The George, Hathersage: The Fire Was Lit and the Pub Was Full - Restaurant Review
- Jen Bell I Editor I Good Life List Peak District
- Jun 14
- 7 min read
Updated: 6 days ago
The George Hathersage, Main Rd, Hathersage, Hope Valley S32 1BB, (01433 650436). Starters £5.25- £6.95, mains £13.95-£21.95, desserts £9.95-£12.95, beers from £3.95, wine from £6.95 a glass.
The weather forecast had promised summer. The Peak District reviewed the proposal and rejected it outright.
A cold wind was charging down the valley with purpose, dark clouds were tumbling over the hills and there was enough chill in the air to persuade us to retrieve winter coats from the cupboard under the stairs. It was mid-June. Around these parts, that often means very little beyond the fact that the lambs are bigger and the rain is marginally warmer. Faced with such conditions, there was really only one sensible response. We went to the pub.
The George in Hathersage seemed an appropriate destination. After all, if a 500-year-old coaching inn has survived civil wars, industrial revolutions, several monarchs and centuries of Peak District weather, it can probably cope with one more disappointing Saturday evening in June. Besides, after an extensive family consultation process conducted largely through online menus and negotiations with an eight-year-old pizza enthusiast, The George had emerged victorious.
Before we had even reached the drinks menu, however, I became aware of a neighbouring table attempting to solve a literary mystery.
"It was Charlotte," declared one gentleman with confidence.
"No, it was Emily."
"Definitely Charlotte."
"What makes you so sure?"
A brief silence followed. No evidence was presented. Neither side appeared remotely interested in consulting Google. The discussion continued regardless.
My husband and I exchanged a glance and did our best not to laugh. It struck me as exactly the sort of debate that should be taking place inside The George.
The inn is famously associated with Charlotte Brontë, who stayed here while writing Jane Eyre. The surrounding landscape is said to have helped inspire parts of the novel, and the connection remains a source of fascination nearly two centuries later. The bedrooms carry Brontë-inspired names and the building itself feels as though it has accumulated stories in the same way old beams accumulate polish. Whether the debate was ever resolved remains unclear. They were still at it when we eventually settled our bill and left.
The George manages a difficult trick. Some historic pubs feel like museums that happen to serve beer. Others have been renovated within an inch of their lives and now resemble cold and expensive furniture showrooms with a drinks licence. The George sits comfortably between the two. The handsome stone exterior and low wooden beams all remind you that this place has been standing here for centuries, but it still feels very much alive. It is not relying solely on nostalgia. People flock to this place, locals and tourists alike.
The crowd was pure Peak District. There were walkers whose boots suggested they had spent the afternoon tackling something steep and muddy. There were families negotiating the delicate diplomacy of children's menus and promised puddings (yep, that was us). A spaniel came charging and barking through the dining room before collapsing beneath a table. One gentleman at the bar was enthusiastically describing a route over Stanage Edge using hand gestures large enough to suggest either an impressive hike or a military exercise. His companion looked tired before the story had reached the halfway point.
By seven o'clock every table seemed occupied. The dining room had developed that happy pub soundtrack of clinking glasses, bursts of laughter and the occasional parent attempting to keep their children in their seats. Hospitality businesses have endured a bruising for the past few years and many continue to face difficult conditions. Looking around The George, however, there was little sign of doom and gloom. The bar was busy, the restaurant was full and nobody appeared to be rushing anywhere. People were ordering another drink. They were sticking around for pudding.
The welcome was warm from the moment we arrived. We plugged the car into one of the EV chargers outside, a useful addition in a Peak District village, and settled in. Our server, Charlotte, deserves particular praise. Friendly, attentive and brilliant with the boys, she somehow managed to keep both adults and children equally happy throughout the evening. Activity sheets and colouring pencils swiftly appeared. For a brief and glorious period, parenting became considerably easier and we were able to discuss grown-up things over drinks.
I opted for a large glass of Stones Throw Shiraz from Australia. Australian reds can sometimes arrive with all the subtlety of a rugby tackle delivered by a burly man named Bruce, but this one was far more restrained. Rich, smooth and full-bodied without becoming overwhelming, it suited the weather perfectly. My husband chose a local Peak Ales beer and immediately began making appreciative noises that suggested he was pleased with his choice.
