A The Station Inn, Marshbrook

NYONE who frequently drives north up the A49 towards Shrewsbury will have noticed an unattractive double bend at a junction with a minor road called the B4370, which heads off to Bishop’s Castle. On either side of the turning is a pair of scruffy yards, containing a collection of sub-prime motor vehicles, abandoned petrol pumps, and early stage scrap metal. To reach the object of Mr Pernickety’s appraisal this month, prospective punters must pass between the two, before making their way over the level crossing adjacent to the now defunct Marshbrook station. This little halt stood on the old Shrewsbury and Hereford Railway, whose inauguration had been celebrated with a banquet in the Ludlow Assembly rooms in 1852. Less than twenty years later, such was the fierce and unbridled competition in the building of Britain’s rail network, this comparative minnow of a rail venture had been gobbled up by much bigger, more powerful fish, the LNWR and GWR. But within a year of its first opening, a local entrepreneur had built and opened beside the tiny railway station an inn, subsequently known as the Wayside Inn.

Mr P has no knowledge of the place before it was bought in 1997 by a local butcher of expansionist vision, Richard, grandson of Leslie Davies who had founded the butchers in the 1920s. It was a brave move; the pub wasn’t especially attractive, possessed not much of an outlook and was on a stretch of road often occupied by cars waiting for the crossing gates to open with their engines idling.

However, eating there now, it’s clear that what the young butcher and his wife brought with them was a real enthusiasm for victualling, and an inbred knowledge of meat. Thus, the most significant thing to say about this eating place is that it is not a vegetarian heaven, although, no doubt, professional as they are, non-meat eaters will be catered for. Vegans, Mr P suggests, should check first. Mr P himself is experiencing a tortuous journey through his own feelings about meat. There is no question that he enjoys it, in all its subtleties of taste and texture, and the nourishing qualities of the protein it contains. At the same time, he is acutely conscious of the damage done to the environment by rearing meatin the methane produced by bovine flatulence and the inefficient conversion of plant to meat. Like our newly ascended King his position is compromised. For, where HM publicly advocates environmental initiatives against global warming, it seems he cannot resist travelling around the world in fossil-fuel thirsty motors, diesel powered Royal Trains and helicopters. Similarly, even though Mr P may grumble about the detrimental effects of beef-rearing, he will soon find himself licking his chops in appreciation of a fine piece of grilled Hereford, or roast leg of lamb that has just come off the early autumn hills, sweetened by the whinberries and moorland herbs it has consumed.

Mr Pernickety and his Lovely Companion decided to visit the Station Inn after several enthusiastic recommendations by friends who enjoy their food. On reflection, Sunday Lunch may not have been the best occasion to choose. The Pub’s reputation had drawn a lot of eaters – the large carpark was almost full; the interior of the pub and the extended restaurant were full too, although this didn’t affect efficient service.

As far as Mr P could tell, there was only a roast carvery on offer; in his experience, carveries are tricky to get right, since many undiscerning diners have widely varying views of how meat should be cooked. In this case, the LC made the right call, perceiving that the joint of beef on offer was reassuringly rare in colour, and so it proved in flavour. Mr P chose lamb, which, it turned out, had been cooked longer, a little too long in his view, with a slightly tired edge of fat to it. The self-service vegetables were numerous, warm, and interestingly cooked – always tempting greedy punters like Mr P to overload their plates.

The space where they ate was a little underwhelming, safe and bland, but adding nothing to the dining experience. At least the chairs, designed for rural Shropshire dimensions, were accommodating and comfortable. With a glass of red from the Languedoc, Mr P enjoyed his lunch despite the slight shortcomings of his roast lamb. The LC had no reservations, and they followed their main course by sharing a peach and frangipani flan, which was delicious. The carvery at £13.95 is undoubtedly good value, especially in these times of rocketing costs for restaurants. It’s clear that the place has a loyal following, based mainly on its serving of prime steak – selected with the inherited butchering skills of the proprietor. Mr P looks forward to returning and indulging his sinful enjoyment of fine beef from the grill.

Mr Pernickety - info@misterpermickety.com