FOOD & DRINK: Jeffersons taking off


DARREN WORROW breaks out the ticks of approval for his review of Jeffersons restaurant in Devizes…

ONCE you’ve hewn your way through all the overpriced coffee shops in Devizes town centre hunting some decent tucker you should locate the infamous clearing that is Monday Market Street.

Hidden around the side of Sainsbury’s it already hosts the finest, freshest chippy in town, Lees. Now it has a lovely little tea room too but the news sweeping our town is Jeffersons, a small café with a friendly atmosphere, sizable quality homemade grub and a price that won’t rip the sides of your budget.

The wife and I took heed of the hearsay and went forth to stuff our faces this fine spring lunchtime; we were both impressed. The rumours were befitting; I felt at home as soon as I meandered in, hospitality ticked off. Simple but effective décor, sauce bottles on the chequered tablecloths expresses the place is pragmatic and cordial; just the sort of thing Devizes needs right now.

I selected the breakfast as anytime of the day is breakfast; you never know if I’m awake, asleep or just resting my eyes these days. The only thing I don’t eat on a cooked breakie is eggs, so once I have informed them of this I judge my breakfast initially on their response to proposing eggs are exchanged for bacon or sausage.

On this occasion I need not make such a request, the idea is put forward by them; Jeffersons just got their second tick. The breakfast was ample with every component you could dream of cooked perfect and was scrumptious. It came compete with toast on the side and the teapot was filled on request.

Free drinks came with all the meals; tick three. The better half went for the burger. There was a choice of chicken, pork and apple or beef. Plated like it was lodged against the Empire State Building, it was completed with homemade onion rings, a side salad and chips that looked like chips and not the raw chisel-sticks you find served in many-a-place.

I peered at it with envious eyes, hoping she wouldn’t finish it all. Although this never came to pass, no worries, I had my fill and a bit more.

People served quickly, efficiently with a joke and smile, leaves contented. The menu was modest with a special of pork chops. I had a gander at other dinners passing by; no delicate shaving of pork with a sprig of broccoli and watery jus here, this is just like your mum made. The jacket potatoes were just visible over the flakes of cheese covering them. The odours are enough alone to award my fourth tick.

This, though, is not its winning point; when it comes to pay is. The typical meal sets you back six quid, bargain without the free drink; Jeffersons takes a wild shot, it’s flown over the defenders and crashed through the back of the net; five outta five ticks!



Monday Market Street
01380 698060


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I was born in the Fling Dynasty of a small planet known as Duncan in a galaxy far, far away. My humble parents, believing the planet was on the eve of destruction, sent me off as a baby in an egg-shaped craft and I landed here on planet Earth in the spring of 1973. I was later to discover through a cavern of ice, as you do, that the planet was fine all the time and it was just a particularly nasty prank by my father’s mates down the pub. I landed in a deep jungle and was raised by a company of wolves, learning to live as they did. Until one day when a naughty tiger with a very English accent came along and I was whisked away by a black panther and a jazz singing bear to a man-village. It wasn’t the tiger I was worried about; it was the American cartoon producer following on behind him. It was at the village that I won a golden ticket to visit a chocolate factory where I fell into a river made of chocolate and was sucked up a pipe into a fudge room; happy days. It could have been worse; I heard some other kid turned into an exploding blueberry. I lived at a coastal Inn for a while until an old sailor paid me a penny to look out for a legless seadog. In finding him I discovered a treasure map and was promptly whisked away by a sailor to a Caribbean island where I got into a bit of a rumble with some pirate radio DJ called Captain Tony Blackbeard. It was that or another holiday in Clacton. At eleven I was taken away by a man with an uncanny resemblance to actor and comedian Robbie Coltrane to a school for wizards where I had to battle it out with some bald blue bloke who killed my parents, said he was a lawyer working for an author called JK Rolling or something. That wasn’t as bad as the frog flavoured semolina we had to eat for school dinner. As I grew up and went to college I decided to give my favourite toys, a cowboy and a space ranger, away to a snotty girl from around the corner, nobody told me the cowboy was really Tom Hanks otherwise I would have given them away a lot sooner. So, other than the time I was bitten by a rare spider and found myself with special arachnid powers which I used to defeat an evil leprechaun, I left college and it was all very uneventful. Nowadays I have settled down to a family life and enjoy writing books, striving to be more like Bruce Bogtrotter every day. People say “where do you get your ideas from?” I tell them I have no idea, I've had such a boring, everyday life.



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