Picture it. A recently revamped gastro-pub in North Yorkshire on a dull November day. The spacious modern interior suggests good things to come: the wood is blond, the textures natural, the paintwork ever so Farrow & Ball. On the walls hang simply framed but exquisitely composed photographs reflecting the provenance of ingredients from local suppliers. Logs burn in a chic little stove.

All the signals are good. The menu looks interesting, as do dishes being ferried to adjacent tables. The young staff are skilled and friendly.

"Have one of our new magazines," one offers. "They've just arrived. We've got 84 boxes of them." She passes each of us a 64pp + cover magazine. I am all but crushed by the weight. A huge Rolex studded with diamonds glitters on the back page. Sumptuous photography and celebrity food porn slither across the double-page spreads.

It's an impressive contract publishing job. I can't fault the production standards (or the proofreading).Clearly, pretty much every supplier has been persuaded of the value of an advertisement. It's all very flash - and seriously out of step with the quiet confidence of the place where I'm actually about to eat lunch.

OK, so I know the pub is part of a prospering hospitality group, but does it have to make its promotion so horribly slick? And please, spare me the loyalty card.


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