Beehive Inn, May 31 2009 by Eddy Eats, Sunday Sun
THE sun was shining and Mrs Eats was full of the joys of spring. She’s been a bit down in the dumps recently, poor soul, what with the credit crunch, worries about swine flu, and those fat cat MPs living it up at our expense, so it was nice to see her back on form. She even fetched the Sunday Sun, made me a cup of tea, and said consolingly that the football results might get better next season.
So, when she mentioned that she quite fancied a trip to the seaside I didn’t have the heart to argue, even though I was all for a quiet day in the country. Then, I had a brainwave. Why not both? I remembered dropping in to a pleasant pub on a winding country lane near Whitley Bay a few years ago after we got lost in the Eats mobile. The only trouble was I couldn’t remember the name. Not to worry, I know where Whitley Bay is, so off we went. It was close to Earsdon, a pretty little village just outside the seaside resort, I recalled. As we drove around and she huffed and puffed I kept calm and suddenly there it was, down Hartley Lane between Earsdon and Seaton Sluice - the BeeHive Inn.
As I breathed a sigh of relief and found a place to park, Mrs Eats murmured that it looked very nice. Praise indeed.
The day had brought out families with children who were having a whale of a time in the beer garden with its views across fields to St Mary’s Island, where I’d looked for crabs as a lad. Ah, memories. But to the task in hand. She Who Must Be Fed was getting agitated and we decided to rest our weary and hungry bones inside. The only problem was: would the food match up to the surroundings? The BeeHive is one of your historic hostelries, steeped in tradition. Built in the 18th century, it became an inn in 1896 and even though it’s been modernised it retains all its old charm. It’s been well preserved inside and out, with a lovely old fireplace which almost made me wish it was winter.
It even has a ghost story. A young woman who took her own life to escape her cruel father is said to haunt the place.
Because of its remote location, it also had a reputation as an ideal hideaway for couples conducting, ahem, extra marital relations. Not a snippet of information I cared to pass on to Mrs Eats who tends to frown on these things. It’s obviously popular, as even in these difficult times it was crowded with eager diners.
We needn’t have worried about the grub. As I settled down with a pint of real ale (John Smith’s, £2.65), well-deserved after all my exertions finding the place, Mrs Eats studied the menu and declared herself well pleased at the choice. Apart from the extensive standard main menu, which is available daily from noon till 9pm, there was a choice of Sunday roasts, beef, lamb, pork and turkey, with all the usual trimmings of Yorkshire pudding, roast tatties and a selection of veg. She went for the roast lamb, at £7.95, while I chose something from the pub’s Bistro menu - The Hive lasagne, which looked intriguing.
The pub prides itself on serving up grub that is home cooked and great value. Like I said, the menu is extensive, with everything from steaks, to pan-fried salmon and your usual vegetarian selection. There are also sandwiches, jacket potatoes and a chef’s special menu which changes every month. Full marks, there, then. Mrs Eats’ roast lamb got the thumbs-up. The meal was huge - loads of tasty lamb came served with crispy Yorkshires, potatoes and a large bowl of perfectly cooked veg. My Hive lasagne, at £7.95, and served with garlic bread and side salad, was delicious. Rich and substantial with that lovely creamy cheesy sauce – just how I like it. The only niggle, however, came when we ordered our desserts, jam roly poly and custard (£3.75) for her and ice cream (£2.50) for yours truly. By this time the pub was packed. Half an hour passed and Mrs Eats was becoming increasingly fretful. Eventually we asked if there was a problem. It seems they were so busy they were behind with the orders. “There’s mayhem in the kitchen,” the waitress declared. “Not my problem,” the impatient Mrs Eats muttered under her breath.
They brought our puddings soon enough after that, but unfortunately Mrs Eats was thoroughly irritated by this time and had no comment to pass about her pudding other than the custard was watery. Oh dear. Apart from that, there were no complaints about the food, the ale, or the friendly staff.