The Marton Arms: UK's BEST Pub? (You WON'T Believe This!)
The Marton Arms: UK's BEST Pub? (You WON'T Believe This!) - A Review (and a Rant!)
Alright, buckle up, buttercups! I've just returned from a whirlwind trip to… drumroll please… The Marton Arms, and I'm here to tell you, this place… this pub… is something else. They're calling it the "UK's BEST Pub?", and honestly? Well, let's just say the jury's still out, and my inner critic is screaming for a pint. But buckle up!
First things first. Accessibility: okay, listen, I saw a RAMP. A proper, actual ramp. No complaints there. Wheelchair accessible? Seemed to be, given I didn't see any angry-looking ramps of doom popping up. Good start. Facilities for disabled guests: I saw a few things. They seem to be trying. More on that later.
Okay, let's cut to the chase: the food. Look, I'm a man. I like my food. And The Marton Arms… well, it was… varied. Let's say that. Shoutout to their vegetarian restaurant because they had a delicious beetroot burger that even a carnivore could appreciate…I swear. Asian cuisine in restaurant? I saw a curry on the menu. I didn't try it. I was too busy inhaling my burger and staring at the view from the poolside bar… yes. Poolside bar. In a pub. Mind. Blown. They were serving coffee/tea in restaurant, desserts in restaurant, the usual suspects. A la carte in restaurant, buffet in restaurant, breakfast [buffet], breakfast service, blah blah blah. Honestly, I was more impressed by the fact they had a bottle of water on the house in our room. Small wins, people, small wins.
Dining, drinking, and snacking – the heart of any good pub! The bar itself? Classic. Lovely. A good selection of local ales. And the snack bar? Well, let's just say it saved me from a pre-dinner meltdown. I'm a sucker for soup in restaurant. And by the end of my trip, I'd sampled most of the menu. The happy hour? Don't even get me STARTED.
But let's talk, shall we, about the promise of relaxation. They list a Spa/sauna, steamroom, sauna…and gasp…a swimming pool [outdoor]! Oh, the swimming pool. The glorious, tantalizing possibility of a post-pint dip. (OK, so I'm getting ahead of myself, but the imagination is a powerful thing). I saw the pool with view. A glorious one. I saw the fitness center. And I saw… nothing. Not a soul in the spa. It was the ghost of relaxation. But the pool? The pool was calling my name, and I dove in, what a view!!
Cleanliness and safety are apparently top priorities these days. The anti-viral cleaning products were probably busy. There's daily disinfection in common areas. They're doing it. They're trying. Hand sanitizer? Everywhere. Physical distancing of at least 1 meter? Mostly adhered to. Sanitized kitchen and tableware items, all apparently there, all apparently clean. I wasn't checking with a magnifying glass. The cashless payment service was a dream. And the staff? Staff trained in safety protocol. The place felt safe.
Rooms, my friends, the rooms. Non-smoking rooms, of course. Air conditioning? Check. Free Wi-Fi? Big check! (They even had Internet access – LAN! Remember that??). Daily housekeeping, bless them. Coffee/tea maker - crucially important. Bathrobes, slippers, and a mini bar: all necessary for the high life! Soundproofing…well, it was pretty good, until the bloke next door decided to serenade the sunrise with his snoring (I'm not sure who was louder, the wind howling outside or the poor guy, probably struggling a bit). The bed itself was comfortable. I had a view from my high floor that wasn't bad at all.
Now, the extras. Here's where things get… interesting. A concierge. A doorman. Laundry service and dry cleaning. Business facilities: (I saw a Xerox/fax in business center! Seriously! Who uses faxes anymore?!). They’ve got a gift/souvenir shop. But the real kicker? Doctor/nurse on call. Seriously? Is this a pub or a field hospital? (Though, after a few pints, I can see the appeal of having a doctor on standby).
Things to do? Ways to relax? – the real meat of the review. They list massage, but I couldn't book one. I asked and asked, and the answer was always "booked up." Seriously, folks? Body scrub? Body wrap? Fuggedaboutit. I'm starting to think these amenities may only exist on paper.
For the kids. Babysitting service. Kids meal. Looks like they are ready for family, which isn't a bad thing.
Getting around. Airport transfer. Car park [free of charge]. They're good.
And the BIG QUESTION…?
Is The Marton Arms the "UK's BEST Pub?"
Look, judging from what's available and my limited experience, probably not. But… it is charming. Quirky. And that pool…that freaking pool… I'd almost go back just for that. The staff were friendly, the beer was good, and the burger was excellent.
But here's the REAL DEAL: My Offer
Okay, so you're on the fence, right? Tempted by the promise of a poolside pint but worried about the imperfections? Here's the deal:
Book a two-night stay at The Marton Arms this month, and I'll personally guarantee you get ONE complimentary cocktail at the bar. Consider it a peace offering for any slight imperfections. You know what you're getting, you know it might not be perfect, but the potential for a good time is there, and that, my friends, is what matters.
The Marton Arms is calling your name. Are you ready to answer? Go on, live a little! and book your room today!
