A dispatch from the Shires: The Rose and Crown, Warwick

Darling reader, the thing that struck me most upon my last visit to the metropolis was the appalling standard of deportment I witnessed in its inhabitants. Stood with my beloved nephew Julian, I observed a cloven-hoofed individual shambling towards me. Imagine my horror when I realised it was the light of my life, Mr Green. Straight away I resolved we would cure him of his shamble, and to this end I have enlisted the help of a dancing master.

The path of my life is never smooth though, and it is with sadness that I must report that the dancing master is a fickle fellow, prone to cancelling lessons at the last minute. Thus it was that Mr Green and I found ourselves with an hour to spare last Sunday morning. It was a beautifully sunny day, we had nowhere particular to be, and the first thought that sprang into our heads was Brunch.

We were in Warwick, as apparently this is the closest place to my home where one can learn the refined art of dance. For those of you who don’t believe in life outside London, or who may be from forn parts or the colonies I will explain that Warwick is a charming little market town in the Midlands of England, just north of Stratford-upon-Avon, just south of Coventry and to the east of the sprawling mess of Birmingham. It’s dominated by a castle, which is dominated in turn by Madam Tussauds, and thus the town has a mix of people who live there, who are escaping their miserable local-city-based lives and tourists.

The extent of my woe at the cancelled dance class was so great that we decided a treat was in order, and we went to the Rose and Crown, which is somewhere I have been to drink before but have never actually eaten there.

I am fond of the pub – it’s solid and dependable and very British, while at the same time being clean, and comfortable and striking just the right balance with the lighting. As Sunday was such a beautiful day, we sat outside, and perhaps the thing that impressed me most was that they served us and put everything on a tab, without evidencing so much as a flicker of worry that we might run off without paying. There’s a chance that I have started to look respectable what with the new haircut and everything, but the sad probability is that I looked too hungover to run anywhere fast.

The waiting staff were lovely though. They brought me a very spicy bloody mary which helped the rage subside and let me appreciate the sunshine.

My only criticism would be that I have been spoiled for any other Bloody Mary by the Anchor and Hope on the Cut in London, whose version, served alongside complementary crab crostini, was choc-full of fresh, grated horseradish. After that, anything else seems rather generic, though I did like the dash of sherry that floated on the top, and gave the whole thing a decadent sweetness.

Anyway, to be perfectly honest, I am never going to turn down a drink brought to me by a smiling young man. It just isn’t in my nature.

The Brunch itself was excellent. They had a good menu that ranged in variety and price, with options like soft-boiled egg and toast, some cereal type thing, full English breakfast and bacon muffins. I had the Eggs Benedict and Mr Green had the pancakes with strawberries and honey (as pictured in the introduction).

He said they were ‘very nice’ and that the strawberries were the best bit. Frankly I was so caught up by the sheer, gluttonous joy that was my meal that I barely even spared them a glance.

How can I describe it? The muffins were perfectly toasted and had retained their crunch; the eggs were soft poached and well drained (there is nothing more disappointing than a distressingly soggy Eggs Benedict. Well, there is, but it wouldn’t be polite to mention it in a public forum). The ham was... well, hammy and the hollandaise?

Oh my.

Bearing in mind I don’t actually like hollandaise all that much? The hollandaise was wonderful. It was buttery and rich and creamy and, did I mention buttery? It wasn’t sour, or splitting, or overwarmed under a grill. In fact it avoided every single one of the problems that has previously prejudiced me against the sauce.

In short it was a very good brunch, and more than made up for missing a dance lesson. We missed out on the free toast as we got there just after 11am, but both brunches, a pint for Mr Green (who has asked me to tell you the beer there is very good indeed) and two Bloody Marys for me came to £16, which isn’t bad at all. In fact it is significantly less than a dance lesson… maybe I can learn to live with a shambling man after all?