The Royal Oak, Kings Bromley

I found this pubs location from the good pub guide and have travelled through many pubs from county to county trying to eat/drink in most of them as I have a wish to complete the entirity of said book. Currently I�ve downed pints in over 350 pubs with hopefully many more to come... Well what can I say about this first rate pub!? As you walk, neigh glide, upon the jewel encrusted walkway to the double doored entrance first thing that strikes you is the shimmer of loveliness beaming from the gleaming windows, belting bewildering love rays into ones peepers. It�s like the windows are actually portals into gods soul. I stood there agog, basking in this shimmering glow, I was awestruck. In that moment, I could hear the sound of heavenly harps immersing, and then levitating my entire being skyward, Bliss and I hadn�t even walked through the pub doors; one knew one was in for an experience.

I was only stopped from a spiritual based orgasm by a one armed man driving a mobility scooter that burst through the doors like some mechanised cowboy being ejected from a saloon. I swiftly dodged this assailant and made my way into the Royal Oak pub still glowing from my ephemeral episode.

I was then greeted by friendly staff, who showered me with gifts and grapes and menus photocopied from a HP 120 electro printing machine, the creases down the middle were shaper than my corduroy strides, my soul elevated more. Having creamed my M&S pants in sheer joy I gazed at the range of delicacies on the yaks skin menu, Solid gold rams head served in silver soup poured into ones mouth via bejewelled goddesses from Ramesses II era Egypt, Or Garrotted pheasant delivered on a platter of quail heads simmered in unicorn sweat, my heart raced...I plumped for the rare birds gizzards and poached poachers eggs in special Royal Oak sauce. My innards trembled with excitement.

The bar staff graciously took my order and teleported into the kitchen via one of the many (very quiet as not to intrude on guests meals) interdimensional teleportation terminals. I changed my pants for a second time. The toilets with ruby encrusted faucets and smartly attired Umpah Lumpah toilet paper dispensing servants were a marvel, no need to fumble around a metal loo paper dispenser when the on hand (masked: we don�t want them leering at our private jewels do we?) Umpah Lumpah servant can do it for us. The chain flushes and with the contents dispensed a selection of orchestral based music pipe into the toilet massaging your newly evacuated bowls in works by Bach and Elgar. Over to the washing area and bio molecular dirt particles are beamed off your hands by one of the many dirt lasers; far more effective than tap water. A quick shoe shine and gee up by the in toilet motivational guru and your ready to dine.

Escorted to my dining seat by two extremely welcoming bar staff, (third visit to the toilet required!) I was ready for my meal. Well what can be said the gizzards were cooked to perfection I could actually hear Jamie Oliver say 'pukka' in my inner radio, whilst my mind movie played a loop of Oliver�s dribbling lips. The poachers poached eggs were like slicing into clouds of god thought, this time Mr. Oliver was lying frothing at the mouth in his rustic kitchen murmuring 'it�s over, it�s over', with Jamie drool sploshing all over his tattered flavour shaker. Yes it is over for you Oliver for the oak had a final surprise up its gastronomically professional wizards sleeve, ROYAL OAK SAUCE! This sauce was like having your tastes buds fed to you on a spoon made from the bones of Keith Floyd marinated in the love juices of Angelina Jolie, my sex was on fire. I had peeked again was there anything this pub could not do???

I finished the haute cuisine journey both mentally and spiritually exhausted, woodland animals appeared around me and Disneyesque birds tweeted above my head. Would you like anything to drink? Enquired the warm fronted barmaid before me, yes, yes I said in this mad whirl of spiritual gastro delight. A menu was thrust to me unseen and delicate like the wind was somehow employed, and had blown the menu gently upon a royal breeze into my rapturous hands.

I choose the guest ale, Henry Wintertons full bodied love pustules at 4.5% it was the satisfying end to what can only be described as a heavenly hallucinatory gourmet experience. As I left I was given a Royal Oak emblazoned gentleman�s grooming set and Gideon bible. Could this place do anymore? I thought as the motorized leaving platform kicked into action. I left paying all my income from the past three months for the staffs tips and the experience of a life time. I stepped onto the platform and exited through the shimmering gates of Royal Oak glory on earth, with an experience that I�ll treasure forever, coming second only to the night I sang �staying alive� acapella with all the original Bee Gees whilst Elton John tinkled the ivories and Frank Sinatra looked on enviously gripping a crystal shot glass, but that story is for another time... Thank you The Royal Oak! A place where dreams are made.

The Royal Oak; nothing more than five bloody stars.

6 Jul 2011 20:16