The Lamb at Satwell, near Henley (From Herald Series)

The Lamb at Satwell, near Henley

10:09am Thursday 29th January 2009

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The chill wind of the economic recession is having its effect on restaurants everywhere, even those operated by celebrity chefs. Checking out Antony Worrall Thompson’s website on Monday, in connection with the article you are now reading on the Lamb at Satwell, I found that another of his catering operations – the Greyhound pub just up the road at Rotherfield Peppard – is no more. A terse message flashed up on the screen: “Due to the current economic climate we have had to close the Greyhound.”

This was a sudden and unexpected end to a business which had seemed so prosperous when I featured it in this column three years ago. At that time, I pointed out what a contrast it was to other places in the area. “Pubs we pass on the way are open but lifeless,” I wrote. “Lights blaze but no one is at home; empty car parks advertise unpopularity.” Now the Greyhound has joined their number.

It had been business as usual there last Wednesday; indeed, the young deputy manager, whose courtesies added much to our evening at the Lamb, had been working there that very lunchtime. He did tell us it had been quiet, though. Evidently, Antony called it a day there on Sunday.

I feel confident that the Lamb is not going to follow suit. It was pretty busy for a small country pub last Wednesday, though it has to be said that by the time we were midway through our dinner, the bar in which we were sitting was empty apart from us. Ironically, we had chosen to sit there on arrival partly because of the huge open fire and partly because it was full of people whereas the next door restaurant-ish room was nearly empty. Clearly what happened later was that the drinking customers from the bar moved through.

The philosophy of the food operation here is straightforward and commendable. As Antony explains on his website: “I remember the good old-fashioned stews and casseroles I used to enjoy as a child [so do I!]. At the Lamb I have tried to reproduce some of these wonderful stews from around the world . . . No pretentions. Home cooking without the hassle.”

Unpretentious rather defines the decor of this fine old pub. The interesting assortment of antiques and bric-a-brac included, close to our seats, something that looked like a medieval torture device. Our best guess was that it was probably a walnut oil press (is there such a thing?).

Shortly I was to introduce Rosemarie to my own form of torture, bombardment with piping hot gravy from my pot-roast partridge. This most delightful (for me) of game birds – properly high, I am pleased to say, on this occasion – was my immediate choice because I could see it was coming in a way that would maximise its tenderness (I have had a couple of rather tough oven-roasted examples over the past few weeks).

Even so, it is still a bit of a struggle to get the flesh from the bones of the little brutes, especially around the legs and wings. A sharper knife would probably have helped, and saved Rosemarie from being splashed with the sauce of apples and winter veg, which also featured cream and cider. (AWT’s assistant, Nicola, was kind enough to send me the recipe, so I’ll be able to try it for myself at home.) I enjoyed a well-dressed mixed salad with it and a dish of buttered purple sprouting – a true winter treat.

Rather greedily, I had started with a sharing platter for two, which brought a wooden board bearing pitted green olives, a bulb of roasted garlic, spiced roast almonds and carrot pickle, with a warm baguette. There was no sign of the advertised Spanish tortilla, but I wouldn't have eaten that anyway.

Rosemarie began with a bowl of creamed tomato soup. which contained bits of carrot and a tang of something citrussy. She continued with a superb steak, kidney and mushroom pie. Beneath a shortcrust pastry lid, in a rich winey juice, there were huge chunks of tender beef, and rather smaller quantities (quite properly) of the other advertised ingredients. Potatoes were those oversmooth ‘mashed’ (for which read ‘liquidised’) variety. She completed her meal with a gooey and chewy chocolate brownie.

Final whinge: the wine we chose, a delicious rioja called (punishing name) Palacio de Beltus, was priced on the website at £15. On the pub wine list it is £16, on my bill (unnoticed until today) it was £17.95.

How can this be?

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