“Beautifully cooked with great flavors”

The Hinchliffe Arms is a 150-year-old pub located in a place that would easily become a fairy tale writer. Cragg Vale is truly a place of magic. Approximately 40 minutes from central Leeds and Manchester, train station at Mytholmroyd. Yes, Mythholmroyd. It’s about a five pound taxi ride from there.

Ruairidh has made me think of those plums ever since

Or you can drive from Littleborough over the top of the barren moor at Blackstone Edge and suddenly descend into a huge gash in the ground and continue below the treeline into a leafy place that feels like a scene from one of those fairy tales. you are writing.

The trees whisper to you here. They are worried about you, they really are. They want you to be happy.

The look of the pub keeps the theme going, looking like an eighties magician’s house with heavy embroidered dressing gowns and nightcaps.

It was taken by the force of nature that is Esther Maylor in the summer of 2022. Mancs know her from one of the city’s coolest pubs, The Eagle in Salford, the other single pub that serves this. the author’s favorite pint, Trailblazer Stout.

Soon after Esther and Mr. Rigsby, her border collie, met the chef. Ruairidh Summers ascended north of The Smoke during the pandemic and stayed. He was a sous chef at one of the world’s most famous restaurants, working under Fergus Henderson, the god of nose-to-tail eating. This is the St John restaurant that you, dear reader, can learn more about in my original review 13 years ago.

When Esther told me she had talked Ruairidh into taking over the kitchen, I jumped in the car. Fifty minutes later, on a sunny summer’s day, I was sitting outside the pub jostled by well-meaning passers-by, dogs and locals; tucking into some world-class bar food that I described as one of my best meals a few months ago.

I’ve been back twice to eat Ruairidh’s evolving food and thoroughly enjoyed myself both times.

Grilled flat bread with burnt onion butter (€4) is a pillow delicacy. It’s buttery (obviously), toasty and almost burnt. I could make a whole meal out of it, maybe with a piece of Wensleydale cheese, and be happy. Certainly a glass of Hutton Ridge Pinotage helped it along the way, a perfectly elegant drop of pub red.

The battered cod cheeks (£9) are lovely. Crisp again just on the right side of the crumb. A beer batter from heaven with fatty cod pieces steamed just like that. Freshly prepared tartar sauce packed full of capers completes a great appetizer.

Ground artichoke with leeks, Wensleydale and pear (£10) is too juicy for me. Although each component draws attention with great taste, it needs a background. I think artichokes should be crispy on the outside. A little extra acidity wouldn’t go amiss either. As the landlady walked past me, she suggested pickled walnuts. Good call when it hurts.

Brussel sprouts Caesar (£10) will do Fergus’s training proud. Roasted and raw on top of the sauce and with toasted pieces of sourdough. This is certainly balanced.

Grilled turbot, parsnip and burnt citrus butter (£21) is a cut across the king of the sea. Fresh, meaty and cooked just firm. Top with parsnip chips and roasted pieces. The sauce is a little under seasoned for me, maybe a little more “beurre monté” would add to it and a little citrus.

Galloway sirloin, purple sprouting broccoli, shallot and mustard (£22) is a cracker. However, I would like broccoli on the side of the plate. Then I could spread nicely cooked – to the point of melting – shallots and mustard over the steak, like roasted garlic or bone marrow. Double banging lush.

This took me back years to a steak and onion cooked on two gas rings at the back of one of my grandfather’s butcher’s shops in Levenshulme. My favorite lunch. No fancy sandwich shops in those days.

The Welsh rare (£6) simply blew me away. I’m more than sure I made this from the St John cookbook, although these things are always better when someone else makes them.

Finally, the cream with Earl Grey, plum and shortbread (€7) is perfect. It has everything you want from a festive dinner table Wuthering Heights. Ruairidh has made me think of those plums ever since.

During this meal, people have thrown logs into the fire next to me, two girls have run over to ask Esther to critique their crayon drawings, I’ve chatted with a few of my readers from Manchester who happen to be at the next table and three different dogs have looked at me to see if I’m Muki enough to share the food. I’m not.

The service here is fun, friendly and knowledgeable, while the atmosphere is such that if I asked, it would take the knots off my shoulders.

I’m sorry, I love this place.