The Night Riviera to Cornwall

As the Night Riviera pulled out of Paddington our weekend began with a hiss of kissing steel and a clunk of clacking couplings. Our berths were like Japanese boutique hotel rooms – except on a train. They would have been futuristic once – but there’s something even more charming about the way they hark back to another era of long distance train travel. To a life more civilised. 

Our suite had two bunks, a sink, a dinky ladder, air conditioning and wonderfully static sheets that flickered and glowed when you shuffled around in the dark like the Northern Lights. After some free tea and shortbread in the dining cart we turned in for the night and awoke to a bacon sandwich and a cup of tea at Truro at 6.45am.

We had left the gloom and bustle of London behind us and alighted at piratey Penzance, squinting, as we were stunned by the azure brilliance of the iridescent Atlantic. Our 4 mile cycle to Mousehole, through the fishing port of Newlyn followed the coast and filled our lungs with sushi fresh air and our ears with the rhythmic cacophony of seagulls and trawlers. We felt a million miles from Paddington and felt like bottling the air and sounds in one of his marmalade jars.

By 8.15 we had been welcomed into the Old Coastguard as if they had just realised we were The Ancient Mariner and ushered our alarmingly Lycra clad bodies into the breakfast room where we feasted on locally smoked kippers, home made yoghurt and Cornish tea. I am sure being able to see the sea makes a kipper taste even better.

With the sun beaming down we set out on a 60 mile cycling loop that tracked west through Lamorna to Lands End before heading onto St. Just and then through the majestic moorlands either side of Zennor. It was like cycling through a Rapha photoshoot – except with more sweat and a much less successful posing. We watched as seagulls remorselessly followed a tractor as it ploughed a field that dropped off into the Atlantic. We waited as a cocky cockerel stopped the traffic as he ambled across the “main” road. We nodded at fellow cyclist. And they nodded back.

We paused at the Gurnard’s Head for a gawp at their lunch menu – and I am still torn between the roast turbot with truffles and the blade of beef with wild mushrooms. But it would have been a bit indulgent considering I’d just had a big breakfast, and that it was only 11am!

At St. Ives we stopped for a pasty and a cup of tea before escaping the tourists and heading through the delightful backroads around St. Erth where we climbed over the central hills where we were confronted by St. Michael’s Mount erupting out of the shimmering bay.  We continued along the coast and back to Mousehole and felt any sense of stress from London flutter away. It’s a spectacular coastline and a privilege to be able to cycling along it.

Dinner at the Old Coastguard was just as good as we’d hoped. Given that it is the latest addition to the East Sleep Drink family whose siblings are the Gurnard’s Head and Felin Fach Griffin – we had high hopes. You won’t find many better views than here to accompany a pre-dinner drink and a game of Scrabble. I’m gushing – but it really was magical.

Cowie’s pork belly starter was sticky, soft and unctuously coated with an oriental marinade. And my crab rarebit was gutsy and craby without being prissy. These weren’t mind-blowingly-original dishes, but they were refreshingly un-twee and intelligently crafted. And given how far we were from London they felt spot on.

For fear of food envy we, unusually, both chose their fish stew. It came laced with (possibly Cornish) saffron and a tangy aioli and swimming with ling, cod, squid and mussels – all bound together in a richly seasoned tomato bisque and spiked with fennel. We sent our bowls back so clean that they could probably have been able to bypass the washing up machine.

Cowie’s cheesecake was good without being thrilling – with the indecently juicy figs stealing the show. But my pistachio and yoghurt cake wouldn’t have been out of place at Moro. It’s the kind of pudding that makes you wish you had hollow legs.

We eventually carried our weary limbs to bed for a sleep that seemed to last forever – before returning for a repeat of the previous day’s breakfast – but with less Lyrca! My full Cornish was wonderfully well judged with the star being a nugget of Hog’s Pudding that left you in no doubt that the pig had enjoyed a good life.

We took the cycling a bit easier on the second day with a 40 mile loop – and instead took in the delights of the Logan’s Rock Inn which is famous for its crab sandwiches and also marveled at the waves crashing against Cape Cornwall. If the sun had been out we’d have visited the Menack Theatre, Porthcorno and Senna Cove – but unfortunately we were battling against near gale force winds. Even in these conditions the cycle was spectacular.

We retuned to The Old Coastguard for Cornish scones and lashings of tea as we slumbered on the world’s most comfortable sofa. Eventually it was time to go and we reluctantly bade farewell and paid our very modest bill. They’d looked after us superbly and I can’t recommend The Old Coastguard highly enough. My only suggestion for improvement would be to have a cycle rack. In fact, it could easily become a base for people cycling around Cornwall. All they’d need to do would be to provide some waterproof maps, some suggested routes (with stop offs at the Gurnard’s Head) and maybe team up with a local bike mechanic to offer some basic tools and services.

