The Bull, Ditchling

I ask the girl in the Ditchling Museum where she’d recommend for lunch. “The Bull, or the White Horse”, she says. “The locals prefer the White Horse”. She’s got a slight Geordie accent. I thank her. “But I prefer The Bull” she calls, as I’m going through the door. "When in Ditchling..." I think. I head to the White Horse. I see what she means. It’s dingy inside, and there’s only one bloke there, sitting at the bar reading a newspaper and chatting up the barmaid at the same time. “Hello?” says the latter, while the former glares at me. “Um, um, just…” I say. Then I scarper.

The Bull is a bit more bistro. It’s still got medieval beams and a big fireplace, but the tabletops have been sandpapered, the menus are stood up in little silver frames, and the bar-staff look like they actually want you in there. I order a burger. Or a ‘Prime Aberdeen beef burger with Monterey Jack cheese, coleslaw and fries’, to be exact. £10.05. The waitress brings me a selection of sauces in a little silver bucket, followed by my burger on a square plate, in a square roll. The coleslaw is home-made and creamy. The fries are French, and thin. The burger’s succulent. I normally go native as much as possible, but this time I’m glad I didn’t do as the Lingians do. AL