Alan Cookman visits The Claret Jug, Wychwood Park,

Weston

The Claret Jug is what you get for winning The Open - or

what ignorant Americans call The British Open.

Vulgar lucre is also involved (at Carnoustie last year

Padraig Hamilton trousered £750,000), but that's a secondary

concern.

The Claret Jug is also the name of the 19th hole bar and

restaurant at Wychwood Park, the select hotel, residential and

golf development near Crewe, which looks as if it belongs on

the Algarve.

The Claret Jug overlooks the golf course itself and the lush

Cheshire acres beyond, and overlooking us were portraits of

former Open champions Seve Ballesteros and Tom Weiskopf.

Over aperitifs, we watched a solitary golfer shrug his

shoulders as his approach shot to the 18th fell short of the

green. It was a warm evening, and I guessed his mind was

already on the cold pint that had his name on it.

The bar and restaurant has a vaguely colonial feel to it, I

thought, although the vistas are demonstrably English, even

when the temperatures are not.

I'd expected to be the only person in the room not wearing a

Peter Alliss-approved pink Pringle sweater and Rupert Bear

slacks.

In fact I found the 19th at Wychwood markedly less stuffy

than others I have known. Although the young staff were well

turned out and polite to a fault, the atmosphere was pleasantly

informal.

The all-day menu (breakfast is served from 7am) seems more

tailored to the needs of hungry sportsmen than fastidious

foodies, however, featuring as it does a whole section entitled

The Pies.

It reminded me of that moment in the Wheeltappers and

Shunters Club when the MC Colin Crompton would announce that

"The Pies Have Arrived."

Other hearty-sounding dishes include steak, fried egg and

chips (£12.95), haddock and chips (£8.95), ham and eggs with

chunky chips (£6.95) and sausage and mash with onion gravy

(£6.95).

Starters are generally more interesting, however, ranging

from four variations on Caesar salad (£4.95 to £6.50) to soup

of the day (£3.75); mussels in cream, garlic, parsley and white

wine (£5.75); and a pear, baby spinach and cheese salad

(£4.95).

I ordered the top-of-the-range Caesar salad, the one with

chicken and bacon as well as the standard ingredients, and I'm

bound to say that the chicken content was outstanding.

Sometimes, the dodgiest bits of left over bird end up in

salads, but this chicken was soft, lean, moist and quite

delicious. The dressing was tasty too.

As a hungry golfer might, I than chose The Claret Jug Burger

(£8.25), which was served with gruyere cheese, bacon, home-made

relish and chunky chips.

The various components were all perfectly acceptable in

their way, but somehow didn't seem to amount to very much. I

think perhaps I am not a burger person, not even a Claret Jug

Burger person.

Herself started with the oak-smoked salmon (£6.50), of which

there was an elegant sufficiency, served with horseradish and

sour dough. The fish was very much to her taste, but she felt

the rocket salad could have done with dressing.

She then sampled one of The Pies, namely the steak and local

ale pie (£7.50), which was freshly crusted and looked like a

major pie, full of big chunks of meat and rich, dark gravy.

The other pies, by the way, are chicken and leek,

shepherd's, fish, and butternut squash and asparagus (the

latter being a notoriously poor seller at the Wheeltappers and

Shunters Club, as I recall).

There's a reasonable choice of desserts, including apple

flan with clotted cream, and pecan tart with toffee sauce (both

£4.70), but the steak and ale pie had left Herself replete and

I settled for the cheese platter (£5.50).

Our waiter said they were unable to supply biscuits with my

cheese, but he was ready to dash to the nearby hotel on a golf

buggy and borrow some of theirs.

I told him not to bother and said bread would be fine.

The Claret Jug has a lot going for it, notably the relaxing

atmosphere, soothing decor and wonderful views, but we felt it

had a bit of an identity problem.

The menu seems strangely arbitrary and unfocused, a bit like

my back swing.