We meandered back to Penzance to board our sleeper with some provisions from Co-op – to help make the first part of the journey pass by quicker. After a ½ bottle of train wine we were feeling suitably snoozy to sleep through anything that the train tracks could throw at us. We turned into our bunks and awoke in Paddington station at 6.15am with a bacon sandwich and a cup of tea and were allowed to doze on the train until 7am. Given that the train arrived at 5am there’s something quite surreal about being asleep on a stationary train in a major station.

It is without question my favourite weekend break that we’ve been on. The fact that you get three nights away and two full days in Cornwall makes it fell like a holiday rather than just a weekend. And the experience of the sleeper service is so civilised you’ll feel like you were in a Bond film. Add the relaxed and civilised delights of The Old Coastguard into the mix and some epic weather and it gets even better. We’re now sleeper train nerds and are looking forward to an adventure to the Lakes or maybe even all the way up to the nether regions of Scotland.

The Hardwick, Wales

Cowie and I always try to steal a fleeting weekend for ourselves before Christmas as a way of fluffing ourselves into the festive spirit and as something to look forward to during the manic rush of London life in December. It’s a time of false deadlines, mounting workloads and indulgent parties that cries out for a healthy dose of rural relaxation.

This year we decided to follow up on the success of trips to Y Polyn and the Felin Fach Griffin in Wales and this time head to The Hardwick near Abergavenny. It gets a great write up in Diana Henry’s Gastropub Cookbook so we could barely resist.

Cowie booked us into a phenomenal BnB which is on the Glanusk Estate which is one of the corners of the world that when you discover it you want to simultaneously tell everyone all about it, but also put people off visiting because you want to hoard the experience for yourself.

Ty’r Chanter looks across at the Brecon Beacons and up at the Black Mountains, with the River Usk roaring past in the valley below so loudly that you could easily convince someone living in Reading that it was the M4. But, whilst the motorway may be spirit sapping, this is the sort of multi sensory experience that lifts the soul. The view below, of the snow capped mountains, is from our bedroom window. And if this isn’t amazing enough, we saw a kite swoop to pluck a pheasant from the field for supper. If you are planning to stay somewhere in this part of the country, you'd be mad not to stay here.



Inspired by the view and with a major meal ahead of us, we decided to head out for a run. There’s nothing like a thirteen mile yomp through the Black Mountains past fields full of sheep and along the river Usk’s salmon rich banks, teeming with waterfalls to build up an appetite. It’s like doing a spinning class in the Ginger Pig in order to stimulate your yearning for a juicy steak, or doing some pilates in the Fromagerie to put you in the zone for a cheeseathon.











So we arrived at The Hardwick with enormous appetites and even bigger expectations. And left with the former negated and the latter more than exceeded. For this is a seriously impressive restaurant.

After spending so much time next to the Usk and having seen so many pictures in our BnB of people proudly holding enormous fish, it would have been criminal for one of us to have their locally smoked salmon and confit salmon to start. Cowie adored it. Iridescent slices of salmon were served with beetroot crisps, a mild horseradish cream and pea shoots that matched with our Gruner Veltliner/Pinot Blanc to perfection. Whilst the confit spoke for itself with a demure confidence, its smoked sibling showed off like a diva glamming up for a performance. Bold and sexy it lingered in the mouth and teased us with whisperings about what was to come next.

My salt cod belly with creamy beans and chorizo was another hit. Everything about the dish screamed try me and I couldn’t resist. The beans were soft by full of integrity, whilst the mild chorizo added a salty stockiness to the sauce. But the star was the slippery morsel of flaky white cod that sat on top that has to rank as one of my favourite tastes this year. It was rustic to look and somewhat out of place on a menu in hilly Wales, but it worked brilliantly and helped to lift the menu to a new level without being pretentiously chefy.

We toyed with the idea of sharing Dear for Two and the Taste of Local Beef for Two, but having seen so many deliciously fluffy sheep on our run, it seemed only right for us to share their iconic Baa Baa Blacksheep sharing dish. It arrived with a satisfying thud on our table and a grin from our waitress – as if to say we’d made a good choice. It was a tour de force in how to cook lamb which demonstrated amazing skill that showcased the different aspects that make this meat so special.

The highlights were the surprisingly juicy merguez sausage; the unctuous neck; the light as a balloon faggots; the decadent shepherd’s pie; and the pressed leg that came like a sheepy schnitzel. The only element that could have been better was the loin that could have done with less time over the coals. But we’re just being picky. It’s hard enough to cook lamb well one way. Let alone creating a postmodern bricolage that showcases the multifaceted essence of this magnificently local sheep.

We finished with a jar of crackly lemon pudding with curds and meringue and were impressed to see the chef walk the room after his stint at the stove. This final touch may seem frivolous. But when you make an effort to try a chef’s cooking, it makes a big difference psychologically when they are actually in the restaurant. Thinking back to other memorable meals, it certainly made our meal more special when we spoke to Heston Blumnthal at the Fat Duck and also when we were given a quick tour of El Bulli’s kitchen’s by Feran Adria. It’s not that we have got a chef fetish, but seeing Stephen Terry did help to round off a memorable meal.

