Good Saturday, 2015, stepping westward. Autumn sunshine: autumn leaves, almost comparable to New England: pumpkins everywhere, very New England. We were in Sherborne, a town famous for its abbey and castle, but well worth a proper Pevsner-guided exploration.
There were obvious questions. When and how did the pumpkin take over from the turnip, ‘trick or treat’ from guising? Why is Halloween, All Souls’ Night, both holy names, associated with witchcraft and other emanations of the dark? As with Walpurgisnacht, we are in the spirit-haunted marches between early Christianity and paganism. After nightfall, we walk in deep shadow. Is that light a -turnip-bogle, as they used to say in Scotland before the era of the pumpkin? Or is it an eldritch licht: warlocks in the mirk, searching for Tam o’ Shanter? Even at the beginning of Advent, the old order can still muster its forces.
But we were not in search of architecture, antiquarianism, theology or ghost stories. We had come for lunch and found a perfect spot, The Green, in the centre of town. The proprietor/chef is Sasha Matkevitch, a Russian. That influences his cuisine, especially the zakuski: in effect, Russian tapas. His food is thoughtful and inventive, most of it based on locally sourced meat, game, fish, vegetables and fungi. An accomplished forager, he knows where to find cepes and truffles. His ham hock was at least as good as any I have eaten, even when it was called jambon persillé in Burgundy.
It is, I suppose, a comment on the times that the restaurant feels obliged to offer a children’s menu. Ned and Louis politely deflected that and were soon tucking into rare beef. But there is a problem with the proper menu. It is hard to decide what one does not want to eat.
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