1972, I was living in a very remote cottage in the countryside near Bath, England. It belonged to my then girlfriend’s family and we were basically house-sitting while they were living abroad for work reasons. Neither of us had been there before. One day, we went for a walk across the fields to investigate our surroundings and ended up in an old pub with attached smallholding in the middle of nowhere – real Thomas Hardy territory and Thomas Hardy locals.
Unusually for the time, the pub did food, so we decided to eat. A ploughman’s lunch seemed appropriate. It came with their own cheese, their own bread, home made pickles etc and was utterly wonderful. They mentioned to my girlfriend that they also cured their own bacon. Turned out the entire menu was produced in the pub grounds.
Even more unusually, they did breakfast so we returned the next morning (and for the next many mornings) and breakfasted on the best bacon sandwiches I have ever eaten.
After a year, we had to leave the cottage and also went our separate ways. 50+ years later I have no idea where she is, if even alive. Cést la vie. Nor have I been back to Bath, a beautiful city.
For that half a century and especially recently with things like Google maps, I’ve been trying to find that cottage and that pub, but without success. Probably long gone.
But, although I’ve found good bacons in Europe and even China, I’d be ecstatic to find anything that good again.
If anyone knows the area, I have a vague recollection that the pub was called The Apple Tree or something apple related, but that could easily be a false memory. I do remember her name.
