The Boot Inn

LamBert

At the tail end of an Easter weekend spent gorging on pap, drinking everything I was invited to and playing poker, I rather felt an obligation to my physical being to make a relatively modest selection. A shout that was, arguably, moot as I simultaneously sipped through four pints of London Pride. 'You're going to tell me I'm as crazy as a sh*thouse rat', I said,' but I'm going to have the vegetarian lasagne'. ‘You are crazy’, I was told with a disapproving look. Not for the language, you understand, but for the show of conservatism. ‘Is it a bad thing that I want everything on the menu?’.

Of course it's not. With an ostentatiously furnished interior matched by a showy array of motors in the car park, the Boot has long been an institution in this well-to-do spot not far south of Birmingham. As a visual spectacle it's as rewarding as they come, attractive in red-brick with real fires in either bar, stripped tables, deep coloured walls and tons of personality. A personality matched, particularly on this occasion, by the service which was polite, prompt and executed with good humour. And Sky Sports' own Andy Gray drinks here. His weapon of choice on home turf seems to be a white wine spritzer, an affectation I can't think he gets away with when he's on the tile with Keys, Kammy et al. If the marauding style of his playing days is any clue, Gray's the type that would normally tie one on while beating his chest and throwing his own faeces.

The dining room at this pub, in line with the expense of the Boot's overall aesthetic, can feel a little try-hard. Often in the past I've been ever so slightly underwhelmed by the food, maybe because of the way it has compared to the environment. If you're looking to eat I'd recommend booking a table in the bar. In fairness to the restaurant, and as Benson's comment implied, I think this was as varied and appealing a menu as has been offered here for some time. With back-to-work blues for two out of three of us beginning to kick in, and comfort being the order of the day, it could just be that it was heavy on the right kind of options.

Box-baked Camembert came with red onion marmalade and beautifully crusty, warm sourdough bread for £8.25. We shared that. Fish Pie (£12.95) was a special and came with three large chargrilled tiger prawns on top and everything there (that was meant to be) was duly consumed. My Sweet Potato, Spinach and Goat's Cheese lasagne was about right for £9.75 and, being that I'd not long ago ransacked somebody else's picnic at Ragley Hall's Easter Egg hunt, was ample. The main course rack of ribs (£12.75), finally, was portioned so as to draw our server to throw down the gauntlet for them to be finished in their entirety. Them and the side of chips with aioli (£2.95). Knowing full well my older sibling's penchant for a treacley barbecue glaze – indeed as you might have picked up from previous posts – and seeing creme egg after creme egg posted in one this weekend, this was a foolish, foolish thing to do. If only to have had this misguided pup sat at the card table the previous evening; I'd have taken him to the cleaner's.

Having scored quality and quantity without any need for pudding, and in that it serves up plenty of good memories, the Boot hardly puts a foot wrong. I'd prefer a more traditional corporate I.D. for its signage and stationary. The cartoon-y artwork employed, you could say, slightly devalues its otherwise impeccable presentation. The wine list could also achieve a better balance of whites although it is competitively priced. I would, for example, be keen to see a bit more interest where you can afford two similarly priced New World Sauvignon Blancs and a Sancerre. Chances are, however, that the varietal continues to be so popular as for each to more than earn their place. But, hey…

So, when they say Jesus died for all our sins, I'm assuming the vast majority of you had a quiet bank-holiday. Certainly, I can't help feeling a lot of your Man's pain must have been sustained for me, and more pertinently to account for the way I continue to put my body and my colourful vocabulary through its paces. And on the Sabbath, too. Bloody funny, mind…