*1/4 , N , ,Nvs-s-s-; The Beetle and Wedge FOR A moment, the name
of this Thames- side eating-place brought to mind the semi- nal case of Donoghue v. Stevenson which, as every law student knows, not only estab- lished important principles of civil law but, more memorably perhaps, concerned a snail which was found in a bottle of ginger- beer. I was idly imagining that the restau- rant got its name from some species of bee- tle — a Colorado, possibly, brought up river from the Tilbury docks and somehow caught in what cookery writers are inclined to call a lemon wedge. But no: as may be perfectly obvious to everyone else, this bee- tle (also known in other parts of the coun- try as a bettle) is a mallet and the wedge is an ordinary wedge.
Such musings were prompted by a tele- phone call, on the first Sunday of this month, from the tenant of this column, Hugh Massingberd, who rang to propose that we have lunch at the Beetle and Wedge, for the purpose of his next restau- rant article. Three hours later, he suffered a serious heart attack. The latest bulletin this week reports good progress, though recovery may take some time.
Knowing that Hugh — not only one of the great eaters of our time but a passion- ate lover of the theatre — would insist that the show must go on, I thought it right to keep our appointment at Moulsford-on- Thames and, rather than go alone, to take two of Hugh's admirers, my wife and daughter, along as well.
This stretch of the river was well known to Kenneth Grahame, who lived a few miles downstream at Pangbourne, where he wrote The Wind in the Willows. Last week, however, it would not have been the best place for Toad and Rat: the river was dan- gerously swollen and planks and branches were rushing by on the fast-flowing current. On the opposite bank, a top-heavy motor 'I'm grateful, of course, to receive what I asked for. I would, though, have liked a little better quality.' cruiser with the inapt name of Ocean Eagle rocked at her moorings and a boathouse sat disconcertingly low in the water.
We were sitting in the window of the din- ing-room known as the Boathouse — lots of exposed beams and red brick — with a bar at one end and an open charcoal fire on which some of the food, including fish, is grilled. We started with three salads — of crispy duck, fillets of skate and goat's cheese. The winter greenery was well cho- sen (mostly chicory, endive and radiccio), but the dressing, for the duck and the fish, was judged by my daughter Leila to be 'a bit boring'. Certainly the bland flavour of the skate needed sharpening.
A `between' course of grilled Dover sole or mullet might have been on the Massing- berd menu, but my wife was anxious not to spoil her appetite for the char-grilled calves' kidneys with black pudding and a green herb mustard sauce, probably the outstanding dish of the day. Leila settled for a sirloin steak with béarnaise sauce and I chose fillet of hare with fresh foie gras and a wild mushroom sauce. Partridge and pheasant were also available, but we reck- oned we had had enough feathered game for this season. The hare, which has a natu- ral tendency to dryness, suffered initially because, following the modern fashion, the sauce had been put on the plate first rather than poured over the meat. Once the two had got together, the whole thing was quite delicious.
I feel bound to enter a minor complaint about the choice of vegetables — french beans and broccoli. While nicely cooked al dente they are, together with spinach and courgettes, too often the only vegetables offered on a restaurant menu. Why not cauliflower in a béchamel sauce, or a purée of swede, or salsify fritters? Such thoughts were soon banished, however, by the arrival at our table of a good-sized pan of rosti potatoes (for which Jennifer Paterson has recently given a recipe, Food, 1 January).
My suggestion that we might not have room for pudding was quickly rejected by Leila saying that we mustn't let Hugh down. We recalled that on his first visit to our house, arriving at the end of a Sunday lunch, he had put away three very decent helpings of plum crumble. Apple and rasp- berry crumble, with Jersey cream, was on the menu and it was irresistible. My wife said it was the best meal she had had for a long time.
Our bill came to £140, including service, a bottle of house champagne (Medot, £25) and a bottle of Gevrey-Chambertin 1986 (Antonin Rodet, £18.75) — several glasses of which we raised to Hugh's speedy recov- ery.
The Beetle and Wedge, Feny Lane, Mouls- ford-on-Thames, Oxfordshire; tel: 0491 651381.
Simon Courtauld
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