The Butchers Arms

I wouldn't usually use my blog to criticise or promote a commercial establishment but I must tell you a quick story. My brother and Sylvie were coming from Dunmow to meet us for lunch yesterday and he had suggested The Wharf at Fenny Compton as a meeting and eating place. In an effort to find something a little better my very old Nicholson Book1 south mentioned the Butchers Arms at Preston Hardwick. It says nothing about it other than it can be accessed by path from Bridge 124 and to remember to shut all gates behind you.
Thinking this would be more fun than Fenny Compton, I called to book a table. Sorry restaurant closed on Saturday lunchtimes.
Never mind back to Plan A and The Wharf.
But Friday (the day before yesterday) we would be going under Bridge 124 so why don't POS and I give it a try anyway. A quick phone call secured us a table so at lunchtime we moored up and crossed the fields, dodging cows and shutting gates as we went. I took an old broom handle (my yet to be patented tiller extension) to protect POS in the event of an angry cow trying to take her on. Not that I needed to worry. With or without the stick the cow would have come second. Nothing comes between POS and her lunch.
When we arrived at our destination our flabber was well and truly gasted.

There, in this hamlet which appeared bereft of any living mortal soul, stood The Butchers Arms. Probably the prettiest pub I have seen and I have seen a few (and been thrown out of many) and set in the most beautiful gardens.
Fronted by the owner Leon, a man of Portuguese descent immaculately dressed in a blazer, slacks and a strong Iberian accent. Rather like Raymond Blanc he probably hasn't been home in years but is happy to retain the accent that adds mystery and authenticity to his character.
He was charming and made us feel most welcome greeting us like long lost friends but in a genuine way. He was well impressed, and relieved I think, when he realised we had come up from the canal but we had scrubbed up well.
He had stories to tell that would be the envy of many a raconteur. They mostly revolved around 70s characters such as Michael Heseltine and Julie Andrews but were very interesting.

He started The Butchers Arms about 37 years ago It still retains all the charm of a 70s restaurant both in decor and menu. For example, a sweet trolley where pineapes in Kirsch, oranges in Cointreau and profiterroles live happily alongside Portuguese rice pudding. I was a disappointed that there was no Steak Dianne or Crepes Suzette on the menu but there was Bouef Stroganov which I suppose is a bit like Steak Dianne and I am sure I could have had Crepes Suzette if I had asked!
Given there were three waiters (probably called Phillipe, Edouard and Henri) and two waitresses (Alice and Betty) this was not a small restaurant.

In this day and age where dining out seems to fall into fast food, ethnic food, nouveau cuisine drizzled in foam and leaving you hungrier than before you started and the phoney gastro-pub, it is refreshing to find a restaurant that has refused to update and in doing so has retained it's charm.It was near enough full and remembering to all tense and purposes it is in the middle of nowhere it seems to be giving the customer what they want. One couple we spoke to came from some way away but had been coming for 36 years. I completely understand why.

As Arnie once said "We will be back"
PS The Wharf was as expected and we had a very nice afternoon eating and drinking with Peter and Sylvie interspersed with doing the laundry in The Wharf's very fine if not a little expensive washing machine and dryer

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