Cherub's Nest - What a Bed and What a Breakfast!

When is a bed and breakfast more than a bed and breakfast?  When it’s the 17^th Century Cherub’s Nest in Dartmouth, Devon, England.  It just feels like home.

In Dartmouth, all things are connected to the sea, from the present day oystermen, who ply their ancient trade along the banks of the brackish river, to the history that glides us back to the days of Drake and the pilgrims, and forward to the Britannia Royal Naval College and the D-Day invasion.  The Cherub’s Nest is no exception.

Peculiar name.  Somehow also connected to the sea?  Yes.  Perhaps called a ‘nest’ because it’s a residence that sits beside an even older building, dating to the 14^th Century, a pub called The Cherub.  And how did The Cherub pub get its name?  Local lore has it that the pub was built from the timbers of a ship of the same name.

Next Door is The Cherub Pub

The Cherub’s Nest may be old, but the accommodations and service most assuredly are not.  Well, let’s amend that, but not in a bad way. 

I’m particular. Here’s a tidy list of my bed and breakfast requirements:  friendly innkeepers, soft bed, clean room, clean en suite bathroom, and a tasty breakfast, with good coffee. A little atmosphere doesn’t hurt either.

The Cherub’s Nest met all those conditions, then added a long list of the delightful and unexpected.  The first things you notice as you step inside this compact, but comfortably elegant home are the cheery smiles and booming, barrel-chested “Welcome!”  Instant rapport. 

In a 17^th Century building don’t expect huge rooms and an elevator.  You have to deal with steep and narrow stairs, but, I ask you, when you’ve traveled far to experience life in an historic fishing village, home to the likes of famous English sea-captains, pirates, kings, and other nobility, do you really want to get a room with the modernity of a standard hotel?  So, yes, it is old, but that’s part of the delight.

Thank your lucky stars, you’re not going to ever truly live like they did in the 17^th Century, with rats and dogs in the streets, garbage tossed from the upstairs windows, open sewers, guests packed into shared beds, and personal hygiene …Oh, please let’s not discuss it.

The Cherub’s Nest offers quaintly furnished and comfortable rooms. All the modern day conveniences overflow in abundance:  Cleanliness, including a small, but spotless bathroom.  Sleep-in-comfort beds.  Ample closet space.

The service and breakfasts are what a member of the royalty might expect.    Everything from a full English, to any combination your wealthy imagination can devise.  I opt for salmon and fried eggs, which came perfectly done, served with spotless silverware and  on Royal Dalton plates.  The coffee and tea were equally fine, in cups that would outshine even the finest hotels.  Jams and jellies galore, many of them local.  In fact, most of the food is local, including farm fresh eggs that come from the innkeeper’s sister-in-law.  I was told the sister-in-law has eight hens, which each lay one egg each day.

 Another high point of the Cherub’s Nest is the locale, right in the middle of downtown Dartmouth.  In a large city that might or might not be a positive point, but in Dartmouth, a scenic seaside town, centrality is essential to putting everything within an easy walk.  The riverfront, open parks, and historic alleys all demand your attention. Not to worry. Step out the front door and go for pint at The Cherub Pub, or wander the historic town.

I find only one fault and that is we did not have the time to stay longer at the Cherub’s Nest.  It’s a gift from the past with all the opulence of today.  And the breakfast…oh, goodness…

Agatha Christie's Greenway, House and Gardens

Dame Agatha Christie is on the top left.

Heard of Agatha Christie?  No?  Still fumbling along in a first grade primer?  She’s only the most popular novelist of all time, her books having sold over four billion copies.  The Bible and Shakespeare have out sold her, but no one else.

Greenway, in Devon, England, overlooking the picturesque Dart River and city of Dartmouth, was Christie’s holiday home, purchased in 1938, her ‘getaway,” to relax with family, away from public pressures. It’s now part of the National Trust, including the extensive grounds and gardens.

To get there from Dartmouth is an adventure in itself, much like one of Dame Agatha’s stories.  First you catch a ferry across the River Dart.  Then you hop on an ancient train, pulled by an historic steam engine.  

