Local Flavour

There is nothing like attending a local event that reminds you how life can be very different from your own--and not in a bad way, just dissimilar. The Chale Show on the Isle of Wight has been been taking place for over 80 years, and boasts the Island's biggest horticultural display. I have done my share of local "events" having spent 12 years living in the very rural area of southern New Jersey before moving to London; there was even a rodeo, and the well-attended annual chili cook-off along with festivals for the peach harvest including a contest for Little Miss Peach; one year I was tempted to enter Mirepoix! 

I had never, though, seen a collie herd ducks. I'd certainly never seen so many prize hens! I've had more than a few tractors amble down the road behind my southern New Jersey home, where the corn and peaches were piled high in wooden crates being brought to the nearest distribution center.New Jersey is the Garden State, after all!

No, this was definitely the first time I'd experienced vintage steam engines and vintage tractors, an array of floral displays in different creative vases--a Heinz beans can or a teapot--and the largest imaginable cabbage, leek, and turnip, all in one place.

I'm not making fun--it was an interesting and eclectic mix of tents and events. There was in fact a posh wine tent where at the end of the day Tim and I were offered tastings of unusual wines from small houses across the globe. My favourite was a red blend from Romania, served slightly chilled with a wonderful fruit-forward taste and lovely, soft finish.

And yes, I was a bit surprised at the winning entries on display, like the four potatoes, one variety, that one first prize--displayed on a plain white paper plate, there is no doubt something that caught the judges' keen eyes that mine failed to recognise.

We wandered into the Chale Show having spent some part of the afternoon meandering in nearby Wroxall to walk through Appuldurcombe House, a national heritage site. While exploring the ruins of the 16th century house, we also found ourselves walking the grounds looking for--and alas, not finding--red squirrels, which the ticket person told us were nesting in nearby trees. The red squirrel is the only native squirrel species on the Isle, but somewhere along the line, perhaps unknowingly, the American grey squirrel was introduced and the numbers have dwindled. While they get along, the grey variety breeds a disease that will kill the red but not the grey squirrel, and red squirrels also don't breed as often. I have yet to see a red squirrel but for photographs.

 The afternoon continued with a visit to the local owl and falconry centre, where Tim and I were treated to low-flying owls (one of which grazed Tim's ear as it flew toward its post behind him), a beautiful American bald eagle called Cherokee, a peregrine falcon, and some buzzards, all flying, swooping for food, and showing off to the small crowd's delight at the command of the falconer, who was really quite knowledgeable, funny, and clearly in love with his job. It was clear why.

I must say it was a wonderful afternoon, with lovely warm sun, clear blue skies, and no place to be but wherever we wound up--which is how we wound up in Chale! The following Sunday we took another short car journey to Newchurch to take in the Garlic Festival, only to find a lot of the same craft tents, music, and, posh wine booth! I'll admit I was slightly disappointed in the number of food stalls hawking garlic goods--I was hoping to try garlic everything, but had to settle for some butter, a few chutneys, and assorted other odd bits and bobs. I went there hungry and left there the same way, and didn't even spot the garlic ice cream stand.

And the next IoW adventure? Well, it may be a small island, yet there are a lot of places we've yet to visit on the Isle of Wight . . . and Maggie, our faithful sputtering Peugeot, seems up for the challenge as long as we don't mind the occasional burst when she finds the right gear between 40 and 50 mph. It still makes us laugh. It's the little things.

New Year, New . . . Pub?

What makes a favourite pub? For me, a few important things, not in any particular order—a fireplace; a decent wine list; proximity to where I want to be; atmosphere; good food.

I’ve decided my favourite pub is The Union Inn, a very short walk from home in Cowes. It’s just recently won an award as the best Fuller’s pub in England—Fuller’s being a massive pub-owning lot with 364 in all in England. (Fuller’s also brews London Pride, a well-known quaff, and has been a British institution for 165 years.)

Here’s where I like to sit at The Union:

There’s a fireplace to the left, where you can see some exposed brick. On chilly autumn and winter nights, it works a treat.

I have other favourite places here. There is no place in Cowes that beats the view from the Island Sailing Club, and with an outdoor deck it’s lovely in the summer. But it’s not really a pub—it’s a place to go to have a glass of wine and soak up the view. And it’s actually a few steps closer to home than The Union, with nice food and a lovely wine list. (It’s starting to sound like the fireplace factors in quite highly!)

The Fountain Inn, just outside the RedJet ferry terminal which means I must pass it heading home, has always been comfortable. Before having a place to call home in Cowes it was the place to stay. Some of the rooms have a view of the Solent, though I recall it all being a bit cramped. The pub is cosy enough, and the food is always cheap and cheerful and tasty. The Fountain is where Tim and I usually go to watch  rugby, and we enjoyed our Buck’s Fizz (aka mimosa) on the morning of the most recent “big” royal wedding (mean Kate and Wills and not Zara and Mike).

Like home, The Union Inn has no television. Like home, I think there are board games; I recall seeing some stashed on a shelf. I keep a game of Scrabble here, and Tim is generally game to give it a go in lieu of the telly (well,let’s face it, he has no choice).

For other lovely pubs in my southern home, there’s also The Wight Mouse, in Chale. Frankly it almost has it all—the fireplace, the wine list, the food, the atmosphere. What it doesn’t have is the proximity to my front door, but when we are out and about, it’s a lovely place to stop. In fact it is a stone’s throw from a western-facing view where you can watch the sun set. Last week Tim and I popped in for a cup of tea and a biscuit after watching the sky grow pink as dusk came, leaving me slightly disappointed that it was too cloudy to see the sun on the horizon dip into the English Channel. There will be other sunsets near Chale, I am sure, now that we have found a place to watch (and we have purchased an old Peugeot to knock around the island with) and we know the Wight Mouse is nearby.

I think I shall have a resolution in 2012 to explore more of my southern England home. Let’s see how The Union fares come same time, next year!

Happy New Year to all!