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The Wedge and Beetle
IT HAS become quite the thing, these days, to single out for praise those restaurants which do not treat a child as if it is a gone- off pork chop. I have never actually under- gone the ordeal of exposing any child to the unwelcome embrace of the nation's maitre d's, but even so I do sympathise with those beleaguered parents who vociferously lament that their offspring are not greeted with the tolerance they expect.
I do sympathise, I do, I do — but that doesn't make the prospect of being sur- rounded at drinks time by eight families' worth of children running around pretend- ing to be Arnold Schwarzenegger or some turtle or other exactly welcoming. The world, an Irish woman once told me, is divided between mothers and others; the former category should be grateful for the Wedge & Beetle, while those of us in the latter might temper our enthusiasm. Not that the Wedge & Beetle is a Thameside creche for the Volvo set. Its owners, Richard and Kate Smith, have come to it via the highly regarded Royal Oak in Yattendon (which they've now sold) to which they had come via Langan's and the Greenhouse. The Wedge & Beetle occupies the territory between swish and charming, and between Pangbourne and Oxford. I made the mistake of making too much of an expedition out of it, which meant that halfway through dinner I start- ed minding very much indeed that I had arranged to stay the night rather than belt back down the M4 for an hour to be back in my own bed. Had I simply decided late on Saturday or Sunday morning that I'd love lunch sitting by the river, watching cows graze on the meadows opposite and rowers plashing in front of me, and just got in my car then and there, I probably would have been in a better temper about it.
The food operates on a two-tier basis: smart in the restaurant (napkins in glasses, baby spinach and chanterelles on the plate), bistro-grillish in the pub — or `boathouse'. I chose, even though I'd actu- ally booked for the restaurant, to eat on the little bankside terrace outside the boathouse. I rather felt that if I wanted fashionable Langansy food, I could get it in London, but it seemed worth travelling to Moulsford-on-Thames to have a plate of sardines or a large steak, cooked on a wood fire, while I gazed out at the river.
So, Pimmsed-up, I went enthusiastically terracewards. We started with duck liver terrine, cool and creamy against the sweet, grilled brioche, and a warm salad of duck livers and wild mushrooms. This was just bad ordering, for which I cannot blame the
chef, but I panicked when I saw the done- upness of all the food; the wild mushrooms
were the only things that attracted, which made me overlook the fact that we were ordering duck livers twice over.
Still, our paths diverged for the main course. The locally cured ham, which came cold with hot new potatoes, was out of this world. Good ham is hard to come by, but when it's as good as this nothing can com- pare with its exquisite, fragrant sweetness.
My red mullet, ordered 'from the fire', was advertised as coming with prawns, tomato and fennel. I thought this would be a roughly chopped affair, a l'italienne, but it came in a buttery sauce in which these ingredients floated. 'Richard does like his beurres blancs,' said an ex-colleague of his, and I have to say, I should have much pre- ferred my fish plain. What is the point of grilling things on an open wood fire only to douse them in a so-whattish butter sauce?
Richard Smith is famous for his pud- dings. This is not the time of year for sticky toffee and steamed treacle, so I wasn't
expecting to see prime examples of his expertise. But I was lucky. The chocolate
truffle cake with coffee ice-cream was worth the journey alone — and I don't usu- ally like chocolate or ice-cream. The cake was both smoky-rich and airily light and somehow escaped capture with every mouthful so that one couldn't stop eating it. The fawn-coloured ice-cream was crum- bled with amaretto biscuits so that within its deliquescent smoothness were nuggets of chewy nuttiness.
With a decent Fleurie, coffee and almost a beaker of amaretto, the bill for dinner for two came to around £65. Come here on a sunny day for a grilled steak and artery- hardening puddings or for their proper Sunday roast and you'll probably do OK. Booking advisable.
The Wedge & Beetle, Moulsford, Oxford- shire; tel 0491 651 381
Nigella Lawson
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