Some twenty minutes later, you get off (alight, as Agatha would say) at a stop that appears to be nowhere.  A couple of small, low buildings to protect travelers from any sudden shower, an iron fence and a sign mark the landing.  Steps lead steeply through the trees to a tarmac road that winds along the side of a hill.  Ten or fifteen minutes of walking and you’re at the entry to Greenway.  It’s not a bad stroll amid the verdant grasses, flowers, and huge trees rising like giants to embrace the sky.

Greenway House is white, Georgian, boxy and large, but without much character aside from the pillared portico.  

Inside is another matter.  Agatha Christie and her husband, the archeologist Max Mallowan (1904-1978), were great collectors and the rooms are tastefully filled with every collectable knick-knack imaginable. Teapots, walking sticks, archeological momentos. Evidently, the house was not always so orderly.  The story goes that when the house, which fell to shambles sometime after Christie’s death in 1976, was restored in 2008, mountains of ‘stuff’ had to be sorted and disposed of.

The restorers did a fab job.  The rooms seem much lived in.  Homey. Normal. The perfect place for a couple, their children and grandchildren to calm themselves and wander blissfully into family life.

Yet, it couldn’t have been normal, as you and I think of it.  Such a spacious home must have required servants, even if just for the dusting and cleaning.  That wouldn’t even count routine maintenance on the structure itself.

As any homeowner knows, houses and grounds are not inexpensive in their upkeep.  Besides the 18^th Century house itself and surrounding buildings, the garden and grounds must take a massive amount of money and work.  No wonder it was best for the remaining family members to turn it over to the National Trust.

Each room in the house has a different personality, from the very plain bedroom, where you will hear a recording of Agatha’s own voice discussing her methods of writing, to the small ‘fax room,” where Max worked, to the map and archeology room, to the expansive library, whose walls hold a decoration dating from World War II, when American forces used the house to plan for D-Day. A young Coast Guard artist left a panoramic graphic of his ship’s journey from America to England.  Dame Agatha left it, believing it to be part of an historic undertaking.

A tea-totaler, Dame Agatha drank double-cream with her meals.

Novelist.  I routinely get a blank stare when I say the word.  So, just to clear things up:  Novels are books of fiction, fanciful tales written by a novelist, and meant to entertain.  They come in many forms:  Romances, Histories, Sci-Fi, Mysteries, and while they may be based on truth, or contain historically accurate settings and characters, the stories are completely constructed in the author’s imagination.  They are not true stories.

In Agatha’s Christie’s case, she wrote 66 novels under her own name, as well as several using a pseudo name, Mary Westmacott. She also penned plays and short stories.  The Mousetrap still runs in London’s West End. It’s the longest running play in history.

Several of Christie’s novels use all or parts of Greenway as their setting:  Five Little Pigs (1942), Towards Zero (1944), and Dead Man’s Folly (1956).

Her two most famous characters?  Hercule Poirot and Miss Jane Marple.   Even an illiterate couch potato knows those two names.  The last of the Hercule Poirot stories was just on TV, starring David Suchet, who played the part for twenty-five years.

Something you may not know.  She wrote none of her books at Greenway.  However, she often sat in the living room (also called the library) and read completed novels to her family.  I’m sure they tired of this.  grumbled and complained, no doubt.  Families are like that.  It is said her husband sometimes closed his eyes and nodded off.

As a writer, I enjoy seeing firsthand how other writers lived.  You somehow getting a feel for the kind of person they were.  I had not read an Agatha Christie mystery in ages, but I quickly grabbed a copy of Dead Man’s Folly.  Dame Agatha certainly lived an upper crust sort of life, yet her concerns seemed very down to earth, almost elegantly normal, and Greenway, with its comfortable couches (which you’re allowed to sit on), the subdued colors, and the room decorations, make it a place where anyone could spend a holiday.

Agatha in her twenties.

Travel is like that, isn’t it?  Allows you to effortlessly expand your horizons, pick up threads of interest, and encourages you to explore possibilities.  Greenway does it all.  When I hopped on that old train and listened to the whistle of the steam engine, I stepped into the time and tone of a Christie novel.  Getting off at the Greenway train stop continued the plot, tangled and enhanced room-by-room, acre-by-acre.  This was Agatha Christie country and I loved it.

http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/greenway/facilities-and-access/

The Rockfish! Nothing Fishy About These Fish and Chips

The Rockfish.  A perfect place for fish and chips in the little, historic seaport town of Dartmouth.

