‘When you’re a restau­rant with a “field to fork” ethos, it helps to be sur­rounded by fields from which to fork’

A coun­try pub whose food is lo­cally sourced and ‘scrum­did­dlyump­tious’

The Daily Telegraph - Telegraph Magazine - - THE CUT - Matthew Bay­ley

I blame Char­lie Pi­geon. at least, I think it was his fault.

Cer­tainly the menu at The Pony& Trap said it was, be­cause it iden­ti­fied him specif­i­cally as the man re­spon­si­ble for gun­ning down what I was eat­ing.

all I know is that one minute I was greed­ily scoff­ing the heart and liver of a bird he shot (along with some mush- rooms and a large piece of gravy-soaked bread ), and the next my 11- yearold daugh­ter was star­ing at me in dis­gust and call­ing me a vam­pire. and as Char­lie’ st he one who ap­par­ently pulled the trig­ger on the pi­geon in the first place, I’m not sure I should have been shoul­der­ing all the blame.

In re­sponse, I launched into a well­re­hearsed ar­gu­ment about how it’ s only re­spect­ful to an an­i­mal that some­one (Char­lie) has killed to be eaten, to con­sume as much of it as pos­si­ble, not just the ob­vi­ous bits.

Plus, it tastes great. look, I said, as my ar­gu­ment reached its ir­re­sistible con­clu­sion, it’s not to­tally of­fal. my wife groaned and gave my daugh­ter per­mis­sion to roll her eyes at me.

So thanks to Char­lie Pi­geon, I was of­fi­cially con­demned by my chil­dren, not only for be­ing a blood­thirsty de­mon of the night, but also for hav­ing the sense of hu­mour of an em­bar­rass­ing un­cle, not the chilled-out en­ter­tain er of a father I as­pire to be. and lunch had been go­ing so well. We drove through the mendip hills to The Pony& Trap on a typ­i­cal may bank hol­i­day–that is, a day sunny

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