Breakast at the Ivy House, at last

Here is another short post for your delectation and delight, and whilst it appears to be yet another article about a pub breakfast (spoiler alert, it is), it was second time lucky on Sunday morning, as far as the Ivy House, at the far end of Tonbridge High Street was concerned. This was because, unlike the scenario which unfolded back in March, the lad and I managed to secure a table in this historic old pub, where we enjoyed a first-class breakfast.

I took the precaution of booking a table the night before, and I also booked it for the civilised time of 10 am. Unless I am going somewhere special, or planning on a hike, I really don't like being rushed on a Sunday. You see, over the years I got fed up with getting up early in order to reach the village hall at Chiddingstone Causeway, before the influx of other customers and the ensuing long wait for a cooked breakfast – nice though it was. That involved ideally getting there for 8.30am or at the very latest 8.45am, which was far too early in my book.

I persuaded Matthew to drive us that morning, primarily because we had some items of shopping, but also because I had a new pair of boots that I wanted to break in – second spoiler alert, I still ended up with a blister on the base of my Achilles tendon. It was a blustery day, with named-storm Kathleen affecting the bulk of Ireland as well as much of Wales and the west coasts of both England and, Scotland, but it was also a day for blowing the cobwebs away. Upon arrival at the pub, and confirming our booking from the previous day, we were shown to the small bar at the far left of the Ivy House, an area which, years ago, constituted the Public Bar. I am going back several decades when I say that, but the pub has had quite a few different owners over the years, with each spending considerable amounts of cash on both renovations and improvements. The Ivy has also found itself trading as a gastro-pub, plus a restaurant with a small bar attached.

Happily, the most recent incarnation has seen the pub restored to its rightful place as an historic and characterful High Street pub, but one which also happens to serve good food as well, which basically means the current owners have got things right. Before describing the breakfast, which btw, was excellent, a word or two about the beer – this is a beer blog, after all. The main stalwart on the bar was Harvey’s Sussex Best, a “must stock” beer for most local pubs, and one which carries a long and unblemished record at the Ivy House. The other beer was Session Pale Ale from Cellar Head Brewing.

The latter are a brewery whose beers I've never really taken to, and it's something I can't quite put my finger on. They must be doing something right though, as their beers seem to crop up all over the place. Cellar Head are based at Flimwell, which is well just over the border into Sussex, and have been brewing a distinctive and wide range of beers since 2017. Look out for their distinctive motif of a man with the sunglasses, bowler hat and the long bushy beard, that resembles a hop cone.

Mrs PBT's is a fan of the Ivy House, and the night before, asked if we we’d booked a table in the covered outdoor
section, at the far right at the building, or in the pub itself.  I told her that we wanted to sit inside and enjoy the ambiance of this historic old inn. “Won't it be rather cramped, in the pub?” was her response, to which I replied that we would cross that bridge when we came to it. As things turned out, it wasn’t crowded at all inside the pub, although it was difficult to see what was going on in the outside area.

 On the table behind us, was Eileen’s boss from the scaffolding company she does work for, together with his partner. They were sitting there, sitting with another couple waiting, like us, for the waitress to come and take their order. I think both Chris and I were equally  surprised to see each other but after exchanging a few pleasantries, we sat down and got on with our conversation whilst those at the neighbouring table did the same. 

Shortly afterwards a waitress came over and took our order, starting with a pot of tea each. Having looked at the Ivy House menu beforehand, I was really looking forward to breakfast there, as I knew it would be top notch. Mrs PBT's is a great believer in the saying that you get what you pay for, and this was certainly true at the Ivy, because when our food arrived the quality was without doubt, first class. The dry-cure bacon had a flavour that was out of this world, and the sausages, from local butchers, Haywards, weren't far behind. My scrambled egg, served on sourdough toast, was light and fluffy, and the Parmentier potatoes were also good, although like Matthew, I would have preferred some hash-browns instead.

That Ivy House breakfast was just right to set up both Matthew and I, for the rest of the day. After saying goodbye to Chris and his partner, we popped round the corner into the main part of the bar and paid the bill. Afterwards we had a bit of shopping to do which mainly involved Matthew’s shop Robert Dyas. I needed some picture hooks, plus some stout garden twine, whilst Matthew had to pick up some shelving, identified as surplus by the store manager at Tonbridge, but eagerly snapped up by the East Grinstead branch of Dyas, where Matthew works.

So that was Sunday morning done with, and I spent a rather lazy afternoon, catching up on the blog, whilst managing to avoid doing any gardening. I has another reason for wanting to take things easy, as the new pair of boots I bought, three weeks previously from George at Asda. I wanted to start breaking them in, so I wore them to breakfast that morning. They were a little tight around the heel and alarms bells should have rang, but I persisted, nevertheless. So, as mentioned earlier, I ended up with a blister in the area between the top of my heel, and the base of my Achilles tendon.

That wasn’t the first time I’ve made such an error, as several years ago, on a visit to Cologne for a trade show, where I was representing the company on our sales stand, walking across the Rhine river, from our hotel to the exhibition centre on the first morning of the exhibition, was sufficient to crucify my heel. Despite this setback, I will break in these boots, and I'm sure that with a bit of dedication, they will become comfortable and will end up fitting like a well-worn glove.