It’s downtown, facing the Dart River, and about a stone’s throw away.  The blue front, with large white letters looks small, but opens up when you step through the door.  White and bright, like cresting waves on a blue sea.

http://www.therockfish.co.uk

The craving for fish and chips is second only to the deep and abiding need for beer and bouncing breasts.  I mean for some people, not you and me, of course.  To satisfy the need for F & C, we asked the locals.  Everyone pointed in the same direction.

We popped into The Rockfish.  Cheery place, with nautical décor.  Beer and wine line the walls, along with other, less interesting things.  The cod and chips were wonderful.  Crisp, flavorful.  And, the service was top of the line.

It’s one of those places you come to eat, but stay for another beer or two.  Comfortable and conversational. The waitresses glow with efficiency and charm.  I like it that the kitchen is open.  Being a curious cook myself, I wandered back and watched the process. 

What makes The Rockfish fish and chips different from anyone else’s?  Dip the fish in batter, fry ‘em!  If only it were that simple.  First, the fish must be FRESH.  The Rockfish’s motto is spot on!

Which begs the question:  How can you tell if the fish are fresh?  Your nose.  When you walk into a fish restaurant and smell a bit of brine, but nothing ‘fishy,’ you’ve come to the right spot.  If the smell blasts you like a right jab from Mike Tyson, turn around and quick-step out.

Next, the batter.  It should cover the fish and become one with the fish, but not replace the fish.  Sounds straight forward.  I like the batter as a thin, crispy addition, with a crunch that adds to the joy of biting into moist, white fish.  The Rockfish did not let me down.  Their fried fish is exactly as it should be. Crunchy on the outside, moist within. Tasty. Cheers!  Bravo! 

Next the chips, or fries, as we call them in the Colonies.  Not thin.  Not thick.  As crisp as the fish.  There’s a secret, which I’m certain you already know.  Chips must be fried twice.  The first dip into hot grease brings the moisture to the surface, the second frying adds the crispness. Quite nicely done, Rockfish!

Now, do you add some catsup?  Oh, lads and lassies, ye have immense gaps in your culinary knowledge.  Vinegar.  Adds a bit of bite.  Cuts the grease.  Permits your taste buds to relax and smile with joy and settles your stomach.

But, not just any kind of vinegar!  My favorite (and the English standard) is malt vinegar. Rockfish also gives you an unexpected choice of lemon vinegar.  Superb!

What is malt vinegar anyway?  Well, anything that ferments can be taken a little too far and you end up with vinegar, right?  You’re got red and white wine vinegars, apple vinegar, and dozens of others.  Malt vinegar is made by malting barley.  Ok, clever man, what-the-fruitcake is malting???  You take fresh barley grain, soak it in water, allow it to sprout, and dry it with hot air.  From there, you make ale and let time turn the ale to vinegar.

In England, at the fish and chips take-aways, they used to serve fish and chips wrapped in newspaper, the chips sticking up in stalks of golden splendor.  Millions of people ate their fish and chips with no ill effects.

Long past.  The government, like all governments, found a solution to a non-existent problem.  Bureaucrats with time on their hands and a steady flow of the silver coin decided that newspaper print is toxic.  Now-a-days paper used to wrap the fish at fish and chips stands is approved for use in a sterilized lab room for infectious diseases.  Ok, I added that last part.

There are also ‘fish labeling’ laws to contend with.  Restaurants can no longer simply state ‘fish and chips’ on the menu, but have to name the type of fish, cod, plaice, etc.  So far, the bureau-dolts have not required first names and birth certificates.

But, at The Rockfish, no worries.  No newspaper wrapping.  Order cod or plaice, or whatever (by name).   Sit back and sip a cool, local ale, or a nice glass of wine.  It’s going to take a bit of time.  Nothing they serve is pre-battered, or frozen, or pre-cooked.  It’s fish and chips as they should be.  Perfect! 

Finished eating? I think we have time for one more beer and perhaps some dessert.

Lemon Cheesecake!  Sweet and tart!  Super!!!

Write the name down:  Rockfish!