THERE’Sheres been a pub in the village of Bagby, near Thirsk, for the reason that 1700s, however, I suppose it’s far honest to mention it has in no way made much of a name for itself.
In a past life, 30 or more years ago, I spent four months residing in the village and never darkened its doorways. Nobody did.
More lately, the Greyhound’s history has been extremely chequered, including durations when it’s been closed. A call exchange to the Bagby Inn didn’t work opposite its fortunes.
But 18 months ago, it modified palms once more. Fettah Alkoc and Laz Bilgin purchased the freehold and set approximately the mother of all alterations.
The barely down-at-heel traditional pub interior became simple and recognizable as a pub. The squeaky-smooth refurbishment has created a front bar where drinkers and diners are equally welcome and a more formal restaurant to the rear.
The modern indoors will improve with time. At the moment, it appears almost a bit too new.
In a nod to its records, the new proprietors have restored the call. The Greyhound at Bagby is undoubtedly how locals would decide upon it, and it enables distinguishing it from the alternative Greyhounds jogging in North Yorkshire.
But the most thrilling component about the restyled Greyhound is a menu featuring Turkish dishes—which isn’t always the form of cuisine one stumbles across in rural North Yorkshire.
That said, there was a time, maybe ten years ago, when the White Horse Lodge, simply a couple of miles away on the street to Sutton Bank, switched to Turkish fare—an experiment that didn’t last long.
It was a pleasing surprise because we’re fanatics. My enthusiasm dates back to 1970s pupil life in London, where I first tasted Turkish food in an imaginatively named Formica-topped tabled hovel at the Fulham Road known as Wine and Kebab. A couple of quid introduced one as a whole lot meze, as you could be squeezed onto a desk or eat, and a carafe of God-knows-what, which after the 1/3 glass tasted simply first-class. Happy days.
What makes Turkish food so attractive is its simplicity, the freshness of the simple components, and the charcoal grill.
Had we no longer wanted to eat Turkish, there would be many traditional pub fare alternatives to the main dishes (fish pie, lamb shank, gammon, steaks, etc.).
We started with the hot meze option (there’s also a cold option) for £14.50. That’s seven small dishes, which became more than enough for two and possibly could have been glad for three.
The highlights were the Sakuk—chargrilled spicy Turkish beef sausage—Arnavut Cigeri¬ cumin–flavored lamb liver sautéed in butter with caramelized purple onion—and Sigara Boregi—deep-fried filo pastry parcels packed with spinach and feta cheese. The basket of pide bread was splendid, too.
Sylvia’s principal path preference changed into the essence of Turkish cooking—chargrilled marinated chicken skewers served with rice, salad, and a yogurt dip (£13.95). Chicken cooked, it certainly doesn’t get more succulent than this.
I’d opted for something that sounded very grand. Ali Nazik (£14.50) is named after the famous Ottoman chef who created it for Sultan Selim in the sixteenth century. I am sure you will be very impressed by my expertise in the history of Turkish delicacies. However, I’d fine-find and inform you that it is gleaned from the short menu description instead.
It didn’t quite stay as much as the superb billing. The chargrilled marinated lamb fillets had been now not as gentle as I imagined they might be. However, the smoked aubergine and yogurt sauce became an excellent mixture – the warm earthiness of the aubergine was reduced nicely by using the yogurt’s clean coolness. The meze starters’ copious portions dominated our cakes, so we sat awhile and watched the region regularly refill with a satisfying blend of drinkers and diners. Chef Fettah came out from the kitchen to speak to the diners and assist his front-of-house enterprise partner Laz, who turned marvelous in his maximum unmarried-handed capability to pour pints, take orders, deliver them to diners, clear tables, and take the cash.
In our case, this amounted to £ 53.35. That covered more than 1.5 pints of San Miguel, half of an Italian lager called Poretti, and a small glass of Turkish white wine, which was considerably better than the Fulham Road firewater of forty years ago.
We hope the Greyhound continues going for walks and, after three hundred years or so, finally makes a name for itself.
FOOD FACTS
The Greyhound at Bagby, Main Street, Bagby, Thirsk, YO7 2PF
