With the sun blistering, my wife driving and my wallet ready for emptying, last week saw the Reluctant Scooper hit the A149 for a North Norfolk coast road topering session.
First stop, Sheringham. And coastal fog had shrouded this particular extension of God's waiting room. Hordes of cardigan-clad wrinklies were hauling their zimmers up to the sea wall only to be greeted by the kind of pea-souper that many hadn't experienced since the war. Possibly the Crimean. But we still went for our morning constitutional along the prom, if only to build up an appetite for an ice cream (by the renowned Norfolk creamy
Ronaldo; thankfully it doesn't dribble fantastically before falling out the cone for no apparant reason).
In the end, I plumped for a crab sandwich instead, (crab flavoured ice cream... wonder why you never see that?) which was wolfed down whilst waiting for a pub to open. The Windham Arms had been recommended to us by a few people and also features in CAMRA's Good Beer Guide and so it would have made a great start to a beery day. Except... revised opening times meant it was firmly shut at 11am and we'd have to be on the road when it opened at noon.
Westward, then. Last year we discovered the Ship at Weybourne, a few miles along from Sheringham. With its recently refurbished bar, huge servings of whitebait and some damn fine Humpty Dumpty beer, it was one of our standout pubs of the week. It's still a smart looking pub, but sadly something's gone awry. It was quiet (literally) for an hour, with just off-duty staff gabbing at the bar. My first beer - Grain Oak - did have a hop edge but that was soon blunted by a flabby feel of a beer slighly too warm and flat. Buffy's Terrier wasn't in great condition either. And although the menu ran on and on, it was the same eight items in a baguette/on a spud. When the music went on and the tattooed over-fifties turned up, we decided it was time to push onward.
Lunch became something ad hoc and al fresco. Approaching Cley-next-the-Sea, we decided to stop off at
Picnic Fayre. This is a corking deli that we'd found via the supplier page of Bray's pork pies and were delighted to pick up one of their Old Spot specials. A fat slice of chicken and five-herb flan along with a lamb and apricot pie made for a pastry-mongous lunch. We weaved our way along the main road between gaps in parked cars - navigating narrow roads with no pavements is a challenge for a wheelchair user and escort - and pitched up close to Cley windmill to enjoy our feast.
More beer was needed. Instead of joining the sunseekers outside the George Hotel, we decided to move on down the coast. It had been a few years since we visited the
Red Lion at Stiffkey and loved the mix of salty old seadogs and Chelsea weekend warriors - both wore chunky jumpers, just that some were Army & Navy and others were Armani. But we were foiled; the pub was open, but the car park was now further up the hill than we remembered it to be. We'd have made it down to the pub but would have really struggled to get the chair back up again. A real shame - with no on-street parking at pub level, we had to keep moving on.
Another recommendation that had been made was the
Lord Nelson in Burnham Thorpe. Genuinely historic pub (Lord Nelson's local), Good Beer Guide listed... sounded great. The Guide listed it as open all day, too. But not anymore.... here's the problem with a guidebook that's already months out of date when it's published. The change to opening hours isn't listed on CAMRA's site either - I assume they're relying on the local branch to forward such changes. Yes, we should have checked the pub's website or gave them a ring.
Shit or bust, then. The
Jolly Sailors at Brancaster Staithe was as far as we could roam before heading back to Walsingham. It had a good write-up in the Good Beer Guide and was listed as open all day, but we've been there before. So choruses of hallelujahs erupted in the car park when we could see it was clearly open. And, what a find it was. A whole heap of rooms, comfy lounges and tiled bars were served by a bar at the front of the building. Towards the back, a conservatory set out for dining backed out to a sizable beer garden. We sat outside, a pint of Brancaster Best not satiating my hop need but at least it was in good nick. As we were out for a meal somewhere else that night, I tried really hard not to give in and order some whitebait. But failed gloriously - I'd barely had time to get back to my seat from ordering before a plate of flash-fried silvery fish appeared with a hunk of bread, chunk of lemon and pot of tartare sauce. Absolutely ruddy gorgeous - I'll be back next year for more. And one of their stone-baked pizzas...
A serendipitous day. If the pubs we'd known hadn't been of middling quality / shut / not too accessible, we wouldn't have kept going onto Brancaster and so wouldn't have ended the trip sitting in the sun enjoying some of the best whitebait I've tasted. And an important Norfolk & beer lesson learned - check those opening times before you go!
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