Fresh from the Cheshire Farm

The A49 wends its way from Herefordshire to Cheshire; from Ross-on-Wye — gateway to the Wye valley — and over the Welsh Marches, through the market towns of Ludlow, Shrewsbury and Church Stretton and the Shropshire hills.

On the road goes, across the Shropshire Union Canal to Chester, Warrington and Wigan, terminating at its junction with the A6.

We're stopping before Chester today, heading off into the Peckforton hills and, as gloomy afternoon turns into rain-lashed night, the Pheasant Inn appears on a ridge like a promising beacon.

Roomward bound

From the bar, we have to dash out into the deluge once more, as the barmaid leads us to an outbuilding. "It's the old shippon — this was a farm," she says. No surprise that sandstone is the most notable feature in our compact first-floor room: This inn is the halfway point on the Sandstone Trail, a long-distance path across rural Cheshire.

"Full-length mirror in the wardrobe," says my bloke. Functional with flourishes, I'd say, but only one of us gets a bedside table and light. We like free Wi-Fi, the white orchid and an engraving of Chester but the hairdryer reminds me of the ones at public swimming baths — the "on" button works only with continuous pressing.

Back to the shiny new wooden expanse of the bar. One or two are here only for the refreshments but most of those who come through the door make a beeline for tables and menus. Game pie and moules marinires are chalked-up specials; the menu runs from nibbles to steak via something called "Deli Boards".

Salt and steak

We order the fish one to share and a wooden chopping board is delivered to us loaded with thick slices of smoked salmon, delicate smoked trout, rollmops with a scattering of sliced, lightly pickled onion and fried salt cod balls.

Conversation at the neighbouring table skips from tagines to teenagers but my eavesdropping is temporarily suspended when a Bowland rib-eye steak arrives glistening darkly on a skillet.

It is a lovely piece of meat. Steak is "nice and rich but my mash is oversalted", he says, digging into the side dish of vegetables, which are, by contrast, perfectly cooked.

Pud is hardly on the agenda but our waitress waxes lyrical about ice-cream from the Cheshire Farm (12 flavours available but they make more than 30). I order Gog's black currant, mango and ginger sorbets and honeycomb ice-cream.

They are to die for. Full of fruit, not ice, and crunchy bits of real comb. We roll back to our room, clearly in safe hands as far as breakfast is concerned and knowing that daylight also holds the promise of views from this vantage point to the Welsh hills, before continuing our journey along the A49.