Feb 1 2011

The King John Inn, Wiltshire

With the surrounding estates among the top pheasant shoots in the land, the charming and comfortable King John Inn is a perfect spot not only for a summer getaway but also for some fine English winter pursuits. On our visit, we weren’t partaking in any gun sports but with the striking monochrome photography by Charlie Sainsbury-Place that adorn the walls of the bar and restaurant, we certainly knew where we were.

The owners Alex and Gretchen have done a terrific job in renovating what was not so long ago a decrepit, barely standing brick shell into a wonderful country inn. Their passion for the place comes through in every aspect of the place; sometimes it can feel a little like walking uncomfortably into a strangers home, but not here. Which is no mean feat.

King John’s kitchen celebrates the best of regional produce, and the menu changes daily to adjust to what is available: the best seafood from Poole and the best meat from local butcher Simon Harvell. If it’s not there, it’s not on the menu. The food does what England does best, gamey meats and vegetables without too much fuss; big on flavour, small on pretence. On our visit, we had a wonderfully rich mutton stew, some gloriously silky pork belly and what my wife tells me was one of the finest cheese soufflés she has so far had the pleasure to taste. The service was attentive but never pushy – bliss! The wine list was as extensive and sophisticated as you would expect from an establishment part-owned by a wine merchant.

From my perspective, visiting in the cold winter – though only mid-November, the snow covered hills were beautiful but chilling – may not be the preferred period to visit but by the time we needed to head back to London my mind was changed. It is also a beautiful part of the world – so beautiful in fact that Madonna and Guy Ritchie bought an adjacent 1,000 acre chunk of the country, Ashcombe House.

Should the weather have been a little more inviting there were certainly some magnificent walks to be had. But alas, we had to content ourselves to watching the rugby in the warmth of one their comfortable and finely clothed bedrooms and reading the Sunday papers in front of the fire. A fine substitute.