IFS & BUTTIES
Whoever likes a public house that is open all day, every day, serves 'Oxford Gold' (a favourite tipple of mine), stages 'comedy nights', hosts barbecues (see website) and has a delightful location in the country will not be disappointed here.
The Belgian Arms is on the A330 in the village of Holyport, which is not even 10 minutes drive from Maidenhead and has no connection with any of the diverse attributes of Belgium such as mussels, chocolate, lace or kamikaze motorists. Once called 'The Eagle', its name was changed when, during the First World War, German prisoners of war were often marched past the pub and would salute the sign of the black eagle (possibly because it reminded so many of them the 'Gasthaus zum Adler' back home). Because of this, the pub changed names to the Belgian Arms, largely due to the amount of our soldiers who were serving and fighting in Belgium.
The front is very pretty and the garden with its sweeping vista through wafting weeping willows over the village green is almost more Cambridgeshire than Berkshire. Certainly an enchanting setting for a drink on a summer's day (or as we experienced it, during the Indian summer of October 2011). I would imagine that the garden does get a little overrun at weekends, but it was certainly fine on a Tuesday.
The staff are polite, friendly, indeed delightful and the place seemed to be eminently proud of its cuisine, which sounded encouraging. Since it was lunchtime, we just opted for sandwiches, which proved to be an error.
If I order a cheese sandwich in a pub, I expect to be confronted with some variation on a theme of two wadges of bread, a fulsome lump of cheese and maybe a few extras such as salad bits etc. I ordered the 'Oak Smoked Mature Cheddar' representative of the sandwich genre and was extremely disappointed. It consisted of one slice of bread which was nominally larger than an iPhone. This was covered with salad, possibly to conceal its net taxable acreage, and covered with the aforementioned cheese. In fairness, I must confess to not being familiar with smoked Cheddar: all I can say is that in terms of its consistency, it seemed very much like Dutch cheese. As for its taste, the meagre generosity of the portion frustrated a balanced opinion, as it should really have been advertised as 'carpaccio of cheese'. This all came with a portion of chips to provide bulk/roughage and here it was that the last conceivable connection with Belgium the legendary 'pommes frites' terminally went up in smoke. These were foul and viciously over-fried strips of potato that were so stiff you could hear them crack like the smoky rattling echoes of WW1 gunfire over the muddied trenches of Ypres.
Checking on the Net following our spontaneous visit, I notoice that several other comments about the food here have lacked enthusiasm.
I shall certainly return for a drink, but happily delegate the dining experience to the more discerning palate. read more