We are going to return in the spring to learn to fish on the Usk, cycle up and down the Black Mountains and most importantly to eat more of The Hardwick's soulful food.

Gravetye Manor, Revisited

The last time I visited Gravetye Manor, in the serene Sussex countryside, was nineteen years ago for my father’s 40th birthday party. My memories are as fuzzy as a well worn jumper, but my overall recollection is of old world charm and friendly sophistication. I remember trying to be patient during what seemed like a very long and grown up lunch and then being set loose in the garden where I was allowed to run around and hide in the flower beds whilst my parents and grandparents talked about the finer points of William Robinson’s gardening aesthetic.

It was a defining moment for me – as I have a very soft spot for country estates with ideas baked into them and good food. But it was more importantly a seminal experience for my parents. They clicked with Robinson’s English Natural Gardening style and Arts and Crafts period design which have inspired a fair bit of Mum and Dad’s garden at home.



So when Gravetye invited Cowie and I for lunch I said a nostalgic yes and enjoyed our brief tour of the garden which reconnected me with my previous experience. The garden and house tie together seamlessly with views from inside over ethereal and natural planting schemes. We loved the informal and relaxed way the plants wispily jostled with each other for position – as if telling the gardener where they should be rather than vice versa. And whereas many country house gardens pretentiously follow French and Italian formal garden design, Gravetye takes a more natural approach which pervades the whole experience.



The dining room is serene and civilised, with a gentle hum of old school conversations bumbling about rugby, art and travel. I suspect the same themes have been talked about in this room for generations and will continue to be repeated forever. The food is true to its setting, but also exhibits a modern flourish with supremely fresh and local ingredients – with some coming from the estate itself and the surrounding area.



I stated with a small tranche of pristine turbot that had been laid on top of some Dorset crab and then doused in a rich shellfish bisque. It’s not often you get a chance to commence a meal such a fine fish, but when you see it on the menu as a starter it seems rude not to indulge. The waiter sealed the deal as he explained that the fish wasn’t farmed like many turbot are these days, but instead was a stunning specimen that the whole kitchen were enthralled by. Needless to say, it was pretty special.



Cowie’s quail salad was a work of meaty and eggy art. Warm, rare, quail lay strewn amongst runny little eggs, beetroot salad leaves , baby leeks and a sauce gribiche. When you cook like this there isn’t any room to hide. But it had everything that Cowie seeks in a starter and it managed to keep her away from trying to steal too much of mine!



My veal fillet with a cep from the local woods and some horseradish cream was very special. I’m not an enormous fan of foams with main courses, but when the veal is cooked this well you could serve it with a bag of cement and I’d be happy. But the real highlight was a solitary cep which had been sliced in half and then roasted to bring out it deep fungal flavour.



Cowie’s sea bass came with a slick of mushroom sauce, a scattering of cute little girolles and some bacon wrapped fingers of oystery salsify. It brought back memories of Sweden – where we first encountered salsify at Kok & Vin – and worked brilliantly with the meaty sea bass. The combination of deep, brown flavours was quintessentially autumnal.



After such a savoury main course, I was drawn to the dessert menu like a mosquito to a juicy limb. My fig custard tart with gingerbread ice cream was one of the best puddings I’ve had in a long time. I even liked the marshmallows which I normally hate. Whereas some figgy puddings are cock teases with a sensual and seedy allure but no action, this little minx should have it’s own store on Brewer Street. The deep, sultry flavour of the fig kept you coming back for more.



Cowie’s plate of banana desserts was spectacular too if a little OTT. Of the cake, cannelloni, tuile, popcorn and cream, it was the cylinder that was the most exciting experience. I was hoping that there might be a Bananaman badge in the bottom of the cake, tucked away like a ha'penny in a Christmas pudding.

Many country house hotels leave you feeling like an extra from Poirot and have trouble keeping up with menu trends. But not Gravetye. Without being aloof, stuffy or cringingly modish, it manages to offer a warm, convivial and special experience. You get the impression that it has a very loyal following of people who regard it as their unofficial club. It would make an ideal place for a celebratory weekend, a stop over before a honeymoon or simply as a great place to revel in an important birthday – just like my family did 20 years ago. Apparently 80% of the people who visit Gravetye come back again some point in the future. And I am sure we will too one day.

Many thanks indeed to Gravetye and Quintessentially for inviting us both for lunch – it was a very special afternoon and I wouldn’t have written about it, had it not lived up to the memories of my first experience there as a nipper. Find out more details about their rooms, rates and special menus by visiting the Gravetye Manor Wesbite.