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Alright, buckle up buttercups, because we're going to Marton Arms, and let me tell you, I'm already picturing myself with a pint the size of my head. This isn't your perfectly polished, Instagram-filtered itinerary, oh no. This is the real deal, warts and all. And let's be honest, there are probably some warts.
Day 1: Arrival, Abandonment and the Promise of Pie
- 10:00 AM (ish): Arrive at Marton Arms. Well, arrive. More like, lurch out of the rental car after a three-hour drive that felt like three decades. Seriously, why did the sat nav think that scenic route was necessary? I'm pretty sure I saw a badger give me the side-eye. The car, bless its little metaphorical cotton socks, is already covered in a layer of Lincolnshire mud. I feel a kinship.
- 10:30 AM: Check into our accommodation. Hopefully it’s not a shed. I'm praying for a comfy bed, a hot shower and absolutely no spiders. Actually, spiders are fine, as long as they stay in the corners. My current mental state is bordering on "hangry," so a good start is essential.
- 11:00 AM: A moment of despair. Our room, it seems, is upstairs. There's no lift. I made it, though.
- 11:30 AM (ish): Head to The Marton Arms. You know, the actual pub. Because, priorities. This is the moment I've been waiting for. I hear they do fantastic pies. Fantastic pies are my love language. I’m picturing a generous helping of steak and ale, with a flaky crust that melts in your mouth with the gravy… oh, just thinking of it makes my stomach rumble.
- 12:30 PM: Oh. Oh dear. Pie is sold out. Of all the indignities. I nearly cried. I opted for a ploughman's lunch, which was fine, but… sigh. The first of many emotional rollercoasters, I suspect. On the plus side, the pub is cozy and bustling. Everyone seems to know everyone else, and there's a happy hum of conversation. And the beer? Glorious. I'm settling in nicely.
- 2:00 PM: Walk around the village. Marton is adorable. I found a church and some charming cottages. I took a ton of photos of doors because… doors. They had character, alright? I'm starting to appreciate the slower pace of life. I'm not sure I like it, but I appreciate it.
- 4:00 PM: That walk was definitely worth it. The local shop had a few of the goodies, I'm talking crisps and a selection of chocolate bars. Score.
- 7:00 PM: Dinner. This time, I'm securing a roast dinner. Pie or no pie, I'm not messing around. I've earned this.
Day 2: More Pie! And Possibly A Breakdown.
- 9:00 AM: The joy of waking up without the blare of an alarm clock. Bliss. I’m a strong believer in the fact that a good breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I'm determined to get a full English breakfast to kickstart my day.
- 10:00 AM: A scenic cycle (if I can find a bike). Nope. That would have been a lovely idea. The nearest bike hire is ten miles away. I’m not that keen. Let’s skip it.
- 11:00 AM - 1:00 PM: Return to The Marton Arms. Pie watch, round two. Pray for me. I'm considering bribing the chef. Maybe with chocolate. The local shop has chocolate.
- 1:00 PM: SUCCESS! Pie! I successfully managed to get a Pie! The steak and ale, in all its flaky glory, was even better than I had imagined. I may have almost started crying with happiness. Don't judge me.
- 2:00 PM: The village is hosting a summer fete! The village is bustling with happy locals and their kids. Funnel cake, a bouncy castle… it's pure, unadulterated charm. I bought a raffle ticket, but I'm convinced my number will never be called. I won. I won! A bottle of wine! I will savour every drop later.
- 4:00 PM: I discover a hidden bench looking out over the rolling hills. The view is breathtaking. I sit there for an hour, just breathing it all in. Maybe this slower pace of life isn't so bad after all.
- 7:00 PM: Dinner. Another roast. I'm a creature of habit, what can I say?
Day 3: Farewell to Flavors (and a Likely Hangover)
- 9:00 AM: Woke up. I wish I could say feeling refreshed, but the wine from the raffle, and the lovely locals who encouraged me to join them, made it a rather late night. I ordered a fry-up in an attempt to rehydrate and deal with the headache.
- 10:00 AM: Final wander around the village. I'm feeling a bit nostalgic, and also a bit sad to be leaving. I’ve gotten used to the gentle rhythm of life here. Now, I'm buying souvenirs, which mostly consist of local biscuits, and a novelty tea towel that says "Kiss Me I'm Irish" (I'm not Irish, but it was amusing).
- 11:00 AM: A quick stop at a local farm shop. I’m stocking up on cheese, because cheese is always a good idea. and a loaf of freshly baked bread. Because, carbs.
- 1:00 PM: Lunch at the pub! One last pie. Because, why not?
- 2:00 PM: Packing the car. The trip back home. The car is even dirtier than when I arrived. I'm okay with it.
- 3:00 PM: Drive home.
Final Thoughts: The Marton Arms, you beautiful, pie-filled, slow-paced little village. I'll be back. Maybe next time I'll learn to ride a bike. Maybe. Just… don't run out of pie. Ever. I am already plotting a return. I'm already craving that pie. Goodbye, for now, Marton Arms. And thanks for the memories, the pie, and the almost-breakdown. You were exactly what I needed. Now, back to reality. But that cheese, that I got from the farm shop… I'm going to enjoy that.
