Drink to me only with thine eyes . . .
Those that merely talk and never think, that live in the wild anarchy of drink . . .
As he brews, so shall he drink . . .
Ben Jonson had rather a lot to say on the subject of booze, so it is entirely fitting that he should have a pub named after him. Actually, the reason that Weston-on-the-Green has a Ben Jonson is because the celebrated Elizabethan writer is said to have regularly called at the village on his way to visit William Shakespeare at Stratford. Whether this is true or not, it is certainly the case that he couldn't have patronised the pub that exists today; this stands on the site of a former brewhouse, which used to serve a hostelry on the other side of the main road.
Main road no longer, following the building of the M40. The days are long gone since the A43 (as it was) was thick with traffic and drivers called in large numbers for refreshment at the pub. With precious little passing trade today, the Ben Jonson has had to become a destination venue in its own right - and it seems to be fulfilling the role extremely well.
When Rosemarie tried to make a booking for last Sunday, the restaurant was completely full (doubtless in large part because it was Fathers' Day). When she called back to try for Saturday night, she was told we could just be fitted in. Fortunately, a different person had answered the phone. There might have seemed something a bit fishy (or at any rate restaurant-critic-y) about a party seemingly indifferent to when they were going to eat.
And, indeed, we were a party, this being one of those occasions when Rosemarie and I were joined by her mother, Olive. We arrived shortly before 8.30pm to find a buzzy scene in the main bar. I was pleased to see pints of hand-pumped Hook Norton being lavishly dispensed as well as a happy-looking dog sitting at the feet of one of the customers enjoying them. I regret to say that a heavy pall of smoke hung in the room - but that will soon be a thing of the past.
In the large restaurant to the side only two tables remained unoccupied. One was ours; the other was soon taken by a group of four obvious regulars, two of whom were celebrating their 45th wedding anniversary. From their exchanges with the staff I picked up various titbits of information, including the fact that the landlord Toby Wood has recently taken over the bar at nearby Kirtlington Polo Club. This stirred memories of many happy Sunday afternoons there 20 years ago - occasions made happier by the fact that this was one of the very few places you could buy a glass of wine at this time of day in those days.
That Toby shares his name with one of my oldest friends naturally predisposed me to his pub - a feeling that was only increased by the admirable qualities of the food he offers. While my starter of pan-fried spicy chicken can hardly have been called subtle - the balsamic dressing on the accompanying leaves in particular - it was very much enjoyed. So was Rosemarie's mushroom soup, though she thought it tasted rather too strongly of stock cubes. Her mum was delighted with her seared flat cap mushroom - sorry, local flat cap mushroom, much of the food here being sourced from the neighbourhood. It was tossed with garlic and white wine and served with salad.
It was a good night for mushrooms for Olive because another came with her beautifully tender rib-eye steak, along with a grilled tomato and 'chunky' chips. I applied the inverted commas because they didn't look chunky to me - just like . . . well, chips.
Rosemarie had sausages with red onion gravy and chive mash. The sausages were pork with a delicious tang of chilli. Rosemarie liked them so much that she inquired about their origin. They were from Woodland's, in Bicester Road, Kidlington, which has just won an award for them.
Breaking a vow I made only a month ago, I ordered fish. Well, who could resist a grilled whole sea bass fillet - actually two of them - with a cream and dill sauce? They came with sautéed potatoes, whole carrots and - hugely impressive - freshly podded peas, the first time I have been served this summer delicacy in a restaurant in more than a decade.
A gooey chocolate pudding and a lemon cheesecake were sampled by my companions. Both were home-made and fine, although the cheesecake appeared to be one of those gelatine-strengthened ones.
I eyed enviously, and drank good decaffeinated coffee. Earlier we had drunk a fair-priced Aussie chardonnay.
The Ben Jonson tries hard, especially in the level of its service from an appealing bunch of youngsters. It deserves its success.
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