Star rating: **** A lump in your throat is not necessarily a good thing when you are reviewing a restaurant. It tends to represent a bolus of some sort or other which refuses to be masticated.

For Michelin wannabes in the kitchen, it’s not good news. As for the subsequent choking and blue-light run to A&E, that’s more than likely to shave at least two stars off the experience.

But this was a lump of a different kind. An emotional lump.

The Malthouse has been one of my favourite haunts since I moved to Shropshire in 1998. I’ve grown up with the mustard-yellow exterior, the inability to park outside, the incredibly loud live music in the bar and the solace of the restaurant.

As I’ve changed, it’s changed with me. The menu has become more refined, the wine list more extensive. And I wasn’t the only one to notice that it was becoming a mecca for diners all over the region. For the Malthouse was almost single-handedly responsible for Shropshire’s gastro explosion. It started, others followed. But therein lies its downfall, and why now the owner, Alex Nicoll, has gone and put it up for sale.

Instead of having the monopoly, Alex and co have seen their backs go further and further against the wall. It goes some way to proving what my dad said throughout my formative years: “Life just isn’t fair”.

But that doesn’t mean you should miss out. The Malthouse is still very much open and still at the top of its game. Whoever takes it over will inherit a significant county brand. A brand which has stood as much for longevity as it has loyalty; two words which pretty much represent its clientele too.

That said, my wife and I could have picked a better night to pay our respects. For once we managed to find a parking space in the bay outside, but we were still soaked to the skin after making the relatively short walk from car to door. A walk which we ran at full tilt.

We stood a little bemused in the lobby as we compared our saturation; my white shirt looking like Clingfilm and Tracey’s shoes squelching their way over to our table. At least we were able to watch the light show as we sat in our favourite bay window.

The storm was spectacular and the lightning outside matched the service inside. Within seconds we were armed with drinks, menus and pillow-soft bread.

Although the “For Sale” board could easily affect staff, it truly doesn’t show. There was a professional joviality around the restaurant – packed to the rafters with happy-go-lucky diners – which added a nostalgic, end-of-term feel to the whole occasion.

Most of these diners had phoned Alex once the news of the crisis had filtered through, not only offering their best wishes but booking in their droves. And there’s nothing better than a busy kitchen if you want to sample the best it has on offer.

More sweet than savoury, Tracey kicked off with the soup du jour; a punchy little roasted veg and sweet chilli number which prompted the occasional eye-water, although I couldn’t be 100 per cent sure whether this was a similar outpouring of emotion as my throat lump.

I, being more savoury than sweet, devoured the confit duck leg. Indeed, if duck tastes this good all the time, I might start hanging around the local pond (who hasn’t got one after two month’s of rain!) looking for legs to nibble on.

The depth and richness of the slow-cooked duck was lifted heavenward by the orange and balsamic salad, while the handful of rocket leaves added a peppery dimension.

Pan-fried chicken breast followed for Tracey, pumped with goat’s cheese and basil (the chicken, not Tracey). A delicious combination, despite being somewhat unusual. I never mix my meat and cheese, in the same way I don’t mix tequila and vodka, but I may soon take the plunge.

My main course continued the slow-cooking theme: a roast chump of lamb paddling in a velvety red wine gravy. Each mouthful was like opening a birthday present; the ooohs and aaahs filling the gaps between the thunder. Although the lemon and thyme dauphinoise potatoes were more thyme than lemon, they helped provide a perfect stage for the lamb to grab the limelight.

Having force-fed Tracey some of my lamb just to show her how good it was, her sweet tooth was off-radar. Instead of tucking into the creme brulee or the passion fruit cheesecake she settled for Joe Delucci raspberry ice cream – the perfect palate pick-me-up.

The Malthouse excelled, as it always has done. And while no-one knows when the new owners will step in, make the most of it in the meantime.

ADDRESS
The Malthouse, The Wharfage, Ironbridge.
Tel: 01952 433712.

MENU SAMPLE
Starters
King prawns in hot garlic butter, with crusty bread (£6.95); Coarse pork country terrine with onion jam (£5.75); Baked field mushrooms with creamy mustard leeks and Parmesan (£5.50)

Main courses
Chargrilled tuna with a warm potato, green bean, olive and tomato salad (£13.95); Sun-blushed tomato, ricotta and mascarpone lasagne with garlic bread (£10.95); Goat’s cheese and pear tart with dressed salad leaves and sweet chilli syrup (£11.95)

Desserts
Vanilla creme brulee and homemade shortbread (£4.50);Dark chocolate torte with chocolate ice cream and toffee pecan sauce (£4.50)

Service
Quick, efficient and charming

Atmosphere
Bubbling

Disabled facilities
Good disabled access to the Malthouse bar but small steps down to restaurant

By Nathan Rous