As it was my birthday, Angela offered to treat me for lunch. We had just been into the local butcher in Neath Market to order our Christmas turkey – a 12Kg monster – and I asked her where we were headed; expecting a meal in one of the local Neath restaurants. “Not here,” she said mysteriously and marched off towards the car.
“Where to now – Swansea?” I asked. But Angela simply reached out and selected the Navigation function on the big touch-screen, and I could see that a postcode had already been set.
The display informed us that our journey was over 20 miles and the estimated duration was over 40 minutes. As it was already one o’clock I thought we might be pushing it – most restaurants in the area tend to serve lunch from twelve until two. Conscious of the time, I joined the westbound M4 with some haste. Angela commented, “You don’t normally drive this fast,” in that tone of voice that intimated that it was an instruction, rather than an observation. Worried about potential starvation, I pressed on as best I could, while giving my best impression of driving more slowly than was actually the case.
The firm, matronly voice of the sat nav guided us off the M4 and down through the winding roads of the Gower peninsula. As we entered Llanrhidian, Angela said, “We’re a little early, we need to be there at two, let’s go for a drink in The Greyhound.” I was totally confused by this – what sort of place serves lunch starting at two?
But life has its compensations, and as luck would have it The Greyhound is also the home of The Gower Brewery. So it was not a heavy imposition to spend a half hour sitting in a cosy lounge with a fire and a pint of “Brew One” – a seasonal, easy drinking ale with lovely light flavours.
Fortified, we got in the car and within a few hundred yards Angela directed me to turn left into Oldwalls. It was set in some large fields with three Llamas in a paddock, no cars in the car park, no sign of a busy restaurant, and very little sign of any life at all. We made our way to reception where a young blonde sat staring at a computer screen. “We are here to book in,” Angela said. The young blonde looked at me, “Is it your birthday?”
“Yes,” I said, thinking they may have some kind of special birthday lunch treat.
“Oh, I’ll just go and put the Prosecco in your room,” the blonde said, “ and you’ll be having breakfast in that building over there,” waving her arms towards a building on the other side of the courtyard. Angela looked crestfallen that her secret surprise had been blown so inartfully by the young blonde. And I was surprised to find that Angela had managed to pack a case and stow it in the car without me knowing (our Tesla, being electric, has a frunk – a luggage space where the engine would normally be – just the right size for a small suitcase).
The Rose Suite
Our room – The Rose Suite – had a spacious lounge and kitchen area, bathroom and bedroom, together with a ‘private’ garden area with a hot tub that was all set up and bubbling away. Angela had come ready-prepared with charcuterie, cheeses, olives and pork pies to accompany the prosecco which put us in the right mood to try the hot tub.
Our ‘private’ garden hot tub
Our ‘private’ garden had a wrought iron gate, and there were open fields all around, so we did not have the confidence to approach the tub au naturel. Which was just as well as no sooner than had we slipped into the tub, a workman sauntered into our garden, explaining that there was a problem with the plumbing. He entered our room armed with a wrench. A few moments later he reappeared, and promised that we wouldn’t be bothered again.
It was a cold grey day with spitting rain, and the tub was very hot. After a while we decided to go for a lie down and finish the cold prosecco. We were surprised and disconcerted to hear a knock on the door. This was not what we expected having booked the room for a romantic break. Angela threw on a robe, while I hid in the bedroom and listened as the plumber entered and got to work with his wrench. At last we were left in peace and, eventually, our thoughts turned to dinner.
In this part of the world, we are both fans of Fairyhill, but Angela wanted to surprise me with something different, so she followed the recommendation of the hotel manager, and booked The Britannia in Llanmadoc.
It is fair to say that The Britannia does not present itself as a fine dining experience comparable with Fairyhill, so we were a little surprised that it was recommended to us for a special occasion. But neither does it charge fine dining prices.
The Lunetta Prosecco that we ordered as an aperitif was pleasantly refreshing with a light fruitiness. No glasses were offered other than the large wine glasses already on the table (somewhat to Angela’s amusement).
For starters I had the mussels with chilli and a tomato broth. The mussels were small, and because the pan was narrow there was quite a depth of hot broth making the dish awkward to eat. The mussels were tasty and the broth was excellent, with a lovely rich tomato taste and a kick of chilli. We enquired how the broth was made and it was from roasted and sieved tomatoes mixed with white wine garlic and chilli.
Angela started with the smoked confit duck pot with homemade fig and date chutney and toasted croûtes. The confit had good depth of flavour and was well balanced by the sweet chutney, but could have done with a few more croûtes.
Angela continued with the slow roasted poussin served with a pomme purée, fricassee of savoy cabbage, wild mushrooms, leeks & peas, port jus. The poussin was very tender, and well matched with the rich port sauce. All in all, a very fine dish.
I had the moroccan slow braised lamb, served with bread and jasmine rice. I found the combination of bread and rice weird and unnecessary. The tagine was served on top of the bread, which soaked up all the juice. This left the rice dry at the side. With either the bread or rice removed, and a little more lamb it would have been an ‘OK’ dish, but it would have needed a lot more spice to turn it into a winner.
We had a bottle of the Postales Malbec with the main course. It had a rich, blackcurrant flavour typical of the region – no knockout factors – but a good pleasant wine at that.
For dessert we both had the sticky toffee pudding. I found it competent but lacking spice. Angela found it dry (not enough sauce), leaving a bicarbonate taste, and was not able to finish it.
Despite issues here and there, our overall feeling was that we had had a good evening – the tomato broth, the poussin, the reasonably pleasant wine and fair prices provided enough highlights to pull the evening through. And although we would be in no hurry to rush back, if we were in the locality we would be quite happy to call in again.