Triathlon Training at The Greyhound, Stockbridge, Hampshire

Food tastes so much more vivid when you feel like you deserve it. We discovered this on our epic cycle trips for lunch which took us to Wild Garlic in Dorset, Bills in Lewes, The Horse Guards Inn in Sussex, The Hole in the Wall in Cambridgeshire and the awful Albany in Thames Ditton. It was a great way of making Cowie’s triathlon training fun for both of us. Circumstances have changed since then, with Cowie’s bike being pinched and now it’s me that’s in training whilst living in Sweden. So in light of this we decided to preface our dinner at The Greyhound in Stockbridge with a cheeky half marathon through the Hampshire countryside.

We arrived in Stockbridge on a glorious late winter’s lunchtime, donned on our running kit and spent the next 110 minutes marvelling at the stunning countryside, whilst gasping for breath. Our time would have been considerably quicker had I not kept on darting into the bushes to look at mushrooms! It’s fair to say that our run acquainted us with the pub’s “terroir”, or whatever the less poncy English equivalent would be. And more importantly left us famished. I was hoping that on our return to the pub that we’d be treated like London Marathon runners – but with the free Lucozade and power gels being switched for pints of ale and pork pies.

The Greyhound is one of the feature pubs in Diana Henry’s Gastropub Cookbook, which from past experience is normally a cast iron recommendation. The menu is pleasingly short and full of hearty options with the odd hint of flair, whilst the wine list offers a far more interesting range of wines than you’d expect. The cosy dining room with soft lighting and nude wooden tables is the perfect balance of rusti-city.



After bingeing on not terribly impressive bread, Cowie’s plump Scottish scallops with Jerusalem artichoke puree, chorizo and sweet potato crisps were very welcome. The superb cooking and beautiful presentation ensured this archetypal modern British starter didn’t slip into cliché territory. Cleverly, the crunch of the sweet potato crisps made the scallops taste even more of themselves. It was a cracking multi-sensory plate of food that drew you in to its warm embrace. The only thing it lacked was a sharp element, but in fairness a glass of Sauvignon Blanc picked up where the food left off.



My soft boiled duck egg croquette with smoked salmon and herb aioli was exactly what my aching muscles were yearning for. I adore duck eggs but unfortunately they have a rather gassy effect on me, which meant that Cowie almost disowned me for ordering them. In fact, this petty act of rebellion made it taste even better. The thin, crisp batter around the soft egg was perfectly executed. The smoked salmon was very good too, without being phenomenal, but the real highlight was the way that these rich elements combined with the peppery salad leaves to elevate this to a higher plane.



Cowie’s venison was beautifully crimson and sauced with a slurry of savoury, rural flavours. The earthy spinach, beetroot and venison tasted like an artist’s impression of the run we had just been on. Good solid stuff.



My tower of pork, crackling, fondant potato, fennel rillette and cider velouté, looked and read a bit like a Gordon Ramsay dish from 2003. Whilst it looked a bit Esher, it tasted of Exmoor. Aside from the name and look, my only criticism was the slightly dry meat and overly salted crackling which felt like it had been hanging around a bit too long. Is it just me being a snob, or are stacks of food a bit naff these days?

Puddings were from the comforting end of the spectrum as you’d hope from a pub. Illicitly creamy rice pudding with rhubarb compote was one of the best I’ve had and Cowie’s pear tatin was decent without being anything to get too excited about.

We dragged our weary bodies up to our sloping, but very comfortable bed and reflected on our well deserved evening of indulgence. Over an excellent breakfast we picked apart our meal from the previous night. We agreed that the food had been very well cooked. But we wondered whether it would have been more interesting had the food reflected the surroundings more. What if Mr. Smidgens from Longstock had smoked the salmon? What if Farmer Geoffrey from Stockbridge had provided the duck eggs? What if the venison had come from the New Forrest? What if the menu had been written in plain English rather than borrowing the occasional fancy expression from French? What if the menu had been studded with a few Hampshire classics? And does any of this even matter?

When we re-read the menu it could have been from any fancy pub in the UK – whereas our favourite country pub experiences have had a more obvious and attractive connection with their location; all the meat at Y Polyn was from local farmers and the sea trout was caught by a coracle fisherman; at the Wellington Arms the game is provided by a local huntsman; and at the Kings Arms in Strete all the fish is from the local harbour. The fact that Scotland featured three times on the menu in the form of mussels, scallops and beef and the local area only twice with cheese from the Isle of White and pork from Greenfield farm, isn’t a big deal, but it would have been great to feel like you are eating the best food that the local countryside has to offer. Likewise, there’s something reassuring about seeing offal and slow cooked dishes that turn pigs ears into silken purses, but “loin”, “breast”, “fillet” and “rib-eye” occupied the expensive shallow end of the taste spectrum rather than the powerful deep end of ox-tail, belly, cheeks and trotters that make me want to dive in off the top board.

In short, whilst the food was delicious and we’d recommend it warmly, we didn’t think it quite lived up to the top billing it gets in The Gastropub Cookbook. The food is safer and more restauranty than we were hoping for and lacking that thrilling punch of offal, slow cooked meat, imagination and local soul that are part of the best gastropubs’ DNA.

