Morecambe Bay, Potted Shrimps and Coniston

Thursday, March 13, 2025

Gwawr waved us goodbye this morning with a couple of warm Welsh honey buns – yeasted buns filled with butter and brown sugar. Yes, you read that correctly. Almost like an inside-out doughnut. Naturally, I immediately googled recipes, but found only recipes for Welsh honey cake that were either like muffins, cupcakes, or cooked in a loaf tin. More investigation is required.

Anyways, Wales has been fantastic. The scenery has blown us both away, and we’ve achieved our aim of visiting everywhere Mum named a corgi after. That’s eight ticks in the box for (in no special order, and using their shortened names), Taffy, Trima, Beau, Tenby, Maddy, Tywyn, Tufton and Morgan.

Even though it shouldn’t have, one of the things that surprised me about Wales was just how many people spoke Welsh as a first language. Wales might be part of the UK, but its separateness is palpable and that, I suspect, is only partly due to language. It’s also the landscape, the history, the stories, the myths and legends. It’s a very special place that feels more magical, more Celtic, with more in common, perhaps, with Ireland and Scotland than England. Even as I write these words, I’m aware that I’m simplifying what is a very complex issue, but I can’t think of any other way to describe how it feels here, so please don’t write and tell me so.

In any case, when you’re here, it’s easy to believe that dragons could exist and that King Arthur and Merlin were, indeed, Welsh.

Today, though, we’re off to the Lakes district, with our first stop in Morecambe to catch up with the Lancaster-based parents of some friends from Sydney.

The last time we were in Morecambe was almost thirty years ago. We’d spent the previous few weeks on a bus tour in Europe and had picked Grant’s mother, Donna, up from where she was staying in Gloucester with relatives of his father. Now we were heading north into Scotland to see some of Donna’s friends and relatives. Morecambe was our first night on the road. I don’t remember a lot about it – other than how tidal it was and how nothing was open. It had a rundown feeling about it.

My journal entry from October 12, 1995 reads:

Nice clean B&B at Ashley Private Hotel on The Promenade £16.20 per person. Grant and I went for a walk for two hours to get some exercise after being cooped up in the car all day. Walked around all the piers, over the rocky beaches, etc. The tide was out so far that there were tractors in the middle of the sea. Grant says the wind is energising, I’d call it cold. Started looking for somewhere to have dinner at about 7 pm, but everywhere in town seems to be closed for the season. We drove through town, through the village of Heysham, and just when we thought we’d be eating at a Little Chef on the highway, finally found a pub at Bolton-Le-Sands that was still serving at 8.45 pm. We all had Shrewsbury lamb at £4.75 each – diced lamb cooked in red wine with cranberry sauce, tarragon and herbs.

Last time we were here we’d wanted to try potted shrimp, but having arrived late and out of season, that was impossible. This time, Edmondson’s was our first stop. These guys, located in Yorkshire Street, are famous for their potted shrimp. The shrimp are caught daily in the bay and cooked on board before being brought back to the shop where staff then pick them all one by one before cooking again in creamy butter, salt and ‘secret’ spices (one of which, I think, is mace). Finally, they are then put into pots to create the famous Morecambe Bay Potted Shrimps. 

We bought a pot each (£4.50 a pot), and when we said we were eating them immediately, they warmed them up for us. We ate them at the seafront with a north-easterly blowing that felt as though it was coming straight off the Arctic. Given that we can see across the bay to the fells of the Lakes, we know that can’t be the case. It feels like it, though. The shrimp, however, are fabulous and we wish we had some toast to really enjoy them the way they’re meant to be enjoyed.

While we can’t get them at home, if we could, I’d make this recipe. Appearing in Rick Stein’s Food Stories, it’s inspired by his most recent visit to Edmondson’s.

Back in the car we went in search of somewhere to have lunch, although everything seemed either closed, rundown, or both. We ended up at The Royal at Bolton-Le-Sands. What a fantastic pub! (After reading my journal from that first trip I now wonder whether we accidentally stopped at the same pub we did all those years ago).

Grant had fish and chips (supposedly a small serving), and I had a cheese and beer-braised onion pot pie, which was pretty much melted cheese and onions. It was very good, but so incredibly rich that I managed to eat less than half of the pie and just a few of the chips.

Back into Morecambe, we caught up with our friend’s parents for a coffee before hitting the road for our short drive through to Coniston via Windermere and Ambleside.

Our cottage is in a group of three and very cute indeed. Apparently this was all part of the estate Beatrix Potter once owned. The Old Man of Coniston is the fell that’s rising high behind it.

It’s also a short walk into town, where we have a wander, buy a few provisions and a pint. Coniston is a ramblers town so has enough pubs to satisfy walkers at the end of a day spent walking up fells.

We chose the Crown Inn for our dinner tonight.

I had Lancashire Hot Pot with veg and Grant had a beef and bacon burger.

The recipe

The recipe I’m making from this leg of the trip is the Herdwick Mutton Hotpot in Rick Stein’s Food Stories. You’ll find a similar recipe here.

The stats…

Temperature: 1-6

Miles travelled: about 185 miles*

*Even though we work in kms in Australia, all signage in the UK is in miles, so that’s what I’m going with.

These posts are taken directly from my travel journal … you can find the series here.