Scorton feast

A BRIDGE over a bridge carries visitors into the village of Scorton, because in the recent floods, the beck became so engorged that it swept away part of the old stone road bridge.

All that remains of the great inundation is a temporary flyover, a flicker of blue-andwhite police tape which still flaps from the railings, and some sandbags dotted by doorways.

Up at The Heifer, the diner also finds himself inundated – only it is with a flood of great tastes and unusual combinations.

Scorton is south of Darlington and east of Richmond, and The Heifer stands at the head of the pretty village green, which doubles as a roundabout and a cricket field. Once the heifer was white, but it lost its hue during a stylish makeover, and now the beautiful people of Scorton – should there be any – gather in the bar.

On first looking at the menu, I thought “fantastic”.

Usually, a couple of dishes call to me, but here five were shouting out, like kids around a playground wall desperate to be selected for football, “pick me, pick me”.

On first looking at the menu, my wife thought “oh dear”. Her eyes are ageing and she’d left her glasses at home. The landlady – Pauline Billau who runs The Heifer with her son, Adrian – kindly loaned her a pair from behind the bar, and all became clear.

Having ordered, we were led from the hubbub of the bar to the quieter restaurant. On the table, white bread, butter and a little vase of well-made hummus awaited us – a nice touch.

Petra had ordered crab cakes with a chilli tomato sauce as a starter. They were crunchy on the outside, smooth in the middle and the sauce was slightly sweet with a little chilli heat.

I’d agonised over my choice. I was nearly seduced by the special starter – asparagus wrapped in Palma ham on the crusty bread with chilli butter topped off by a poached egg – but at the very last second had opted for the black pudding on a stilton and pear mash with a creamy mustard sauce.

This, I thought, was very brave. I usually steer clear of stilton in food because its stridency destroys everything around it.

My bravery paid off. The two roundels of black pudding were smooth and beautiful, and there was just enough stilton in the mash, calmed down by the slight presence of the pear, to give the dish a piquant lift.

Having consumed it all, I wished I’d persevered with my bravery and chosen the beef fillet strips in a port, stilton, sun-blushed tomato and black olive sauce which had called to me as a main course. But I’d decided at the ordering stage that two brushes with stilton would have been too daring.

I’d also rejected the chicken with prawns, and the peppered duck in brandy and cream, and plumped for the intriguing-sounding pork in whisky, mushroom and Dijon sauce.

It was supposed to be served on a bed of wild rice. Joy of joys, Pauline read my mind and realised I wasn’t wild about rice, and asked if I would prefer chips instead. Of course I would.

Excellent chips they were too, served in a metal plantpot.

In fact, the pork, as tender as it was, rather got in the way because there was oodles of the intriguing sauce that demanded chip-based consumption. I was constantly analysing it, trying to find the whisky, but rather like an inaudible bassline in a piece of music, it was hidden in the mix. But it took the creaminess off the Dijon and played its part in a delicious overall ensemble.

The chips slithered across the plate, soaking up every last drop.

My one criticism was that it should have been a couple of degrees hotter.

By contrast, on the other side of the table, Petra had a boiling bowlful of spicy bubble and squeak cake, with roasted courgettes, red peppers, red onions and raw garlic cascading down the side in a tomato sauce. On its peak was a snow-like topping of sour cream, which drew the flavours together. However, the volcanic enormity of it all extinguished her appetite, and it was still steaming when its remains were carried away 20 minutes later.

Having enthused over the main menu, I was a little disappointed by the options for dessert, and chose a very untypical Bailey’s Delight.

I’m a sticky toffee pudding sort of a chap and don’t usually choose a namby-pamby ice cream.

But Bailey’s ice cream and liqueur with crushed meringue and hot chocolate sauce made a surprisingly good finish – light and not too sweet, but still with a chocolate kick.

Petra opted for the four Swaledale cheeses – smoked, mature, blue and brie – of which the blue and the mature were particularly good.

The bill for two was £75 which included coffee and wine. Starters are about £6.50, mains £16, desserts £5.50, and I have rarely licked the plates of three courses – plus a hummus vase – so clean.

Food facts

The Heifer, Scorton, North Yorkshire www.theheiferscorton.co.uk Tel: 01748-811357

Food: 4/5

Ambience: 4/5

Service: 3/5

Value for money: 4/5