The menu strikes an appealing balance between comfort and curiosity. There are fish and chips, burgers and Derbyshire pies for those seeking familiarity, but there are also dishes such as jerk-marinated salmon with pineapple slaw, pork and rum Scotch eggs and pan-fried duck with soy and honey glaze. It is a menu that understands its audience. Adventurous enough to be interesting, sensible enough not to frighten anyone.
For starters, I ordered crispy whitebait with fresh chives and harissa mayonnaise. The whitebait arrived crisp, light and easy to polish off within minutes. The harissa mayonnaise added warmth rather than aggression and quickly attracted the attention of my eldest son, who helped himself to what he clearly considered a reasonable proportion of the plate. Reader, it was not. My husband's halloumi fries disappeared at a similarly alarming rate.
My main course was the pan-fried duck breast with soy and honey glaze, carrot and ginger purée, pak choi and a vegetable spring roll. Duck is one of those ingredients that punishes hesitation. A minute too long in the pan and it develops all the charm and texture of an old hiking boot. Here it arrived exactly where it should. Beautifully pink, tender and deeply savoury beneath its glossy glaze. Those who prefer duck cooked through may disagree, but I thought it was spot on.
The sweetness of the carrot purée worked wonderfully against the richness of the meat, while the ginger provided some welcome heat. The spring roll perhaps was not entirely necessary, though my husband pointed out that this criticism may have more to do with my stature than the chef's judgement. At just over five feet tall, I am not always the ideal judge of portion sizes.
Across the table sat a sage and chorizo stuffed pork fillet wrapped in pancetta with mashed potato, greens and a creamy sage and chorizo sauce. Conversation stopped. Experienced married people will understand this phenomenon. The sudden silence that descends when somebody is thoroughly enjoying their dinner is often the highest compliment available. When my husband eventually resurfaced, it was largely to discuss how good the sauce was and how tender the pork had been. I have to admit, I was slightly jealous. It did look exceptionally good and he was in no mood to share.
The boys were equally content, which in restaurant terms - when you're a tired parent - is roughly equivalent to receiving a Michelin star and a standing ovation simultaneously. The fish in the children's fish and chips was beautifully cooked and superior to many adult versions encountered elsewhere. Meanwhile, our eldest demolished a full-sized pepperoni pizza from the wood-fired oven and declared it excellent. His standards, it should be noted, are considerably higher than those of most professional critics. He has no hesitation whatsoever in delivering brutally honest feedback and possesses none of the social conditioning that prevents adults from doing the same.
By dessert, restraint had abandoned the table entirely. I ordered The George Gourmand, a selection of miniature desserts served alongside a glass of fizz. It is essentially a dessert designed for people incapable of making decisions and that is by no means intended as a criticism. The strawberry panna cotta was silky and fresh. The piña colada pavlova with coconut ice cream and caramelised pineapple tasted unapologetically of summer despite the weather outside continuing its impression of late October. The mango sorbet provided a welcome burst of sharpness among all the sweetness. Meanwhile, a dark chocolate cheesecake disappeared from the opposite side of the table with remarkable efficiency.
What impressed me most about The George was not any individual dish, though there were plenty of strong contenders. It was the atmosphere. The sense that this is a pub entirely comfortable in its own skin. It is not chasing trends. It is not asking you to eat your dinner with tweezers. It is not turning steak and ale pies into performance art. Instead, it focuses on the things pubs have always done best: generous hospitality, satisfying food, comfortable surroundings and providing somewhere people want to spend their hard-earned time and money.
As we drove home through a bustling Hathersage, passing walkers, diners and people heading out for the evening, the weather seemed less important than it had a few hours earlier. The fire was still burning, the dining room was still full and nobody appeared to be in any particular hurry to leave. That, perhaps, is the real measure of a good pub. Not awards, not reviews and certainly not social media followers. Simply a room full of people who would rather stay for one more drink or a plate of delicious, freshly cooked food than head home. On a cold June evening in Hathersage, The George seemed to have mastered it effortlessly.
