A weekend filled with pubs

We visited rather more pubs than we had expected to last weekend.

First was one whose name I forget, near Wolverhampton.  We had been diverted off the motorway.  I was getting hungry.  My one small Vegemite sandwich had long since worn off.  The Builder pulled into a pub we were passing so we could grab some lunch.

It's a pity I don't remember its name because although it looked rather unprepossessing, it actually did not bad food.  Not great food, but more than acceptable. We both had sizzling platters - The Builder had gammon, I had chicken.  Not bad at all.  Even the chips were all right.

Then there was The Swan.  Breakfast at The Swan is one of the great pleasures life has to offer.  But I had something of a dilemma.  We were off to Jeanette and Matthew's for lunch and experience over many visits suggests that I cannot have a full breakfast and a full Sunday lunch and do justice to both.  I couldn't have the eggs benedict, which I often do under such circumstances, because I had had them the previous evening for my starter. And eggs benedict twice in twelve hours, no matter how very delicious, seemed excessive even by my standards!! I decided to have the cold platter with toast instead of croissants.  And it was absolutely delicious.  Fluffy toast, a large chunk of cheese, beautiful ham.  And crisp apple and crunchy pear and sweet strawberries and an unexpected couple of cape gooseberries (I love cape gooseberries!!) and even a little pile of carrot sticks.  It was lovely.  I had it again on Monday morning (having had eggs benedict again on Sunday night, with some vegetables as a light supper).  Yum diddly yum yum!!!  Their kitchen may have lost its ability to fry chips (but I'll do a separate chip entry) but you can't fault its capacity to poach eggs and prepare breakfasts.  The Builder had his habitual full English while I was chomping healthily on fruit and cheese.  Judging by the way he scraped his plate clean, he thoroughly enjoyed that too. (Actually, he scraped his plate clean for everything he ate there.  Except that I made him offer me some of the toffee sauce that came with his sticky toffee pudding for my ice cream!!)

No physalis or carrot on Monday but still a lovely platter of food

And so to Monday.

We were pottering around in Somerset, hunting for a pub to have lunch in.  We accidentally drove past a couple of likely candidates, then deliberately drove past another couple that did not entice us.  Then we saw a brown sign for the Waggon and Horses.  We decided to try there.  After all, if they put up brown "food" signs they must have at least a passing interest in food.  On we drove, following the signs.  Off the main road we turned, still following the signs.  Out into the middle of nowhere, drove we.  And finally we got there.  And it really was something of a find.

It markets home-cooked food, and home-cooked food is exactly what you get.  My chicken in tarragon sauce was moist and tender.  The sauce had lots of tarragon and was very creamy.  The vegetables were not badly cooked.  The new potatoes (I'd given up on chips by then!) were lovely.  The Builder had scampi and chips.  Gwen had cod.  Nothing pretentious.  They'd get no points for presentation.  But it was lovely, plain food. We all ate every scrap.  If you should happen to find yourself in the wilds of Somerset, near Shepton Mallet, looking for a spot of lunch, you could do a lot worse than follow the signs to the Waggon and Horses.