As we drove back to London we wondered whether Diana Henry’s books, which we’ve loved, are beginning to show their age. The first version is now seven years old and I imagine many of the chefs have moved on – as is the case with The Greyhound – and pubs will have changed hands. And the gastropub movement has evolved dramatically since then. Maybe it’s time for a new edition? If Diana Henry wants a sidekick to help with this arduous task, Cowie and I would love to help!

Now ThaT's What I Call a Burger Joint - But what's it doing in Watford?

I’ve got a soft spot for Watford having lived there for a year whilst studying for my advertising course in spite of its grey complexion and distinct odour of dilapidation. We whiled away entire afternoons in Riley’s potting one in every twelve attempts during the day and I struggled to sleep at night because my bedroom overlooked the ambulance depot that services the M1 and M25. The ambulances would very graciously not use their sirens but they didn’t think twice about blasting their flashing blue lights through my moth eaten curtains. And the fact that each and every one scraped its undercarriage on the sleeping policeman directly outside my flat just made things even better.

So with these tainted memories it took the promise of a fantastic burger joint to drag me back and temporarily reprieve me from the Nordic Diet. ThaT Burger is fairly shamelessly stolen from Five Guys who have a reputation for serving some of the best burgers across the pond. A few years ago they rose to international fame by serving Barack Obama and haven’t looked back since. ThaT Burger has reformulated this model and brought it kicking and screaming to Watford.

Their burgers are of the thin and fried variety and can be stacked as high as you want, with the record currently standing at a heart stopping 14. You can customize your burger with a range of awesome toppings including proper bacon, sautéed mushrooms, onions, four types of cheese and any number of additional patties. You can even add a chicken breast if you are feeling particularly de trop. The soft brioche-y bun, scattered with a handful of sesame seeds effortlessly absorbs the copious amount of grease and remarkably has far better structural integrity than you’d imagine. They also excel at onion rings and have a range of dips that would make Right Said Fred very proud.



The classic cheeseburger with a slice of American “cheese” thrived in its mirrored wrapper. At £3.90 for a single meal deal it really isn’t bad value. Especially when you consider the quality of the salad, the hand made-skin-on-fries, the quality bun and that it is cooked fresh to order. Each additional patty will set you back an extra 70p whilst cheese costs between 20-35p a slice and more luxurious toppings such as mushrooms, bacon, jalapenos and guacamole will relieve you of 60-80p per item. Our only minor gripe is that the burger itself could have been tastier, but that comes with the territory of frying rather flame grilling.



We pushed things a bit further with a Double ThaT Burger with Swiss cheese. Whilst the single cheeseburger was tasty and relatively restrained this chap was about as understated as Moose Malloy. They don’t hang about with the toppings here and you wonder whether Switzerland is now suffering from cheese rationing as a result. If you are being picky the down side is that the flavour of the beef isn’t given a chance to shine through.



The highlight was a Double ThaT Burger with Swiss cheese, sautéed mushrooms and thick slices of bacon. Whilst it probably needn’t have been a double, you’ll struggle to spend less than the £6.20 this cost on a better burger, fries and drink. I had to restrain myself from using my straw to guzzle the meaty juices that settled in the foiled paper.



The fun didn’t stop with the burgers. The quality of the lightly battered onion rings (£1.50 regular or £1.95 for large) had us wondering whether they had imported a Japanese tempura master especially for the job. Dunked into a chilli-cheese dip they were a meal in themselves. I can't think when I have had better.



BBQ Buffalo wings (£2.75 for 6) were fine, but lacked any wow factor apart from the novelty of serving them in a paper cup. Maybe the peri-peri would have been more of a thrill.



Their fries (£1.25 for regular or £1.75 for large) are hand cut on site and are some of the best you’ll find in a high street fast food joint and the skins give them the charming illusion of being healthy! But given that we were dipping them in garlic mayo, the self deception wasn’t quite powerful enough. If you were worried that you hadn’t had enough calories, they also serve a small range of deadly milkshakes that are either strewn with Madagascan vanilla or chunks of chocolate.

Aside from the surprisingly good food and shakes (with half a mark taken off for fried burgers), they’re also pretty smart with their marketing. They’ve taken to social media like a burger to cheese and bacon. Glowing Facebook comments adorn the walls in smart black frames and a large flat screen with a live feed from their Facebook page keeps you up to date with whatever is being said about them online. You can sit at your table and leave a comment and seconds later it is up in lights both in the restaurant and shared online. They are also very good at listening to their customers and responding to advice – for example they asked their Facebook fans whether they preferred their fries with skins on or off with the result that skin on fries now grace the menu.

