The Drumming Snipe, Surrey: ‘A very modern type of gastropub’ – restaurant review | Grace Dent

This reinvented local has much to commend it – the menu is ambitious, the service cheerful – but some aspects may anchor it firmly in the category of ‘family pub’

The Drumming Snipe sits on the outskirts of Woking, an area where I’ve not eaten in any meaningful sense for more than four decades, and even then it was probably a Curly Wurly from the Naafi shop. Back then, my father was stationed at Aldershot Garrison, roughly 11 miles cross-country from this newly re-loved, rather gargantuan pub formerly known as The Mayford Arms. Whenever I pass though this part of England, I think of 70s treats: a Lyons Maid Zoom lolly slurped at Farnborough airshow, Bird’s trifle for the Silver Jubilee buffet and a bag of Frazzles while watching Shaw Taylor on Police Five.

This is not, to my memory, a part of the world where cods’ tongues, celeriac fritters or cuttlefish bolognese feature on any “pub grub” menu; or cockerel with gizzard sauce or kid goat rack, for that matter. But The Drumming Snipe is a very modern type of gastropub, doing everything that large pubs in out-of-the-way locations have to do these days to thrive.

In its previous guise, the place plodded on for decades through many management teams and a fairly recent battle with locals bickering over noise levels: some thought the large beer garden was too noisy, others thought the complaints were nonsense. Whatever, in 2020, it takes a stiff nerve to take on pubs such as these and make them future-facing, community-centred and at the same time vaguely profitable.

Happily, when I popped in for a midweek lunch during its opening month, this bright, shiny and rather classy new venture was bustling. Seldom do things bustle at lunchtime, especially out here, but there’s lots to like about The Drumming Snipe, so it figures. Here we have a seriously thought-out menu ripe with good-quality produce, an exec chef who can namecheck The Ivy Club, enough space for family Sunday lunches and warm service from manager James Lyon-Shaw. The menu is ambitious, very, very meaty, sometimes wobbly and occasionally raw. There are jellied hocks with piccalilli, Brixham scallops, White Park steak tartare and lambs’ tongues; but there are also burgers, steaks and shepherd’s pie for people like your Auntie Brenda who don’t hold with offal.

I sat in the newly painted, echoey conservatory next to one of those amazing couples who give their toddler a tambourine to smash on the table throughout lunch and then become irate when other guests give up trying to talk to each other and ask to move, as did one poor elderly lady, who spent her soup course frantically trying to reset her hearing aid. “’Eeees only a lickle baby,” the child’s mother howled again and again as I poured a large glass of numbing Longue Roche merlot directly down my gullet. But that’s the dilemma with family pubs: all ages must play nicely together. Or play tambourines together. Smash, smash, smash. Yes, I will have another glass. No, I am not siding with her. Oh phew, here’s lunch!

Starters of hot, crisp celeriac fritters – think tiny, knobbly bhajis with an earthy crunch – came with punchy piccalilli. Then excellent and accomplished beef shin croquettes. Both turned up on pretty, costly but stone-cold cast-iron platters that should really have been warm from the oven; nor should the truffle mayo with the croquettes have had a film. It’s tiny touches such as this that elevate a meal from boozer to restaurant. That said, another starter of jerusalem artichoke soup with a Quicke’s cheddar toastie was a work of decadent majesty that contained enough thigh-cladding butter, cream and cheese to survive a Russian winter. Cod tongues and cheeks on toast, however, was the fishiest thing ever to be put before me. So much so that I could feel my eyelashes wilting.

The staff advised Charles that the “Butcher’s Plate” mixed grill was actually for two people, but he was not deterred. He endures my meat-free nonsense on a near-daily basis, and here was a chance to eat grilled goat chops, cockerel thigh, piles of Longhorn beef skirt, Portland lamb leg and “trencher”, which is the fatty, carby joy that occurs when pieces of sourdough bread are laid under a huge plate of meat to collect their juices. The whole Hägar the Horrible smörgåsbord arrives with triple-cooked chips, king cabbage with hazelnuts, dripping bearnaise and stilton hollandaise. Nothing is remotely underdone, and errs on the traditional, slightly cremated British way of enjoying meat, but it’s a feast nevertheless, and one that will put the pub on the local map.

The rhubarb crumble featured that drab type of fragile, biscuity topping, but there wasn’t much of it anyhow, and the crumble:fruit ratio should always be half and half. At this rate, I probably won’t go back to Woking until 2066, and by then I’ll be in my 90s. I shall try to remember to switch off my hearing aid.

The Drumming Snipe Guildford Road, Mayford, Surrey, 01483 610010. Open all week, Mon-Fri noon-3.30pm, 5.30-9.30pm; Sat noon-9.30pm, Sun noon-9pm. About £35 a head, plus drinks and service.

Food 6/10
Atmosphere 6/10
Service 8/10

Contributor

Grace Dent

The GuardianTramp

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