Sometimes I get a kind of spidey sense, a tingling in the fingertips that suggests there might be something truly special in store. And the tingling is off the scale with this one. Hjem, I think as it crosses my radar, I’m coming for you.
So here we are in the middle of ravishing countryside, breathing great gulps of sweet, clean, woodsmoke-fragranced air somewhere on the hikers’ trail near Hadrian’s Wall. (The building that houses Hjem — neatly, both Scandinavian and Northumbrian dialect for home — is the Hadrian Hotel and its village location is called, with admirable lack of whimsy, Wall.) Our destination looks exactly like the thing it still is — a pub stop on that trail, a pause for beer, sausage rolls