The main problem with ThaT Burger, apart from the erratically capitalized T, is that they have decided to open their first burger joint in Watford. Sadly the local population just walk on by to the extent that the owner jokingly commented that he can get people to come from London for a burger but not from Watford itself! And whilst the food is great and the social media marketing is cute the atmosphere inside the restaurant is somewhat sterile. It used to be a Pizza Hut and they haven't really succeeded in stamping their identity on it, which can be the danger of being a bit of a blank slate where you let consumers make the decisions for you. A little glance over at the way that Byron have established their identity and then engaged their fans only confirms this.

They’ve recently announced that they are looking to open another franchise, so if you want to give it a crack and put your stamp on ThaT Burger get in touch with Justin at burgers@thatburger.co.uk. Current suggestions are for them to open in Rickmansworth, but surely somewhere like Balham, Farringdon or Gothenburg would be better? But in the meantime, give it a try especially if you live in Watford.

15/17 The Parade
Watford, Hertfordshire WD17 1LQ,
United Kingdom

Telephone : 01923 803 600
Delivery : (Ring of Delivery) 01923 888 000 (from 6pm onwards)

Paul Ainsworth at Number 6 in Padstow

Our annual pilgrimage to the Cornish coast was one part “glamping” and another part fitness camp. On a frustratingly rainy day we stayed dry and cheery by conducting our own version of “Escape to the Country” by driving around looking for derelict wrecks to spruce up and turn into our dream house. We found a fabulous seven bedroom mansion with roses growing out of the tumbled down living room and dreamt of a new life of Cornish bliss. But when we got back to our campsite our hearts dropped when we saw that our tent had suffered a similar architectural disaster! My slapdash approach to securing the guy ropes had caused the business end of the tent to collapse and soaked all our bedding inside.

Bugger.

To her credit Cowie didn’t blame me in the slightest, but we both knew it was my hopelessness that had caused the catastrophe. We had planned to cook dinner al fresco, but in an inspired moment we decided instead to see if we could get a table somewhere good and not Steiny in Padstow.

“Not a problem Sir. We’re looking forward to seeing you,” were the words from the charming telephonist at Paul Ainsworth’s Number 6 restaurant that lifted our sodden spirits. In fact they were lifted so much that we decided to go for a sun downer 6 mile run to build up our appetite. So with chaffed nipples and an appetite the size of a dieting Texan we descended on Padstow.

We’ve been to Padstow a fair bit over the years with a very memorable stay at an eccentric BnB and a blow-out meal of lobster and all the trimmings at Rick Stein’s Seafood Restaurant, but we have recently started to pick up an unfriendly vibe from the village. Parking attendants are particularly officious. Shopkeepers refuse to give you change. Ice-cream-licking-tourists hang around with nothing to actually do. And finding somewhere to give you a decent cup of tea is almost impossible. So the warmth we were greeted with and the genuinely friendly service we received at Paul Ainsworth’s restaurant couldn’t have been more welcome.



Paul Ainsworth is a talented chef who earned his stripes within the Gordon Ramsay Empire at The Greenhouse and Petrus who upped sticks and headed west in 2008 to cook in Padstow. He worked to the orders of the then management before buying them out and taking over in the last year or so. Since then, according to our waiter, the restaurant has taken on a new lease of life and is being touted, by some, as a Michelin starred restaurant in waiting.

We immediately warmed to the restaurant which was ablaze with rosy cheeks, the hubble bubble of merry laughter and the glistening twinkle of licked-clean-plates. The menu is full of locally sourced produce and just as many fun ideas that make you want to sample every single item.



Feeling exhausted after our run I chose to feed my weary muscles with as much iron-y meat as possible. So a starter of Charles Macleod black pudding with Dave Thomasson scallops and carrot cream was as welcome as a scalding hot Radox bath. Both the perfectly cooked scallops and black pudding were worthy of bearing their maker’s name on the menu.

Cowie’s beef carpaccio salad with pea shoots and horseradish was so delicious that I was barely allowed a mouthful. But that one little taster was stunning.

The star of the show was a rather dull sounding “day boat plaice with sea greens, brown shrimps and sweet corn salsa”. It was a single-handed demonstration of just how fine plaice can be. It had been poached in a flavoursome liquor which left it quivering like a petrified toddler who’s just seen their Wendy House go up in flames. All the elements worked together perfectly and we just wished, like at Relais de Venise, that they would bring out a second portion!

My Cornish lamb's liver with braised bacon, lettuce and a tomato fondue couldn’t have been more what I wanted. It was as if Paul Ainsworth had judged my mood and cooked exactly what my body wanted but my mind hadn’t realised. The liver was tender, pink and perfectly seasoned whilst the braised bacon and lettuce was a pitch perfect counterpoint. The tomato fondue was a clever twist on the classic grilled version that normally comes with liver and bacon. It was a great example of how the chef tried to apply his own twist on classic dishes.

