Two things name this place: the chalk under the fields, and the embers we cook over.
We took on a tired coaching inn on Market Hill in 2019 and stripped it back to lime plaster, stone floors and one enormous hearth. There is no walk-in freezer. There is a chalkboard by the door, rewritten every morning, and a delivery van that comes from eleven miles away.
Lunch is short and quiet. Dinner runs to five courses if you let it. Either way you will be looking at a fire, and someone will probably tell you which field the carrots came out of.
The front room, laid for
Wednesday lunch. The hearth
is lit at seven each morning.

