Unlike those restaurants that fork out a small fortune on interior décor then ruin it by overlooking the acoustics, Woods looks to have spent about twenty quid on its upkeep – witness the chipped paint, old carpet and mismatched furniture – yet joy of joys you can actually hear yourself talk there; even my friends’ small ‘mmms’ of pleasure were audible as they tucked into hearty lunches on this miserable, damp day.
Woods is like one of those gems of a restaurant you stumble across occasionally in small French towns – unpretentious and a little frayed, but the high ceilings, elegant archways and marble floor give it bags of character.
We were four people, hungry and in a hurry, so no starters or desserts and no wine during the day. Two open sandwiches - one of steak, the other of chicken, bacon and tarragon - scored well for taste though the latter had too much mayonnaise.
But there were no complaints about juicy plump sausages curled atop mustard mash and smothered in Bramley apple gravy, nor tender beef and Guinness casserole: perfect insulation before heading back out into the drizzle.
Jake Withers
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