The ol’ pub (aka public house) has been a part of British culture for centuries.
England is known for its cozy and welcoming pubs; the best pubs create a sense of belonging, a place to be that isn’t home, but can become like a second family. Gaydon’s eclectic Malt Shovel is no exception.
The altered building, made of Hornton Stone, an ironstone found nearby on the Burton Dassett Hills, was first referenced in 1849 as an unnamed beer house. In 1874, it became known as the Malt Shovel when it was licensed to Robert Ayres.
Just off junction 12 of the M40, the Malt Shovel, opened daily, serves fresh, locally sourced food and a wide selection of cask ales, lagers, wines, spirits and soft drinks.
Everyone is welcome here including four legged friends. Though tolerated in many pubs, at The Malt Shovel, pets are offered their own doggie menu.
The pub has so many personal touches — a cozy, reading corner on a deck, stained glass windows, its’ own mascots, a parrot, a miniature schnauzer and knick knacks galore.
In addition to the special doggy menu, the proprietors’ humor can be seen in the proposed children’s menu.
- -I don’t care (chicken nuggets, skinny fries)
-I’m not hungry (bangers & mash)
-I don’t know (chicken nuggets, fries? whatever (burger, skinny fries)
…all served with choice of beans or peas) bubble & steak, homemade pizza
When we stopped in for a drink, the man at the table behind us was sneaking fries to the schnauzer waiting patiently beside his table.
“Can I take a picture of your dog?” I asked.
“Of course,” the man said and chuckled, “but Belle’s not mine. She belongs to the pub owner.”
Sure enough, the little, gray and white dog had his own doggie couch where he could reign over the bar.
The man, a friendly trucker, pointed to the names written in chalk on wood beams around the bar,
“See the names up there?” He explained. “They were people who worked for JLR (Jaguar Land Rover) engineering centers at the edge of Gaydon on the land that was once an air strip of the RAF.”
Many of the patrons lining the bar look like they just finished a work shift and stopped in for a quick pint on their way home.
The charismatic pub was cozy and charming. Gemutlich. Nicknacks decorated the walls, including a tea pot collection.
“Where you from?” The trucker asked.
“Illinois,” I told him and then added, “My husband’s French.
“Where about in France?” he asked Gerald.
“Normandy on the coast.”
“Ever heard of a tiny place called Trouville?” the trucker asked.
Gerald about fell off his chair. “That’s where I grew up.”
“ I hauled a load there,” the trucker said.
“What do you haul?”
“Blacktop and gravel when they strip the road to repave.”
“What kind of truck you drive?”
He pulled his phone out and showed me pictures of his rig.
“Drove all across France, but grew up in Warwick,” he said, “Now I live in Casablanca. When I’m on the road, I live in my truck.”
As we were leaving, I thanked the bartender and told him, “We’re just visiting, but our son and daughter-in-law moved to the area.”
“Oh I know them,” the bartender said, “they live across street from me!”
It’s a small, small world!
In the spirit of the ol’ English pubs, The Malt Shovel unites people still today.
Natives living in the French Savoie region or in the Swiss Alps will argue ’til the cows come home over who first invented raclette, but everyone who tries this traditional cheese/potato dish agrees it’s great. Raclette is thought to be at least 400 years old and remains popular today.
On every visit home to Switzerland, my adult kids request raclette. Instead of the traditional equipment meant for the half cheese, we use an electric grill with individual serving trays and raclette cut into portions. Since moving to the mountains, we decided to try the authentic dish.
The interior of the restaurant is a bit kitsch, but charming with its spotted cow upholstered chairs, long wooden tables, a wall-sized hearth and local decor. Cow bells hang from wooden beams, antique skis stick out of giant milk jugs and ski posters from the 40’s decorate the walls.
Our waitress brought us a half a wheel of cheese melting on the authentic raclette machine. Gerald tilted the wheel and scraped the top layer of cheese onto our plate of unpeeled potatoes. Raclette comes from the French word "racler," which means to scrape.
The “all you can eat” meal costs 31CH ($35) per person, which for a Swiss tourist town, is not unreasonably expensive. Traditionally, raclette is served with white wine, but our Frenchman ordered a Scramble Noir, a sublime red blend of five different grape varieties. Red or white wine, whatever, the French and Swiss agree never drink water with raclette. It will make your stomach bloat in indigestion!
Whenever anyone visits us in Switzerland, we share this convivial meal and create memories for guests to take home.
In my travels while living abroad for the past 45 years, I’ve perched in fine French cafes, “gemütlich” German bars, and inviting tavernas across Europe, but, England’s oldest pub, 
The Porch’s original features, including steep, crooked staircases, open fires, oak beams, and long-forgotten underground passageways, would be worth a detour on any European tour.
From the moment I ducked through the front door, I was cast under a spell from witches of the past. In the dining room, I studied the witch symbols scratched on the 16th Century fireplace that once warded off evil spirits.
On a recent trip to England, our son took us to visit historic Warwick, an enclosed city. The highlight of the afternoon for me was going for a proper English cream tea at the 
looking like they stepped out of the back kitchen where they baked homemade cakes and scones. Patrons spilled out of the ground floor tea rooms, so our waitress led us up a rickety, winding, ancient staircase that made me feel like I stepped into the old nursery rhyme.
We squeezed around a low table designed for short-statured folks of earlier times. We folded our long legs; our knees knocked into the furniture.
Awe-struck by the sight of the colorful, long house boats, I peppered the people floating past with questions. Friendly folks answered all of my silly inquiries.
The average 7 foot by 50 foot narrow boat has about 350 square feet of space for a bedroom, kitchen, living area, toilet, and cockpit. A small refrigerator, stove, cupboards and a narrow table squeezed on one side of the boat. Most have electric heat or a wood burning stove.
“Me ’n dad sleep on the couch that folds out into a bed right in front the telly,” he added. “Granddad sleeps in the bow and this here is the toilet and shower.”
Much like the English cottages in the village, each boat on the canal has its own name and unique identity with eclectic collections of artifacts, various potted plants and flower boxes decorating their colorful painted exteriors with names like Athena, Beulah Mae, Lady Anne, Jemima, Tubby Bunny, Rollin Along, Bubbling Billy, End and Beginning
collision. Bow, or fore end. Deck. Fore and aft.