The Cricket Inn, Sheffield.
As the taxi hurtles along narrow country lanes to the Cricket Inn, down in the very far left-hand corner of Yorkshire, we remember That Sunny Saturday in Suffolk, when we first came across the term "gastro-pub".
It was perhaps 10 years ago, when foodieness was still just on the edges of the British pub scene, and a friend had invited us to lunch in a smart seaside town down there. The menu in the big, bustling, Sloane-packed pub was written in the then-little-known language of New Foodie. Words which now seem as familiar as casserole and curry were a novelty: jus, confit, tempura, delice, "a farce of Stilton an cranberry", "seared salmon with barbsta potatoes".
Barbsta potatoes? The waitress patiently explained, but we were in combative mood and asked for a word with the manager. "I think," our friend told him, "that your menus have become a little chi-chi, if you don't mind me saying so." He looked as limp as a plate of wilted greens. But everyone knows what these terms mean, he said. "And if they don't, they can always ask." Our friend looked him in the eye.
"We've come for a meal," she said, "not a pub quiz."
Since then, of course, New Foodie has become old hat, with ponzu mayonnaise and vinegar reduction all over the place, and daft recipes (if in doubt, chuck in a cube of braised cormorant), minimal arty portions and an overall pretension that seems increasingly out of place in a recession. The only reduction you might want, in these cash-conscious times, is in the price. Fancy food? No, comfort is what we want.
So welcome the Cricket Inn, one of Sheffield's modest trio of entries in the Good Food Guide. It's not cheap, but it serves richly flavoured, honest food of the sort you want to eat rather than just admire on the plate. It has such easy-going confidence under head chef Jack Baker – an award-winner in his own right – that it also gets into the Michelin Guide to Eating Out in Pubs.
One of its strengths is an interest in local sourcing that goes beyond the usual "Milk from Cressida the cow at Mrs Bunce's farm in Further Fogdale (milked by her third son Simkin)". It uses Sheffield-made Cunningham's pickles and piccalilli and Henderson's Relish, an addictively individual take on Worcester sauce that, like Sheffielders themselves, has the keenest of edges. But are we really in Sheffield as we twist and turn down winding roads, through woody glades, skirting dry stone walls, past pretty cottages? Well, up to a point. This is Totley, in the almost-Derbyshire corner of the city. It's not much more than five physical miles from the centre, but psychologically it's on another planet.
We finally find the Cricket Inn tucked away in this pocket Arcadia, alongside buttercup meadows grazed by cows and overlooking, aptly enough, a cricket pitch. We edge up a lane lined by parked cars and cow parsley and join the throng inside the pleasant-looking stone-built pub. On the left is a big, high dining room dominated by a huge, slightly out-of-place chandelier, but we're directed to the cosier bar-dining-room on the right: a "traditional" place with wooden floor, scrubbed tables, miscellaneous chairs and benches, a brass coal scuttle in the fireplace, and a range of Sheffield artist Pete McKee's bold cartoon-like images of city life round the greeny-mushroom walls (Farrow and Ball will have a name for it: Verdant Elephant, perhaps).
In line with the restaurant's credo – "Dogs, muddy boots and kids welcome" – there's a sprinkling of children and a dog. I prefer places where kids are decidedly unwelcome and the muddy boots are used to kick the dogs, but there's no accounting for grumpiness.
The atmosphere is, in any case, instantly convivial. People are having a good time and, when conversation runs out, they study the blackboards covering most available surfaces. They list the day's specials, describe ladies' lunches, suggest sandwiches, urge "Why not
order chips?" You could spend the entire meal reading.
Tim Treeby, the affable, attentive general manager (and a real asset), brings menus full of imagination and good sense. "Pub classics", with mains at 9 to 16, include steak and kidney pie, lamb shank and pork sausages. There are Sunday roasts (10 to 14), "The Little Person's Menu" (cringe) and a steak menu with a glossary that, however helpful, perhaps tells you more than you might want to know ("medium-well: colour not so attractive... blue: barely warm on the inside...well-done: grey-brown, no juices to speak of").
The starters include a wonderful concoction: a big, flat Derbyshire oatcake with two fried eggs and, to add crisp zest to such softness, asparagus, pinenuts and sun-dried tomatoes. I'm not sure it justifies its price (8), or that it does much for my health, but it's delicious. My wife's potato and roast garlic soup (4) has a real tang shared by her 12 main course – leek, potato and chive cakes, with chargrilled haloumi, olives, chick pea relish and beetroot houmous: a winning array of tastes and textures.
My smoked finnan haddock glazed with mustard-seedy Y-Fenni cheese (with tomato salad and hollandaise sauce) lulls me into such a state of benign happiness that I could pat dogs and hug children. Even with a superfluous mug of chips thrown in, though, I wonder about the 15 tag.
No matter. There's well-paced, friendly service, an impressive thoughtfulness about everything, and they offer a range of beers from Thornbridge Brewery in Derbyshire. I challenge anyone not to drink a pint of the full-on Jaipur ale and not feel cheered.
"A crescendo of massive happiness" is how I first read the brewery's own description of the ale. I later saw it was, in fact, "hoppiness", but it was really right first time. An evening of massive happiness.
The Cricket Inn, Penny Lane, Totley, Sheffield S17 3AZ. Tel: 0114 236 5256. www.relaxeatanddrink.com. Open for food Mon to Fri noon to 2.30pm, 5pm to 9pm; Sat noon to 9.30pm; Sun noon to 8pm.
NB - The website address is correct, but it's a bit temperamental.
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Saturday 26 May 2012
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