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With interiors that look like they’ve been styled by some sort of Beatrix Potter character, Maggie Jones’s has OTT rustic decor that’s hugely atmospheric. Dried flowers and wicker baskets bedeck cosy little corners and hearty fare is piled into Provençal earthenware pots and served on mismatching toile plates.
Like any good farmhouse bistro, it gets the basics right: bread was thick-cut and fluffy – ideal for mopping up heavy sauces. Fresh, well-salted butter featured prominently. The Scotch sirloin was served drowning in a gleaming peppercorn reduction. Full of flavour and featuring just the right amount of fat peppercorns, it was the kind of sauce that you’d consider licking the plate for.
Sadly, though, this rural idyll had its low points. The rack of lamb – through well seasoned and with a herby crust – was overcooked; the asparagus was mushy; and the chocolate mousse had the sticky, unpleasant texture of a dessert left in the fridge a day too long.
I wanted to like the service – the waitress was chatty, personable and warm – but the wait for the overcooked food was just too long.
Lastly, the £1 cover charge per person confirmed the worst: once a favourite local haunt, Maggie Jones’s is starting to feel like a tourist trap.