The Talbot Inn

They always say “don’t trust a skinny chef”….. I say, “Do trust a skinny chef, as long as the front of house manager is fat”.  Here at the Talbot inn you’re in some capable chubby hands. I’m not going to sugar coat it (because I’d eat that too) but it’s fair to say I’ve piled on the pounds round the midriff. I attribute the gain part on my biscuit consumption and part on being taste tester for all things nice here at the Inn. (I am in shape however, as ‘round’ is a shape!) I argue my weight gain is an occupational hazard, part of the job if you will. Like Mike the local taxi man’s bronzed right arm, and Floyd the barman’s ultra-bulging right bicep (from pulling all those pints!) it goes with the territory; I’m just taking one for the team. A role I’m happy to play. Life at the Inn at late has been grand. I have however been unable to serve up the usual monthly dose of well-seasoned northern ramblings about happenings here at the Talbot as we’ve been too busy doing what we do best…serving up some quality ale & fodder. It’s been a busy old time! Room occupancy has been great and on the sunnier days the courtyard has been bustling with diners both lunch and dinner. With a final burst of fine September weather the garden has seen its fair share of kids, dogs, party games, barbeques and shire horses! The return of the Curfew Crew Band saw us host another successful Burgers & Blues night. More inventive were the burgers, therefore more incentive to taste; The Blues Burger (blue cheese and beetroot) The Chilli pork burger, The Cajun chicken burger, it was a delight nursing the meat sweats going into battle. The music was great as always. We put on a wine dinner hosted by the cellar master and the guys from Babylonstoren Babel of Stellenbosch, South Africa. Chef put on a tasting menu – I put on half a stone. Cornish monk tail baked over the fire on fennel branches, warm crab & brown butter dressing roasted cauliflower puree was one of 8 dishes served. The evening was well received and compliments were a plenty. We all slept well that night. I personally feel immensely proud to be serving and eating great food here at the Inn. Produced and supported by a young and talented kitchen team, our head chef Pravin Nayar has worked both at the Beckford Arms and The Talbot for over 5 years now and has created some seriously tasty delights over his time. Creating seasonal menus, always offering specials and turning his hand to all types of world cuisine it’s been a rewarding summer for my waist line. As well as eating food, I often like to talk about it. Sometimes I offer my food knowledge to the chef and give feedback on dishes. Sometimes I try to sneak in a cheeky menu idea or two. Chef never likes to be wrong. I do like being wrong.  I found eating my own words to be less calorific than eating a chef knuckle sandwich. Lucky for Joe Public one thing the chef and I didn’t disagree on was the prospect of introducing a Curry Night. We thought it would be fun and kick start the colder nights, and sometimes you’ve just got to fight for your right chapatti, so in line with National Curry week from 13th – 17th of October we are offering a curry on our menu. Then on Thursday 15th we introduce Curry Supper Club. £20 a head for a reet good scoff!  I’m hoping uptake will be good as I need curry to stay a permanent fixture on the menu. Meaning my waistline remains and the ‘skinny chef, chubby front of house manager’ equilibrium remains. The Talbot depends on it! 

We got a new bar-man here at the Inn. His name - Benito.

Like yours truly (aka the chubby bearded northerner) Benito is foreign to these parts, so is slowly adjusting to the climate, the beer, the cider and the way they ‘spek’ in Somerset. Being new an all, I’d thought I’d take him under my flabby wing. He’d be safe there, they’d be a bourbon biscuit and a pie n that to keep him company.

Like a proud padre, I was there when he served his first pack of bacon fries. I was there when he served his first pint of Farm House cider. I was there when Bant and Deck (aka Floyd and Nathan) dished out some of their decidedly poor banter over the bar. Lost in translation, I witnessed the look for bemusement and confusion on his face.

However nothing would prepare Benito for the look of bemusement and confusion that would grace his Chevy Chase the evening the Bathampton Morris Men frequented the Inn.

The bar was quiet that night. The jingle of tiny Morris men feet could be heard on the cobbles as they entered the pub. Not being Christmas, I knew exactly what was coming but Benito, he had ni idea! I moved away.

Like Mike the local taxi man’s road kill in the same week, Benito was caught like a deer in the headlights with nowhere to go.  Around fifteen Morris men, bell and ribbon adorned quickly ordered ales and cider and jingled out to the courtyard.

“What was that Daniel, who are they?” asked Benito.

“They be Morris Men!” was my reply.

“Morris dance is a form of English folk dance usually accompanied by music.” I explained. “It is based on rhythmic stepping and the execution of choreographed figures by a group of dancers, usually wearing bell pads on their shins. Implements such as sticks, swords and handkerchiefs may also be wielded by the dancers.” I replied as the sound of the accordion kicked in.  

