“Welcome to Weobley: National village of the year 1999.”
Award-winning villages tend to give me the shivers. The idea combines the exhibitionist anality of the overly-tended front garden with a disappointing, parochial self-aggrandisement. The competition amongst the contenders is most likely depressingly fierce: I always imagine that more chaotically-organised folk are hounded from these places, for fear that they might let the side down come judging day. And what happens when a village loses its award? Does it all go terribly downhill, with burnt out cars run across the floral displays in an act of petulant rage? No. They stick up a sign outside the village and watch the tourists pour in.
For of course, these places tend to attract coach parties, day-trippers, local school outings and other sundry touristic activities. Which can only mean good business for those who live there. This could mean exciting things: a guaranteed audience means a guaranteed income, allowing you to take those risks you could not otherwise, leading to innovative or ultra-traditional booze houses and restaurants.
But how often does that happen? The British approach towards hospitality when one has a guaranteed, mainly tourist clientele passing through can be summed up in three words: Aberdeen Steak House. Penny-pinching, complacent, greedy – such behaviour is depressingly rife across the land…
It’s not looking good for the Salutation Inn, is it? I mean, this review’s hardly glowing with positivity so far. What about the pub?
Well, outwardly, it looks great. It’s an old building. In an old village.
Inwardly, however, this all changes. Straightforward, uninspiring decor, most of which is given over to the restaurant (empty). A small bar, with two pumps off, and covered in empty glasses. Anyway, we weren’t here to drink – we were here to eat Sunday roast. As we were either driving or terribly hungover, we couldn’t sample the booze, so we all stuck to lime and soda. Pathetic, I know, but there you are. We ordered our food, and then set about waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
Half an hour later, our food arrived. A plate of Sunday roast (£12) – the plates were warm, the gravy was lovely, the meat was quite nice, the veggies were ok. So, it was all pleasant, but hardly worth 12 quid, given that we were in the middle of Herefordshire, not Holborn. Also, a tuna steak (£13) – so overcooked, it was white on the inside. The accompaniments were uninspiring.
And so to the bill. Nine pounds for drinks, it said. ‘That can’t be right,’ we said, ‘We only had lime and sodas.’ But no. It was ’special’ soda water. By which they mean, ‘warm and flat’. There was no shaking them from this controversial standpoint. So we paid up, muttered under our breaths, and swore revenge. Which in this case, is by way of writing an antsy review on a website. Read it and weep, suckers.
Damn.
The Salutation Inn
- Market Pitch
- Weobley HR4 8SJ