THEY say that spring showers aren’t actually the work of the Devil. But try telling that to anyone whose hair, make-up, or outfit has been wilted by the Great British weather.
Despite my desperate efforts to look half-decent for a posh dinner date – little black dress, Chanel lipstick and towering heels – taking the dog for a mini-walk mid-cloud burst resulted in a change of clothes and venue – to a nearby tavern. You know – the sort of place where they don’t give a damn that you’re having a bad hair day and your jeans aren’t skinny.
Don’t get me wrong, the Basset Hound is a perfectly decent place. Situated in the quiet village of Thingwall – recorded in the Domesday Book as Tuigvelle – it’s quaint. But pretentiousness isn’t part of the package. Despite having all the trappings of a nouveau gastro-pub with cask ale, log fires and wooden beams, the customers span several generations and there’s little people-watching going on. No, everyone’s too busy trying the generous selection of beers and tucking into dishes from a comfortably familiar menu.
After years of overcooked veg and overdone meat, it seems that ordinary pub grub (minus the overpriced, organic ingredients and affected descriptions like jus instead of sauce) is making a comeback. And following a spell indulging in culinary couture, we are once again treating classic comfort dishes like hot-pot and roast beef with due regard.
The Basset doesn’t disappoint in that respect. The menu groans under the weight of freshly- cooked options like roast duck with blackcurrant sauce, fisherman’s pie and free range sausages. And if you’re a vegetarian, there’s always the wild mushroom lasagne or walnut and gorgonzola ravioli.
Scanning the specials board, which changes weekly, Mark plumped for the prawn gratin (£4.25) followed by chicken casserole (£8.25), while I went for the goat’s cheese fritters (£3.75) and battered fish (£7.95).
The fact we ordered at the bar meant that the starters were served quickly. I love cheese and the fritters were delicious served with sweet apple chutney. Mark broke into the crunchy Parmesan crust of his gratin to find perfectly-cooked pan fried prawns in a rich saffron cream sauce. Very good, but not exceptional, was the conclusion. The same could not be said of the venue.
Historians will love the two-tiered dining rooms. The Basset, which was originally three farm cottages, still retains many of its original features such as restored beams and flagstone flooring, while the walls exhibit old photographs of nearby villages and antique crockery. With fashionable interiors now edging towards granny chic, the décor had a strangely modern appeal – I particularly loved the large, leather reading chairs and battered oak tables.
Mark, of course, remembers the day when original sketches of Fred Basset graced the newly- plastered panels – but that was in the late sixties. Today, there’s little evidence of the charismatic cartoon character that once christened the place. Let’s get back to the food.
The main meals were promptly served by a friendly waitress, eager to deliver sauces, extra drinks and so-on. We repeated our bar order of Green King ale and Diet Coke. And with relish, I tucked into the large, battered fillet of fish which I think was haddock. It was beautifully executed and accompanied by chunky chips and minted peas. Yum! Nevertheless, I eyed Mark’s casserole with envy. Placed in a pretty stoneware pot and served with warm chunks of freshly baked bread – it looked like the kind of dish my mother used to make. Did it taste the same? Alas, no. It had aesthetic appeal but no stamp of individuality.