We shared a wonderful dessert of Boddingtons strawberries, thyme, cheesecake and strawberry sorbet. It almost ended in a fight as I absent-mindedly demolished far more than my fair share having said that I wasn’t really in a pudding mood! If you want to avoid arguments ruining the end of your meal, you might want to have their, rather pricey, dessert tasting slate.

As the evening drew to a close and the other guests all left we found ourselves having a enthusiastic conversation with our waiter who could not have been more passionate about food and hospitality if he had tried. I’ve since read an interview with Paul Ainsworth where he speaks about his young team with enormous pride – and it is easy to see why. It’s this sort of youthful passion that is infectious and helped to make our evening far more than the sum of its excellent parts.

Photo from the Paul Ainsworth at Number 6 Facebook page

Further Reading

You can follow Paul Ainsworth on Twitter or like the restaurant on Facebook which is a good idea given that their website is “under construction”
Review in The Telegraph
Glowing reviews on Tripadvisor
How to make Tongue-n-Cheek by Paul Ainsworth

The Felin Fach Griffin

Last summer we had one of our most memorable meals at The Gurnard’s Head in Zennor, which is the other side of St Ives. As ever we had found it in Diana Henry’s Gastro Pub Cookbook and it had lived up to her glowing recommendation. My grey mullet and fish soup will stay with me for a long time. And the moment we reluctantly left we set our eyes and hearts on a trip to their other inn, The Felin Fach Griffin near the Brecon Beacons.

We took advantage of their special deal which treated us to dinner, bed and breakfast for only a fraction more than dinner would have been on its own and enjoyed our experience from rainy start to dog cuddling end. Given that they implore you to “Eat. Drink. Sleep” it made even more sense.

The bar and restaurant areas are as snug as a tea cosy and the art and photographs adorning the walls tell a story that appeals to wondering imaginations. In particular we loved a series of photographs of enormous vegetables and the undersides of some rather well uddered cows. After our spectacular drive through the Brecon Beacons where we had admired some stunning waterfalls we collapsed into their timeworn leather sofas and felt as if we had become part of the family and not customers.



The dinner menu was blissfully brief – avoiding the habbit many pubs have fallen into of throwing every dish they can think of at the menu in the hope that a few will stick. Ingredients are genuinely local as are many of the customers although some are more exotic. The group on the next table included one of the photographers whose work was on the walls and a charming lady who runs Brecon Holiday Cottages. On the far side of the room sat an Canadian girl, eagerly reading her book. We later found out she was a jorunalist reporting on the Hay Festival.

With no car to worry about and only a flight of stairs to negotiate we tucked into a couple of generous gin and tonics before testing out their wines by the carafe. Some piercing Sauvingon Blanc tickled our lips whilst we enjoyed our starers. Cowie enjoyed her jamon persile which was deeply piggy, with jelly that was unctuous rather than icky. Whilst my goats’ curd with tapenade and explosively flavourful olives was delicious. Both were elegantly presented without looking like a tart who has spent 3 hours preening herself before tottering down her front steps.

Cowie had some pink duck for her main course that had been cooked sous vide. Sadly this meant the skin was a bit flabby and the flavour of the duck was somewhat lost. It was a shame because the meat was clearly very high quality and came from a few farms away. I read once that sous vide works best with fish and lean meat and for some reason doesn’t do well with large seams of fat. I’m not an expert, but with a sample of one dish, this piece of pseudo-scientific folklore seems to hold true.

I adored my main course of local pig cooked four ways. Belly was moist, piggy and crisp on top. I teased it apart and considered regurgitating it so I could enjoy it all over again. The blood pudding, cheek and fillet were just as good and had me groaning in greedy approval. I imagine it was this sort of firm handshake cooking that Jay Rayner approved of when he visited.


After such a rich main couse I have no idea how I came to order a slice of chocolate nemesis. It was, no doubt, delicious, but I couldn’t cope with its intensity. And opted instead to use my powers of disraction to devour most of Cowie’s dessert instead!

Her pudding was the best we’ve had in ages. Intensely flavoured rhubarb compote hid under a layer of creamy vanilla panacotta. I know it’s hardly original, but when you encounter a pudding as perfect as this, and served so unetentiosuly in an tall glass tumbler, it reveals the whole restaurant’s approach in one dish. The flavours are left to speak for themselves without recourse to foams and slicks of sauce. Ingredients are seasonal (this was in May). And presentation is unpretentious and designed to let you enjoy the food rather than add a mediating layer of fuss and cheffery. In short our rhubarb pannacotta was the perfect distillation of what a true “gastro pub” should be like. It was so good I decided to draw it, although the image does it barely any justice.



We retired to the bar for coffee where we whiled away the next hour or so talking about photography and the local area with the photographer and the lady who runs the holiday cottage business – who pointed us in the direction of a cracking farm shop and their Facebook page which are well worth a look if you are planning a trip to the area.



We arose to copies of the Guardian and an exceptional breakfast that was served in the Aga room. It’s almost worth going for the breakfast alone which was super local, but more importantly cooked by someone who likes to eat a cooked breakfast themselves on a regular basis.

