11:50am Thursday 25th February 2010
By Jeremy Smith
The Magdalen Arms, 243 Iffley Road, Oxford, phone 01865 243159.
Jeremy Smith finds a one-time dive has undergone a welcome transformation.
First it was friends. Then it was colleagues. And finally it was emails from people I didn’t know.
And they were all the same. Almost word for word, in fact.
“Hey, have you been in to The Magdalen Arms recently? It’s amazing...”
Politely, I’d point out that I hadn’t since first peeking round its doors about four years ago. And then it was a dive.
Rough, grimy, and not, as far as I could recall, in the least bit friendly.
“But you gotta go,” everyone insisted, so I did, about a month ago.
I wasn’t quite the virgin, though. I had done a recce a few weeks before that; you know, surreptitiously, just to make sure I wouldn’t need a tattoo to get in, but was so...uh...gobsmacked... at the refurb, I made a point of introducing myself to the manager, just to tell her what I thought.
“This is really, really cool,” I found myself saying. “I mean, where are the bikers?”
Mmm.
The Magdalen Arms is testament to the fact that a leopard can change its spots.
Situated on the Iffley Road, just inches away from the almost rebuilt Pegasus Theatre, the restoration of the Arms is both impressive and timely.
Culinary-wise, the Arms’ fare makes it clear, unequivocally, that there’s a new kid on the block.
I mean, seriously, how does this sound?
For starters: crab soup, rouille, gruyere and crouton; or Hungarian venison and dumpling broth; pork and rabbit rillettes with crispy bread and pickles; and home-cured duck ham, quince, chicory and toasted hazelnuts.
For mains: Stinking Bishop and potato pie with pickled walnut salad; pot-roast partridge, choucroute and smoked sausage; seven-hour cooked shoulder of lamb with potato gratin; and pappardelle and hare ragout.
Not a scampi and chips on the horizon.
Add to that a gloriously bistro-style atmosphere with friendly, efficient service, and immediately you’re relaxed (incidentally, “friendly” means just that; it’s not just a cliche such as “home-cooked” or “warm welcome” – two phrases I hate).
Incidentally, for those of you with allotments, the owners of the Arms are willing to cut a “harvest” deal – you bring in some of your surplus vegetables, and in return, they’ll stand you a pint or two.
On the night I went back, my guest and I ordered quince and prosecco cocktails to whet our appetites (£3.50 a glass), and then got quickly stuck into the hors d’oeuvres.
I ordered the home-cured gravadlax, with pickled cucumber and dill dressing (£5.80), while my other half plumped for the crab soup (£4.80). Wow.
We followed this with the shoulder of lamb (£12.60), mine, and the pappardella and hare ragout (£8.80), hers.
My lamb just m-e-l-t-e-d, and hers ... just disappeared.
As far as I can remember, dessert just seemed a dish too far, although I do vaguely recall professing my love for a vanilla ice cream with sherry (£5.80), but I’m certain we shared that.
Washed down with two bottles of Prosecco dei Colli Trevigiani (£21), we emerged two hours later into a bitterly cold night, beaming, laughing, and with our coats undone.
That, for me, said it all.
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