The Pigs, Edgefield // Food Review

THE GEN: About ten minutes shy of Holt sits The Pigs, Edgefield, signposted as Melton Constable. It was a couple of weeks back that I abandoned a walk around Blickling Hall - on a day so cold it felt like Uma Thurman was practicing samurai sword techniques on my kidneys and cheeks – for the warmth and comfort of food and drink at The Pigs. And to think, there are some people that say I lack basic common sense! I’d heard the word; The Pigs is the brainchild of reputed chefs, Richard Hughes of the Lavender House, Iain Wilson, of the nearby Byfords and Kings Head in Holt, and Tim Abbott, chef / landlord of the pub. I was as keen to try it as a pig snuffling for truffles.

ATMOSPHERE: The bar and restaurant still has the faultless sheen of a recently opened destination [it reopened with a new menu last year], and there was an air of city slickness to the otherwise country pub. I think the place will only benefit from being ruffed up a little round the edges, and it’ll suit the humour and playfulness that’s evident as you delve further. Waiting staff in Pigs t-shirts emblazoned with ‘Real Men Don’t Eat Sorbet’ is a good indication that they take the food, but not themselves too seriously.

TO START / TO DRINK: Trio of Norfolk Ales with Bar Snacks I mentioned that I was retreating from the bitter cold, so on this occasion, I needed something to instantly warm the cockles. That, my friend, is a journey best undertaken by the cowboy that is real ale. Not being a connoisseur myself, the trio appealed; three thirds of different pints was undaunting, and it helped me distinguish the different flavour notes of them all, taking sips of different ones each time. They were accompanied by mega tasty thirsty-makers, seasoned and salted popcorn kernels. There was a kind of paprika smokiness to them, and if I was there purely for jarring, and not eating, I would have happily nibbled them all night.

THE MAIN EVENT: The Three Pigs Belly of Pork // Duck Leg with Pancetta It seemed only well and good, being in The Pigs, that I should put the jolly pink trough-muncher association to one side and try their famous pig dish. It was a no messin’ meat and beans dish, with a well-received hunk of meat, floating raft-like amid a bed of smokey beans. With the welcome tang of homemade applesauce, the earthy grainy texture of the rich black pudding and satisfying snap of crackling, for once I wasn’t primitively searching for a potato. Although it’s famous for its Perfick Pig, the Duck was the surprise King of Animal Farm. I would have struggled, under glutinous duress to finish the wonderfully rich duck / cured ham combo, lavishly coated with red wine sauce and dotted by sweet baby onions, had it not been for the scientifically calculated (it must have been) serving of roasted fennel, its aniseed freshness being the perfect counter-balance to the rest of the plate.