The Ribble valley is possibly still so beautiful because many people have no idea where it is. I went on holiday to Clitheroe recently. Yes, I know that sounds like something Alan Bennett would have Thora Hird say, but it was an excellent break, full of dinners about which I still dream: fine country pubs, genuinely warm service. Don’t make me delve into my black book of joyless Lake District experiences yet again, but suffice to say, a recent trip to the Daffodil in Windermere rekindled my wrath.
Meanwhile, the magical Ribble valley, somewhere between Lancashire and the southernmost edge of the Yorkshire Dales, hides in plain sight as Britain’s finest jewel for the tourist-who-does-dinner.
Let the hordes head farther north, because that way the Lancashire pubs of Wiswell, Mitton and Waddington remain calmer and uncluttered, providing world-class service. Special mention should go to the Parkers Arms at Newton-in-Bowland, with Stosie Madi and Kathy Smith at the helm, who fed me warm bar snacks of triple-cooked potato skins with a dipping chutney before dreamlike pie and mash. “God’s own gastropub,” I muttered to myself as I was led to the car in a marmalade ice-cream haze. They do a beetroot top, caramelised onion and kale pasty for vegans. They even act as if they like you. It’s the little things that mean so much.
We visited the Assheton Arms in Downham on an autumnal Wednesday evening. This former coaching house sits at the foot of Pendle Hill, in many square miles of silent, light pollution-free, starry-skied countryside. It’s hard not to fall completely in love with it: I found myself checking for New Year’s Eve availability in their rooms within 10 minutes of arrival.
This is a glorious, stone-fronted building from the early 1800s with a neatly kept front terrace full of wooden tables that I imagine would be joyful in summer. Inside, there’s a log-burning stove and flagstone floors, then a welcoming, more modern dining room on a separate level. This is a gastropub-era Slaughtered Lamb from An American Werewolf in London, but with an effusive welcome from a young team who want to serve you deep-fried brie instead of a menacing grunt from Brian Glover.
The Assheton’s menu is written afresh every day. It is long, too. It’s one of those menus I gaze at while sipping Sicilian viognier, then lose all focus because there’s too much choice and I need to send our server away three times because I’m having too much fun. The staff keep bringing extra sheets of menu with dishes they dreamed up that morning. It’s all, as you’d imagine, locally sourced, but with a healthy nod towards the daily catch from nearby Fleetwood.
We chose an excellent, Goan-influenced curry, teeming with fresh monkfish and fat prawns on a bed of aromatic coconut rice with a grilled flatbread. Some days, they chargrill a whole sea bass or wok-fry shrimp with choy sum. There are also more regular affairs, such as haddock and chips, fish pie and devilled crab. The crab appears armed with salmon and shrimp paté on a “sea salt croute”, or posh toast if we’re dispensing with airs and graces. Highly delicious, all the same.
My guest had a warm, handmade pork pie that was fragrant, peppery and prettily crimped. Pies are a pulling point at the Assheton, with the Goosnargh chicken in puff pastry being highly acclaimed. We shared a bowl of fresh cockles in vinegar with a basket of warm bread. The rather medieval-sounding main course “pig-on-a-stick” thankfully turned out not to be the entire beast on a pole, but instead a local sausage, fried, sliced and skewered – a sausage kebab of sorts – served with fried rosemary potatoes.
Clientele on the evening we visited were sedate local couples eating in near silence. We pondered over whether we had space for the crepes suzette buttermilk pancakes with Cointreau or praline profiteroles, then opted instead for a sturdy lump of sticky toffee pudding with a serious-sounding “proper custard”.
It strikes me that an out-of-season Assheton Arms would be the perfect place to check out of city life and rehabilitate alone. The Ribble valley is a nook of northern England where life seems simply to move more slowly. It may not be on many people’s bucket lists, but that’s what makes it all the more blissful.
• Assheton Arms, Downham, Clitheroe, Lancashire, 01200 441227. Open all week, midday-9pm (10pm Fri & Sat, 8.30pm Sun). About £30 a head à la carte, plus drinks and service
Food 7/10
Atmosphere 7/10
Service 9/10
Grace’s Instafeed
• Grace Dent’s restaurant reviews appear in the award-winning food magazine Feast, along with recipes by Yotam Ottolenghi and more top cooks, with the Guardian every Saturday.
