More than a few times this summer, while comparing notes with other local pub enthusiasts, I’ve been told that the best place in the Valley to while away a few hours with a beer and a sandwich is the Lady Killigrew in Montague. Late on a sunny but crisp October afternoon, I jumped in the car with my family and headed north to give the cafe a try and evaluate these lofty claims for myself.
Located in the old mill that is also home to the Bookmill, the Night Kitchen Restaurant, Turn It Up! and Louise Minks’ art studio, the Lady Killigrew is perched at the end of the building closest to the waterfalls. The best seats inside are by the giant windows positioned above the cascades and mossy rocks, but there are tables outside, too, giving the entire mill the feel of a beer garden.
Indeed, before settling down to eat, we explored the mill, and everywhere we went, the Lady Killigrew’s commitment to good taste and creature comfort spilled over into the neighboring establishments. In the Bookmill, there was a cup of fragrant tea perched on the arm of an overstuffed chair next to a pile of art books. Someone was sipping from a pint glass in the literature section. Outside the record store, two customers compared purchases, each cradling a bottle of beer.
When we first arrived and saw the parking lot full, we nearly lost heart. Some kind of wedding-related festivity was going on, and cars were packed in the overflow lot and all along the road. Just as my wife and I began discussing alternative, less congested destinations, a spot opened up down the road across from the cemetery, and once we’d parked, we made our way toward the cheerful hubbub. Again, as we crossed the wooden bridge leading to the bookstore’s second floor, we were given pause: a line of people ran out the door to the Lady Killigrew down below, making us dubious that we’d ever get a seat.
As we browsed the bookshelves next door, though, it became clear that the wedding party was being held at the Night Kitchen, and a throng of people at the Lady Killigrew’s door was pretty much a constant state. Given that the cafe is the libation epicenter for the entire mill complex, however, much of the traffic at the door comprises people seeking refills to be consumed elsewhere, and the smart, attentive staff behind the counter keep things moving along at a brisk but friendly pace.
Drinks and meals are ordered right inside the front door in a cozy room with a low ceiling that doubles as bar and kitchen, and once you’ve paid or set up a tab, you can take your beverage to a seat—inside or out—and wait for your food.
The menu is straightforward, featuring a delectable array of grilled sandwiches and other comfort foods. I decided on the sandwich with honey ham, cheddar, whole-grain mustard and marinated apple. My wife chose the peanut-ginger udon noodles, and our son got the bread and cheese board, along with slices of apple and kielbasa (only because I didn’t point out to him that a grilled Nutella and peanut butter sandwich was also an option). All were made with fresh, locally raised ingredients and locally baked bread, and everything was delicious.
The drink options are as lavish as the food menu is well honed. There were far more teas than you could shake a spoon at, as well as an assortment of wines by the glass. I lost count of the variety of beers available in bottles and cans. My son sipped happily at his own bottle of root beer, while my wife and I were delighted to find Smuttynose’s IPA on tap.
As I was ordering my second pint, I noticed Nathan Hobbs standing behind me in line. Hobbs is general manager of the Dirty Truth, my favorite local bar in Northampton.
“Fancy meeting you here,” I said, and again he delivered the accolade I’d heard throughout the summer.
“This place is the best,” he declared. At first, coming from him, this seemed almost treasonous, but upon quick reflection, I realized he was right. In a Valley as splendidly endowed with dining and imbibing options as ours, there’s more than enough room for multiple bests, and the Lady Killigrew is certainly high among them.
