SURVIVING the Rush Hour madness of the M40, not to mention the driving rain, fog and the usual lane-hogging morons that seem to occupy motorways up and down the land, I arrived at The Thatch after eventually locating mother: Queen of the missed-calls.
We were welcomed by Jonathon Taylor, the manager, and offered an Aperitif at the bar whilst we looked at the menus and took in the atmosphere. If you remember the Thatch in its pre- Raymond Blanc days, then the changes to the building will come as a pleasant surprise: They certainly did for me. The building has been sympathetically restored whilst maintaining the charm and features that make such a beautiful building: The roaring open fires, impossibly low ceilings and floors that make you feel drunk are still there in abundance but the whole place feels fresher and more looked after.
I enjoyed my local bitter served in perfect condition, and mum?s Gin and Tonic looked well made with the correct amount of ice and some fresh lime: Just as it should be. As we glanced over the concise, seasonal and well thought out menus, a waiter stumbled over (mind those floors) with a black board displaying the specials, that was almost as big as he was. He proceeded to read said specials word for word in what was probably the heaviest French accent I have ever heard: An informative and amusing experience that set the ball rolling for the rest of the evening.
Specials on a Monday worry me: They scream over ordering and a quiet weekend almost as much as specials on a Tuesday, but never the less there were some interesting options so we dived in.
We were sat, thankfully, in the old section of the restaurant that still oozes the same charm and character that the Old Trout did. I love the mismatch of chairs and tables, and they?ve plonked a pot of cutlery and napkins on the tables which is ? in my opinion ? a great way to break down the formality of a classically set table top, although may not go down so well with the traditionalists among you.
After being enthusiastically guided to a couple of good glasses of wine by our new French friend, our starters arrived right on time. Mum?s tomato soup was lovely: Fresh, thick and screaming homemade. My Pork and Basil terrine with Spiced Apple Relish was also well executed and served with just the right amount of fresh toast. The Frenchman was there to ensure that everything was to our liking (which it was) almost too often, but we couldn?t help being charmed his zealous approach: I just wish I could remember where our conversation had got to every time I had to kick-start it again.
Main courses of Tuna Nicoise and Rump of Lamb arrived looking great. Much fuss had been made over the cooking temperature of mum?s Tuna so it was disappointing to see it arrive cooked through where rare was suggested, and accepted. My lamb was lovely: Placed atop a satisfyingly creamy heap of well made mash and served with a jus Nicoise that was based on some really good homemade stock. Slightly underwhelming sides of Roasted Root Vegetables and Mixed Greens were offered to make a couple of our five-a-day. Why do restaurants never pay enough attention to their side orders? (Interjection from mum: the crispy green leaves were perfect from my point of view, but then what do I know? He’s the expert!)
Much talking, and increasingly frequent Gallic interruptions later we were contemplating dessert. We were both glad that we went for it! Mum had a trifle of the specials board and I tried out the pastry chef with a classic Sticky Toffee pudding. Both were great, and accompanied by good coffee and a neat little dish of smarties.
We left full, and feeling well looked after. It?s nice to see that food ? save the aforementioned glitches – is still taken seriously here, and still served with a friendly personal approach. Well priced, and offering good value; The Thatch is a welcome oasis in the culinary dessert of Thame town centre. Whilst a drive out of town cannot truly be justified, I?d be over the moon if I had this place on my doorstep.