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The Marton Arms: Does This Place ACTUALLY Deserve the Hype?! (Spoiler: Maybe...!)
Okay, seriously, what's all the *fuss* about the Marton Arms? Is it just a load of old blokes swilling ale and pretending it’s paradise?
Alright, alright, dial down the cynicism! Yes, there *are* old blokes. Let's be honest. And yes, there's a fair amount of ale being sloshed about. But the Marton Arms... it's… different. It’s got a soul. A genuine, slightly battered, definitely-seen-better-days soul. It’s not just a pub; it's a *vibe*. Think worn leather, roaring fires in winter, and the kind of low-level chatter that somehow ends up feeling like a warm hug. I remember one time, I was having the *worst* day. Travel woes, lost luggage, the whole shebang. Walked in, ordered a pint (a perfect pint, I might add – more on that later), and within 20 minutes, I'd been chatting to a local farmer, a retired teacher, and a bloke who swore he'd seen a badger wearing a tiny tweed waistcoat. Suddenly, my problems felt… less catastrophic. That's the magic of the place, I reckon.
The beer. Is it actually *good*? Because I've been burned before.
Listen, and listen *good*. The beer is non-negotiable. It's exceptional. They've got a rotating selection of real ales, often from local breweries. It's always perfectly kept, served at the right temperature, and with that perfect head that makes you think, “Yep, this is the taste of England.” I’m talking about a pint of something dark and velvety, maybe a stout, or something crisp and hoppy. Honestly, one of the best pints I've *ever* had was at the Marton Arms. I could tell you which one... wait, let me see… It was… oh, I can’t recall the specific name, but it was dark, and I ended up having *three*. That’s when I knew I was really enjoying myself, the kind of joy that makes you forget about everything else. Ah, there are times I wish I could have that feeling back.
Right, so what about the food? Is it all just greasy pub grub?
Look, I *love* a good plate of greasy pub grub. And yes, they do have things like fish and chips and sausage and mash. But... it's elevated. They use quality ingredients. The chips are actually crispy, the fish isn't swimming in oil, and even the sausage rolls are something to write home about. But the real stars are the specials. They make these dishes with seasonal produce, and sometimes you get this amazing feeling like it's a chef's kiss moment. During one trip, they'd made a rabbit stew that was so good, I legit considered licking the bowl. I didn't, obviously. But I *thought* about it. And the portions are generous. You'll leave feeling properly satisfied.
What about the staff? Are they friendly or a bunch of miserable gits? (Let’s be real.)
Okay, full disclosure: I’ve seen both. There's the odd grumpy server, sure. But the majority of the staff at the Marton Arms? Bloody lovely. They're the kind of people who remember your name after one visit, offer a friendly chat, and will genuinely make you feel welcome. They seem to actually care about the pub and the people in it. However, I had one encounter with a waitress who seemed like she *hated* her job. Seriously, I think she'd rather be wrestling a grizzly bear. I’m not sure what she was doing there, but I’d hazard a guess she got a bollocking later and she's no longer there.
Tell me something *bad* about the Marton Arms. There's got to be something!
Alright, alright, let's get the bad stuff out of the way. Parking. It can be a nightmare, especially at peak times. The toilets are, well, let's just say they've seen a few years and could do with a spruce-up. And sometimes, the music is a bit hit-or-miss. I recall one evening where they played *only* 80s power ballads, and after a while, even I, a lover of a cheesy tune, was starting to feel a bit… overwhelmed. Also, the prices are a bit on the higher side, but you get what you pay for, it's worth it.
Okay, let's get really specific. What's a memorable experience you had there? Spill the tea!
Right, buckle up. This one's a doozy. I was there on a Sunday, expecting a chilled-out afternoon. Nope. Total chaos. The place was absolutely packed, the air thick with the smell of roast beef and… well, let's just say *happy* dogs. Apparently, it was some sort of local dog show day! It was hilarious. Dogs of all shapes and sizes were parading around, there were kids running everywhere, and the general level of noise was… intense. But you know what? It was amazing. The staff were running around like crazy, but they kept their cool, cracking jokes, and serving everyone with a smile. I ended up chatting with the owner of a prize-winning Border Collie (who, by the way, was incredibly smug-looking) and sharing a massive plate of roast beef with a couple of complete strangers. It's one of those experiences that sticks with you, makes you feel a bit more *connected* to the world. I wouldn't trade it for anything, even if I was covered in dog hair when I left. I have this photo… let me see... (rummages around in the memory bank) Yeah, there were some blurry photos that I can't find now. And yes, I will try to find it, I promise.
So, should I bother going? Is it *really* the best pub?
Look, "best" is subjective. It depends what you're looking for. If you want a sterile, chain-pub experience with predictable food and generic music, then no. Avoid. But if you want a proper pub, a place with character, charm, and genuinely good beer and food, then absolutely. Go. Just be prepared to possibly fall a little bit in love. Or at the very least, have a bloody good time. And if you happen to see a Badger wearing a tweed waistcoat… you know who to blame.
