“I came here in February 2011, from Cirencester with nothing but a cheque book, a suitcase and absolutely no experience in the hotel/restaurant business,” says Martin Earley nodding towards his well-stocked bar. Well he must have done something right; the place he renovated and re-named The Cornerhouse, is packed and it’s only 11am on a Saturday morning. It is mostly packed with, it has to be said, The Frome Ukele Club, rehearsing before their impromptu and uninvited appearances at the Frome Folk Festival taking place this weekend. “I have a lot of brilliant musicians who regularly perform here,” Martin explains, “and then there’s the Frome Ukele Club.”
FUC member and my old friend, George Chedburn laughs, raising his pint of local beer “I’ll drink to that”.
“I thought you were supposed to be rehearsing.”
“I am. We are, as you can see!”
They were all drinking. Maybe that’s the best rehearsal for when you’re about to venture out in the pouring rain to battle for space with hordes of Morris sides filling the streets and the town square.
I used to live in Frome. “Before you go, George, where’s the best place to eat here now?” In town with the editor of fRoots (the magazine I was covering the festival for), I was keen to swerve the bag-of-chips and curry-sauce dinner that he had in mind. Though in the Frome I knew, that would have been the best on offer.
“Here.” he said. “Or the Archangel, you remember – used to be The Angel. That’s good too now. But, personally, I think the food’s better here.”
‘Here’, was fully booked for that evening, but my Ukele Club connections stood me in good stead, and Martin squeezed us in for an early meal. Perfect as we had a gig to go to later.
The Cornerhouse used to be The Lamb and like the place that used to be The Angel was not the sort of place your mother would be happy to learn you’d stepped inside, let alone went to find a boyfriend. They were rough, stuffed full of unsuitable types any teenage girl would find attractive. If mum spotted the crowd in The Cornerhouse today, the Ukele Club aside, she’d be pushing you through the door. It was full of successful seeming, young cool, creative types, so I sipped on a good large latte and imagined I fitted right in.
Later, dragging my editor back – “Honestly, it’s better than chips” – we walked through the bar, which was positively buzzing to the restaurant beyond. It was quiet enough here to talk easily and though still early there was a family clearly out celebrating a special occasion and a few couples already sitting, with their basket of delicious spelt bread and butter (on the house) in front of them. And although the place is intimate and I tried very hard, you couldn’t hear their conversation.
The tables were covered with good white linen and gently lit so you could look great but still see the menu. It was a comforting read. From the list of four of five starters, including soup, meat, seafood, fish and a vegetarian option which all sounded enticing, we both chose the tomato and red pepper soup. It was light clean and well balanced, tasting exactly like the sum of its advertised parts.
The main course was equally good. I really enjoyed my ‘moules’ – plump, succulent mussels in a subtle garlic, onion, cream and white wine sauce. I hate grit in mussels, and these were grit free. My editor went for the slow cooked lamb shank which came nestling in a bed of creamy mashed potato. He pronounced it melt-in-the-mouth gratifying and was pleased to be here and not sitting on a bench dipping luke-warm potato slices into curry sauce. We shared a crisp green salad, with a fine French dressing. Actually I ate it all. Normally I’d have been keen on the wine list, which looked both good and sensibly short, but we ignored it as we had work to do, and instead drank delicious Italian beer.
The service was efficient – friendly, unfussy and honest. Our waiter spotted a mistake which we’d missed and altered the bill suitably downwards. And the prices were cheaper than you’d pay for a similar meal in London.
It was a thoroughly enjoyable dinner. I spotted Martin Earley on the way out. “Before you go have a look upstairs,” he said, “We’ve transformed the room for the folk festival.” So we went up and saw a guitarist singing his plaintive songs in a decent sized room which was wreathed in green garlands, Eden like, as if for setting for a Midsummernight’s Dream. I guess this is where the fine Jazz artists whom Martin normally plays host to come to perform.
You can sleep here too. I didn’t see the rooms, as they were occupied, but they look sweet on the website. It’s a good place to come to dinner, catch some music, hang out at the bar and fall into bed. I’d like to come back and stay and hope I don’t have to wait ‘til next year’s folk festival before returning. When I was last in Frome, the hot spots for a top night out were the chip shop and the phone box in the market place.
Happily the town (and it’s surroundings), now has more to offer. Forget Babington House, just 5 miles down the road and try the Cornerhouse instead!
http://www.thecornerhousefrome.co.uk
Written by a Thoroughly Modern Mrs, Elizabeth Kinder.