“Eating is the only thing that consoles me.” ~ Oscar Wilde, ‘The Importance of Being Earnest.’
Here in South Australia, winter has brought with it a deluge of rain and some unexpectedly chilly weather. As we shiver and quake through these damp days, the mind turns eagerly to comfort food: pies and puddings, thick soups and gravies. Once known as ‘nursery food’, the Victorians considered it good for the soul – well, for the souls of their children anyway – to be fed on plain, monotonous, starch-ridden food, where meat and vegetables were boiled to oblivion, and yet another rice pudding was enough to send Mary Jane into hysterics (see A.A. Milne’s poem ‘Rice Pudding’).
Admittedly, poorly cooked nursery food was unpalatable to the extreme, but the thought of hearty, well-cooked meals, be they ever so starchy, is a comfort to the stomach in mid-winter. And the best place I know to find such food is in the cosy confines of a good, old fashioned pub; that English staple that has happily transferred its affections to our own far distant shores.
Last weekend, we spent a couple of nostalgic days roaming through North Adelaide, where English style pubs are plentiful. If not quite on every corner, they compete fiercely for being almost as numerous as those religious sanctuaries that earned us the sobriquet City of Churches. We counted a dozen scattered around this particular postcode, many baptised with suitably Anglicized names: The British, The Kentish, the Queen’s Head, the Royal Oak, the Oxford, the Lion.
Although we no longer indulge in the pub crawls of our student days, we nonetheless found our way to a different pub both nights for dinner and were thoroughly impressed with the traditional menus we found there, filled with schnitzels and steaks, shepherds’ pies and sticky date puddings. Perfect for a wet, wintry night. And, happily, the quality was much better than our poor little Victorian antecedents might once have been forced to eat.
On Friday, we strolled around the corner to an old favourite: The Kentish Arms at the lower end of Stanley Street, where it has stood for a hundred and seventy five years. Built in 1848, it opened only a dozen years after the first ships landed at Port Adelaide.
As children, our grandmother would take us to the beer garden, known as The Birdcage, where we were encouraged to cook our own meat on the outdoor barbecue. These days, the courtyard has been covered and renamed. The Wine Shed is open and airy, but well heated on this rather nippy evening. The walls are lined with shelves of empty wine bottles, and the only thing I would complain about – a common complaint I have about many casual eateries in South Australia – is whether it is absolutely necessary to have giant screens televising the current sports matches in the dining room. In the front bar, sure, where punters like to gather round the bar to watch the footy, but is it really necessary in a family oriented, sociable space like the Wine Shed, where they simply serve to distract us from jovial conversation?
Apart from that mild complaint, however, I have nothing negative to say about our evening at the Kentish. Our waiters were smiling and friendly, and never far away. The food came promptly, and there was plenty of it. The veggies were not overcooked, and the steaks came just as we had ordered them. My father loved his ‘Herb Crusted Lamb Rack.’ Mum was more than happy with her ‘Plum Glazed Crispy Pork Belly.’ Our slight variations to the menu were cheerfully adopted – ‘May I please have these vegetables with the steak instead?’ ‘Of course!’ – and all at a reasonable price. And while there is definitely a splash or two of glamour on the menu (Vietnamese chicken or vegetarian nachos), one of the staples is Bangers and Mash. The pub was busy and noisy, obviously popular with locals, and oh, the joy of only having a short walk back to our hotel, after emptying a couple of bottles of smooth South Australian red wine.
The following evening, wandering back from the city, we passed The British Hotel on Finniss Street. This sandstone pub is even older than The Kentish, having first opened its doors in 1838. Again, the giant screens in the dining area, but again, a terrific menu, lovely staff, and prompt service. We strolled in without a booking on a busy Saturday night but were lucky enough to find a table for two just waiting for us. Seated in another enclosed beer garden, we found the space homely, warm and welcoming.
As always, Tripadvisor reviews give it a mixed reception, but considering how busy they were – with huge tables full of guests obviously celebrating major birthdays – we couldn’t fault them. The One & Only was delighted with his extra crispy chips to accompany his favourite beef schnitzel, and my pork and fennel meatballs with linguine were hot and delicious.
One of the particularly joyful things about these old pubs is the heartwarming, bone-warming and atmospheric delight of an open fire. And the British Hotel’s signature dish is true comfort food: beef and mushroom pie with pea mash, tomato chutney and red wine jus.
Both these historic watering holes are what I would consider classic English pubs, with an added dab of polish and a pinch of international cuisine that makes them both cosy and comforting for couples, families, and friends to gather. And on top of all the delights of a quality menu, both have good wine lists, boutique beers. The nineties introduced the term ‘gastropub’ which may have become a tad overused and possibly outdated, but as we sadly watch so many pubs close down or lose their edge to smarter, more modern restaurants, I was thrilled to rediscover a couple of those cosy, happy, hospitable pubs that focus not only great beer, but top notch food to satisfy my cravings for comfort food. Cheers!
*With thanks to Google Images for the photos.