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Yr Wylan Restaurant
61, High St, Porthmadog, Gwynedd LL49 9LR
Tel: 01766 513188
SON was at a rare loose end and the weather was fabulous, so we meandered into the mountains via my favourite driving lesson route, through Nant Ffrancon, round the back of the Snowdon massif and down Llanberis Pass - what my instructor used to call a "white knuckle ride".
Sun stars swarmed over the waters of Llanberis Lake, breaking the surface, while helicopters, police, the world, his wife and his kids swarmed through the village, watching hordes of super-fit folk in shorts and singlets staggering off Snowdon after they'd mind- bogglingly raced to the summit.
After a brief stop for coffee at Pete's, we were on to the next leg of our trip. We climbed the Pass, drove through glorious Nant Gwynant into Beddgelert and eventually reached Porthmadog via Maentwrog and Penrhyndeudraeth.
Hungry as lions, and thirsty as camels after a month in the desert, it dawned on us then we had no Plan B if Y Wylan was stuffed to the rafters with holidaymakers, as it is so often. Luckily, it was only modestly busy, but starving travellers can't bank on that.
Although we last ate there quite a while back, it doesn't seem to have changed much. In truth, it's rather an old- fashioned place, quite lacking in modern fripperies and with few aspirations beyond serving very good nosh at decent prices.
The menu is pretty traditional - fish, roasts, salads, pies and vegetarian options - and, although varied with daily specials, manageable, so that orders can in the main be freshly cooked.
Nudged by memories of earlier visits, son ordered a thick, luscious strawberry milk shake. I asked for a very strong brew and remarkably, because so many places have completely forgotten how to make proper tea, that's what I got.
For starters, son had garlic mushrooms (as usual) and I had chicken liver pate, each in such generous portions that elsewhere they could have passed for mains.
He was sure the mushrooms were fresh, and the sauce, he said, was the best he'd ever tasted. Warm bread, butter and salad completed the dish. I had two slices of crisp toast, two huge slabs of extremely flavoursome pate and my own big salad.
Next up, son struck out of his comfort zone with steak and mushroom pie. "Why?" I asked. "You don't generally like meat pies." He shrugged, grinned, then gazed awestruck at what arrived: a plate-obliterating wedge of the lightest pastry crammed with tender meat in rich gravy. Plus vegetables.
My battered cod with chips also threatened to decamp the plate. I was ever so slightly disappointed with the batter, somewhat over-cooked as it was, but the fish itself was fresh, moist and flaky. Son's pie was judged top-notch and worth the journey all by itself.
We should have left it there, really, given our guts a rest. But we had a long hike back and, thinking ahead, the car could break down or some other misfortune overtake us.
So we had pudding - big slices of rich, gooey, scrumptious chocolate fudge cake, mine with fresh cream, son's with ice cream. We managed coffee, too.
The sun was still hot when we set off home, with just the odd cloud fluffing up in the west. In the mountains to the east though, of which the Porthmadog-Bangor road offers a fantastic panoramic view, evil- looking stuff was churning itself into a frenzy as we watched. It's barely stopped raining since.
