Areas/Cookhams/REVIEW-The-White-Oak-in-Cookham-25012012.htm


The info:

• Train: £7.15 each, day return, from zone 2 boundry to Cookham, even though our jump-off point was Eton&Windsor Central.  We mentioned "Thames Path" and they did exactly as previous, return from Cookham.  I think we saved a quid or two as Mrs was also on a pass for Central London so also paid only for the zone 2 boundry rather than London terminals
• Map: off the web, printed--easy to follow
• Second Brek: Caffe Nero Paddington, £7.90
• Carbohydrate Energy Drink on trail: nuffink, at all.  Not best pleased about it either.
• Meal: trailhead aperitifs (pint of Abbot at £3.30 and prosecco at £5.50) and then a three-course "Auberge" prix fixé at £15 (yes, that's all three courses) and from the carte, crab starter at £9 and a bolognaise at £16, with three 250ml carafes of wine at 9 and 6 and 8.40 made a total of £72.20 and tip of £8.66 makes £80.86

All in cost: £103.06, which is more like it, really-- as much as we like going large at Launceston Place or Hand&Flower, you can't do that every day (despite someone lobbying in favour of...) and this meal hit the Gastrorambling sweet spot exactly.

[I've finally gotten the GPS thing to be able to download a full hike into Google Earth and produce an image... but the hike was so very suburban I'm not sure I have the heart to download it for display]