I could see Benito was desperado to get involved, however he watched from a distance swaying his hips like a matador holding in a fart. He must have been desperado I thought! He was suitably impressed with their efforts. Confused, but impressed. Seeing a traditional folk dance performed in a traditional English pub was good entertainment for those staying with us. I told him a little white lie. “Next time they’re in, they will like want a ‘dance off’ with you, as it is customary for the Morris men to challenge those from distant lands.” As a matter of course I’ve encouraged Benito to dust off his Flamenco outfit…it’s currently hanging up in the bar cupboard…..let’s see how this plays out!? Funny – as this request wasn’t lost in translation.

The Talbot Blog – Written in Mells, by a chubby Northerner with a beard, who works in the pub, aka Daniel, the assistant “The Chubby Bearded Northerner.” Reet, we thought it befitting that we get to grips with this ‘Blogging’ malarkey. So it’s our aim to give you a monthly review of the shenanigans that have been going down here at The Talbot Inn.  It will aim to be as factually accurate as possible, but truth be told if nowt happens, we're likely to make up! We’ll also do our best to let you know what’s happening in the pub in the months to come, so you can be the first to book a room, book a table or just pop down to have a jar of the Talbot Ale.  So let’s begin....  April in Mells means one thing and one thing only - Daffodil Day!  The year 2015, the month, April, morning time!  I've awoken from a  chocolate induced coma, after a late night. Easter egg wrappers stuck to me  beard, with less than five hours kip I venture outside at 6 am. It were a reet  busy Sunday day before.  It’s already looking sunny. Today is Mells  Daffodil Day! It’s going to be busier; in fact it’s gonna to be proper busy!  Held every year on Easter Monday the village plays host to a good old  country fair. Good times!

As I approach the pub at 6.30 am, Phil a villager, part of the drinking duo that is Phil & Maggsie has a Hi-Vis jacket on. He’s keen I think! Oh wait...he’s now part of the Mells Daffodil high visibility team. He’s directing traffic. It’s strange seeing him in the cold light of day! In fact, he’s probably looking at me thinking the same. “God in this light your ugly Daniel” he thinks to himself.  I remind myself that “The Usual?” isn't a normal way to greet someone at this time of day and settle for “Hey Up Phil, Fluorescent Yellow brings out the green in your eyes....or is that just sleep?”. Either way he could see right through my northern charms. He wasn't having me park outside the pub for love nor money, and threatened to have me towed if I didn’t move. I obliged.  He was his cheery self and wished me luck for the proper busy day ahead. Good arrows Phil! We’ll be seeing you later. The locals are out in force. Familiar faces from the village are out busying themselves with festival set-up. They all frequent the pub throughout the week, sometimes for pleasure, sometimes to attend Mells Daffodil committee meeting held on a Tuesday night in our sitting room. It’s nice to see all there meticulous planning taking shape. Odd to see them without a drink in hand though – they must mean business! Stalls holders are setting up camp for the day. That bouncy castle looks massive. Resist Daniel, its breakfast time.

We serve brekkie to residents & non- residents 8am to 10am, a full cooked and continental offering. It’s pretty good. Eggs Benedict, "yes please!" Full English, "go on then!"  I go on the charm offensive, offering the breakfast chef Moni a coffee, hoping she’ll remember me when she’s finished serving the punters. She won’t! So I hand her a lukewarm coffee. Cop That!

They’ll all be down at 9.50am I remind myself and Moni, they always are! So I’ve got 3 hours along with Nathan and Floyd to prepare ourselves for a proper turning over which will start at noon.  I’m talking the Chuckle brothers into battle with me. The banter has already started. There’s talk that 15,000 folk will descend on the village to partake in festivities such as, drinking, music, drinking, stalls, drinking etc….drinking. Job list is being tick off as we go; Chocolate Easter egg outside residents doors-check. Table and chairs moved out of bar – check. Garden tidied – check. Bar stocked up-check. Coach House Grill set up – check. The list goes on. – check. Matt the big boss – he ain’t silly! He’s gone as far away as possible. He left a note saying “Gone to Oz for 2 n half weeks” and left me keys to pub. More fool him. Bonza! It’s now cowboy time (10to10) and all the residents as predicted have descended on the restaurant all at once. Good times! Flat whites, cappuccinos, skinny soya lattes, double shot mocha, decaf tea, Gluten free toasts, eggs over easy, no black pudding (great more for me). I’m loving this!!! Really, I love it! Floyds on coffee duties, he’s bestest at coffees! He's working that hard he's shaking, like an octopus on a meet and greet. Continental buffet looking good. Got into swing of Daffodil day. Put some Dafs on table as gentle reminder to residents that it’s all going kick off at 12pm. One or two have dived into the Bloody Mary offering – I fancy one. Hang-fire Dan – that beer at end of day ill taste grand wi’ a bag of bacon fries! Breakfast Lunch and Dinner all in one! It’ll be worth the wait. I’m hungry now.

