Exmoor gastropub gets another trophy for the cabinet

The already many-garlanded Masons Arms in Knowstone, Exmoor, has been named Pub of the Year 2010 in the Michelin Eating Out in Pubs guide.

The 13th century inn, with a thatched roof and beamed bar, was originally three cottages built to house the masons as they constructed the village church of St Peter’s.

Chef-owner Mark Dodson spent 12 years as Michel Roux’s head chef at the three Michelin-starred Waterside Inn, Bray-on-Thames.

When the lure of country life proved too strong, Mark and his wife Sarah – who heads the charming front-of-house team – relocated to Devon with their three daughters; achieving a Michelin star for the pub a year later.

Masons Arms website

A modern pub for tourists on a busy roundabout inspires me go loco with commas

At the big roundabout, a sort of traffic island, if you will, there stands the public house Cook Island, which is dedicated to holidaymakers and daytrippers, who we love and hate, don't we?, even though how many of us have never been a holidaymaker?, if you will, where the emphasis is on food, like fish pie with lots of cheese, which people like, I saw them eating it, although I think cheese and fish should not be combined in this reality, it's an opinion, we're allowed them still aren't we?, or did I miss a new law, or a question for Bertrand Russell, or maybe Peter Cook, or a cab driver, or a combination of those people, and children are welcomed with a play area, but children, and I should know, like to use play areas as tactical planning rooms for wider assaults on the adult world, and go in those places like millionaire cigar fiends go in velvet-cloaked airport humidors in balmy south American airports, sunglassed eyes seamy with ruinous missions, maybe we should just lighten up, and maybe stop writing in sentences, let's see how it goes, well, like this, oh, yes, let's keep going a bit more, Cook Island, wasn't it?, and where there is an estate of wooden chalets next door, some of which seemed to be on sale for more than £100,000, which is more than I can afford to spend on a home for my family, like many people, I chortled as I 'tucked in' to my burger, it's always 'tucking in' with food journalists isn't it?, does anyone ever 'tuck in' in real life? apart from at bedtime, when it's vital, particularly in a chilly house, where the ice is inside the windows, a cliche, that once happened to me in my life, to almost misquote Morrissey again, which has happened before during this pub odyssey, so I was 'tucking in' and thinking about these wood palace chalets, and chortling, in a chippy sort of way, and thought is it time for a revolution?, maybe, does my son mind?, no he was plotting in the playroom, he likes throwing knives at the moment, tucking them in to passing innocents, like me, which I do not tolerate at home or in public houses, including in Cook Island, where the building is modern, in my view rather plain, not modernist like stream of consciousness writers, who can get tiresome, if they don't use full stops, people get narked, but anyway, sparking my prejudice against modern pubs, where does it come from, this prejudice?, people are more important than windowframes, you lunatic, although the windowframes didn't seem plastic, phew, I found myself staring, somewhat strangely, in both senses of the word, or maybe more, staring at the main road through a picture of the statue of liberty on the window, again a symbol, in one sense, of revolution, and sipping the Exmoor Ale, which was tasty, correct temperature, and the food was acceptable, and the staff who served it were extremely friendly, if friendliness can be extreme, a terrifying thought, and I started thinking about old Cook swinging around the world, stealing islands, that's what he did, wasn't it?, Cook, or Cookie as he soon became in my mind, as I took a stroll around the chalet estate, old brother Cookie who died 10 years before the storming of the Bastille, you're lucky I'm ending this now, I could go on all night, yes the end comma is deliberate, quite deliberate,

Cook Island, Mullacott Cross, near Ilfracombe, North Devon
Adam's Ale rating: 2 out of 5
Drink this: Exmoor Ale

A peacock gives me the evil eyes in a remote valley where the gilded agers once danced in the dew-flecked gaslight

The peacock seemed to want to get near me.

Maybe the many evil-eyed creature wanted to get me for some mysterious slight, I thought, as I took another mouthful of ale and pretended not to jump when the beast boomed in the late afternoon like a wild boar at slaughter hour.

There is something about close range large birds which makes me think about self defence, and when I'm in the corner of a beer garden in a steep wooded valley in remote North Devon I know full well the air ambulance could take time to get here. And there would be a scene if I had to wrestle the animal.

But the large strolling peacock was not intent on violence. He found a scrap of bread on the ground and fluttered up to a low roof, from where he watched me. We had reached an accommodation.

I already knew a lot about the pub, but not about the peacocks. Advertising and anticipation can ruin, with good reason, any element of well-I-never-did-see in any pub visit. Once you have been told a certain pub is the greatest creation since eden itself, there is little you can do to avoid trying to demolish that assertion. Human nature being what it is - clever, forgiving, rational - you can't help making up your own mind, which always means clawing holes in the well-knit arguments of the advocates...

And so before I even crept down winding high-hedge lanes to a hidden valley between Lynton and Combe Martin, to pay a visit to the Camra North Devon Pub Of The Year, the Hunters (no apostrophe on the sign) Inn, I was already filled with the type of prejudicial thoughts reporters often carry in their heads, but must always discard.