Oh wait, brekkie chef Moni offers me a sausage.  “Good arrows Moni you remembered”. Oh wait,  its lukewarm. Touché, Moni, Touché indeed. Charlie the other big boss (true title; owner) pops down to survey the proceedings. He points out the obvious “where are the umbrellas?” – The weather is looking pretty grand, within 10 minutes the umbrellas are out, with a few additional tables. That’s the fastest I’ve seen Nathan move all year.  I think we’re now ready. Still singing Rihanna, Nathan heads to the bar. All personnel in their allocated serving zones! Let the games begin. Bartenders Ready? Gladiators Ready? What then followed was an onslaught of madness. A queue formed from bar to entrance in both the coach house grill and main bar. It didn’t waiver for five hours.   The Daffodil Gods owed us a good one. Last year the rains and wet weather saw the village put on a smaller event. The year before that, good numbers showed up, but this! This was different. This was Proper Busy! Paul, Barry (& Georgie) worked frantically behind the bar. Credit where credits due, they we’re doing a grand job. Good arrows lads and lasses. Food and drinks were being served inside and out, and the back garden looked like Glastonbury. We decided to serve food until pm, not our usual 3 pm cut off. It was Nerys’ last shift before she moved on to pastures new. She was enjoying saying her farewells to the villager and locals alike. Sophie, Lauren and Co were busy delivering top-notch service.  I was naughty and managed to scoff a pulled pork bap the chef had generously offered during the carnage. The sun must have got to him, that or the heat. I wasn't arguing. I was chief taste tester, a happy role to play. (Bacon fries were still on the agenda later though. No messing!). Maybe the chef was pitching for a beer. I didn't have time to ask. The call came in that we were close to running out of cider! What?! And we were running low on plastic cups too. Double what, what?! We’d order tonnes, “how was this possible” I asked the Daffodil God. “You know the answer Daniel – Its Proper Busy”. Nigel was to the rescue. I valued local, he’d already been assisting clearing the odd table of glasses and tidying things away. He’d obviously forgotten his beer tokens and was looking for a free bevvy too. What a wing man! “Goose” I called. I’m low on plastic glasses. Off we dashed to the beer tent in the main field. Panic over. By 5pm we decided we’d shut the front gates, to allow ourselves to restock, clean down. I’ve always argued in the pub would be a good place to hide in a zombie apocalypse. Shutting the large heavy gates would allow you to hide and find refuge. It was difficult to pretend this was actually happening as most people at this hour looked zombie like.

Needless to say that beer and six packs of bacon fries went down well at the end of play.

It was very successful Daffodil day. The Village was heaving. It was a great carnival atmosphere with beautiful weather.  Big thanks to the Daffodil Committee and all their helpers, making the day so good.

Didn't see Phil in the end for his usual Guinness, rumours have it he was last seen on the Bouncy Castle.

Since the big day they weather has continued. Our courtyard is alive again with lunch time drinkers and diners, it is however a far more peaceful and tranquil pub.

If you want to experience the more peaceful and tranquil side of the Talbot Inn remember we have 8 stunning rooms. Rates are from £95 to £150 and include breakfast. You might even be lucky enough to have Floyd make you a coffee. We are open all day, serving breakfast 8am-10am, lunch 12pm-3pm & dinner 6pm-9.30pm.

We're so grateful for all the many wonderful messages of support and congratulations on being the number 1 choice on the Sunday Times Ultimate Budget British Hotels, 2013.  We are so thrilled for the staff but will also make sure we don't rest on our laurels - we are, after all, only as good as yesterday!

Here is some of the piece to give you a taster:

The winner: the Talbot Inn, Somerset

Our favourite British hotel is not, the purists may argue, a hotel at all. It’s a pub. It has just eight rooms. There is no reception desk, no room service and definitely nobody in a uniform. It’s been feeding and accommodating travellers for at least 500 years, but opened in its current guise only in January. We have chosen this above the many illustrious hotels you will see on the following pages. So, a question: have we gone quite mad? We don’t think so. Our winner doesn't have to be the biggest, or the poshest, or the most prestigious. It simply has to do whatever it does supremely well.

‘Within a minute of arriving at the Talbot, I knew it was the closest thing to a perfect pub I’ve yet found...’

 ‘They pull off that difficult trick of being simultaneously classy and cosy. The result is a sense of style that doesn't intimidate, the ambience of a private members’ club that welcomes all-comers.’

 ‘Thoughtful touches are everywhere...The food is damn good...’

Hemingway’s Hamburger