The beards at Camra (I mean it fondly, gentlemen) are rarely wrong about beer quality, but I have been to Camra-loved alehouses (not in the Westcountry) brimming with as much chummy cheer as a pox-riven yacht scoot to Hades, the home of the departed spirits.

The Hunters Inn, the landlord told me, had been the site of an inn for centuries and was once a haunt of the gilded age, before the late-1960s, when the gilded agers decided to go instead to Portugal or Monaco or wherever they went. Then the place became more of a haunt for coachloads of pensioners staying in nearby Ilfracombe. Now, the pub is trying to move "up market" and pull in locals as well as tourists, to avoid becoming an evil theme pub. The inn does everything a "destination pub" does: offers you hot or cold milk or cream with your coffee, rooms, chefs rather than microwaves and spotty teenagers. I was expecting the pub to be posh, but it wasn't; it was pleasingly ordinary. It felt like a proper local pub, which is an achievement, because not many people live in the valley. Maybe they camp in the woods, guerrilla-local style.

Camra was right about the beer: four Exmoor Ales on offer and my pint was too good to drink slowly. Weirdly, I was the only person drinking beer; everyone else (about four or five groups) were drinking tea or coffee. There is something exciting about pubs in odd locations. There is something odd about pubs in exciting locations.

I hadn't been there long and the peacock wanted to get near me again, perhaps as much as I wanted to drink another pint of Exmoor Ale in that beer garden, but the sky had gone old and the trees were closing in.

HUNTERS INN, HEDDON VALLEY

ADAM'S ALE RATING: 4 OUT OF 5

DRINK THIS: EXMOOR ALE, 3.8%

Hunters Inn website

Exmoor Ales

National Trust information about West Exmoor

North Devon Camra pub of the year revealed

A THRIVING North Devon pub in a breathtaking rural idyll — which takes pains to welcome locals as well as holidaymakers — has been named “pub of the year” by real ale campaigners.

The Hunters Inn, which nestles in the Heddon Valley between Exmoor and the Bristol Channel, is this year’s Camra (Campaign For Real Ale) North Devon pub of the year.

Camra spokesman Chris Franks said the pub had won the award because it served consistently good quality ales, with sympathy for local breweries, in a friendly atmosphere. The pub’s staff was also praised for being knowledgeable and providing good service.

When David Orton and his wife, Deborah, bought the Hunters Inn three years ago they were well aware the pub had been a haunt of the wealthy and well-known — as well as more ordinary local folk — for decades. In the 1970s and 1980s, however, as the glamorous people increasingly went abroad for holidays, the inn became less glamorous and relied heavily on coach loads of pensioners staying in nearby Ilfracombe.

David, 38, took on the business while living in the local valley in semi-retirement after a successful career selling televisions and music equipment. The Ortons, who were keen to re-stamp a mark of quality on the inn, have since transformed the pub into a proper local, with numerous music and pub game nights, as well as quality food and accommodation.

The inn has become, to David’s delight, a successful “destination pub” and is likely to cement its success in future years as more people, perhaps conscious of climate-damaging air travel, choose North Devon over more expensive foreign holidays. “The original inn was an old tenant farm,” he told the Journal. “And the farm used to sell ales to the local farmers. It became famous with poets and artists because it is such a beautiful spot. In 1895 the inn burned down and the current building was built on the same site.

“The guestbooks are phenomenal; Thomas Hardy wrote about the pub, members of the royal family have stayed here, as well as people like Ringo Starr and Vaughn Williams. In its 1960s heyday, it was very famous.”

The earlier guestbooks have gone to Lynton museum but their spirit lives on. “Last year we repainted the building in its original Edwardian colour scheme and we have been upgrading the accommodation,” he said.

“Real ale is a passion of mine. When we came here there were just two real ales; we now have eight at any one time. We try to support West Country brewers, including Exmoor Ales.”

The pub even hosts its own beer festival in the second week of September. Families In addition to the history, bucolic setting and real local ales, the pub also boasts a welcoming attitude to families and children and no fewer than three chefs producing anything from chips for hungry walkers to top-class dinner for honeymooners.

While some pubs in North Devon are closing their doors or suffering declining takings, the Hunters Inn’s profits are increasing, perhaps proving claims by Camra that pubs that give the public what they want can still prosper in a recession.

David said: “We have trebled the turnover in three years and that is from the support of local trade. “Everybody who had the inn for the past 30 years concentrated on visitors and you can end up with a theme pub. What makes it fun is local trade and locals will only come if the food and beer is really good and that makes it a good pub.

“We have pool, darts and poker, a jazz band called the Heddon Valley Stumblers, a folk night, a pudding club.” And with all the excellent ale, music, games — and scenery — you might think the Hunters Inn could not sound any more perfect.

Well it can: the pub is open 365 days a year and if you do make the effort to visit — by car, bicycle or foot — you are promised a friendly welcome from a committed landlord who is unlikely to boot you out into the rain when the clock hits 11pm.

From the North Devon Journal.