We set off back for England, through undulating countryside with smiles on our faces and fingers crossed that Charles Inkin might consider opening up either near Gotheburg or in Somerset. His two inns are near perfect in everything they do. If you happen to be planning a trip to Cornwall or Wales, take the time to make a diversion to either The Gurnard’s Head or the Felin Fach Grifin.

The Bedford Arms, Oakley, Bedfordshire

My parents’ house is stranded in a restaurant desert. Our two village pubs are fine for a pint but less so if you’re feeling like something more substantial than a sandwich. And the pubs in our surrounding villages don’t have much more going for them either. So when we heard that the Bedford Arms in Oakley had gone all posh we wasted all of 35 minutes before heading out for a big family lunch.

It’s been decorated with far more extravagance than we had anticipated. If you have shares in Farrow and Ball I suspect you may be in for a bigger dividend than you had hoped for. Behind the bar sits an impressive range of booze including the rather incongruous sight of Crystal champagne tastefully dressed up in its Quality Street orange wrapper. And on the walls hang blackboards offering a jaw droppingly impressive array of fish including lobster which brought up a rather grating memory…

On a similar family outing 3 years ago, we drove off to Norfolk for a family day of East Anglian gardens, scenery and countryside. I was explicitly told that the pub we were going to for lunch specialized in lobster, so I spent the 3 hours of being thrown around the back of the car working myself up into a lather of shellfish induced fantasies. Anyone who has had the misfortune of traveling either left or right in Britain, rather than up or down, will know that for some reason it tends to induce immediate car sickness. So my ecstasy was even more remarkable.

When I found out that they hadn’t got any lobsters for lunch I felt cheated and vowed to never be lured into a long range wild goose chase ever again. The memory lingers and flashes back whenever we go for a family lunch.

Cut back to the Bedford Arms.

We all got very trigger happy and mowed down the waitress with our orders in a burst of hysterical hunger.



My mussels in garlic, white wine and cream sauce were as plump as American school children, but the wine hadn’t been cooked off quite long enough. Not to the extent that they tasted unpleasant, but not quite as awesome as they could have been. And I am never sure whether you really need to add cream either.



Cowie’s scallops were exceptionally good. The cooking was so precisely you’d be forgiven for thinking the chef must have been a Japanese plastic surgeon in a former life. The red topping added a sweet touch that made them taste even more of themselves.



Dad’s white pudding, Parma ham and mozzarella on a pancake had him purring away like a reconditioned Bentley. With his low carb diet it was as if they had designed it just for him.



My rich fish pie was almost perfect. It was depth charged with a couple of shoals of fish and was exactly what I wanted. The only improvement would have been a bolder golden top.



Cowie’s turbot with mussels and prawns with a creamy sauce was very decadent. Whilst it was delicious, it seemed a shame to hide such an amazing fish under so many other flavours.



Dad’s lobster salad was mainly lobster. Which is an excellent thing. Being the lobster purist that he is, he poo-pooed the salad and potatoes and just stuck with a wedge of lemon and a glass of white wine. It brought memories of driving around 90 degree bends in the middle of Nowhereshire churning back to me.



Mum’s garlic and chilli prawns looked every bit as opulent.



Sadly, the desserts were a disaster. As the chocolate mousse was placed in front of me the sight of a paper doily I grimaced with chintz fueled horror. As I shuddered the mousse stayed still as it was set solid. I won’t bore you with the taste, but it wasn’t good.



And a lemon cheesecake tasted about as real as Jodie Marsh and was every bit as unpalatable.

Overall, we loved our lunch despite the occasional slip up, but could have done without the brusque performance from the owner who acted very strangely as he walked off mid conversation with us about the desserts.

If you’re looking for something a bit more than you’re average lunch time pub baguette in the North Bedfordshire countryside and fancy some nice fish then the Bedford Arms is worth a go. Whilst it was very good for the area it makes you really appreciate places like The Hole in the Wall, The Gurnard's Head and The Horse Guards Inn even more. Just fill up on starters and main courses and avoid pudding. And watch your Ps and Qs with the boss!

The Bedford Arms
High Street
Oakley
Bedfordshire
MK43 7RH

Casual 50 Mile Cycle for Lunch at the Hole in the Wall in Cambridgeshire

At 8am on Easter Saturday when most sane people are safely tucked up in bed dreaming of not doing very much and about to tuck into a leisurely breakfast, Cowie and I set off on a 50 mile bike ride in search of lunch. We left my parents’ house near Bedford and headed east to Cambridgeshire. I’d been convinced by Cowie that it was going to be far easier than our previous trips because everything is downhill to Cambridge.

We zoomed through Bedford and romped towards the A1 where we had a fairly hairy moment crossing the A1! So far so flat. Then as we left Sandy what appeared to be East Anglia’s tallest mountain loomed in front of us. Within moments I had dropped into my lowest gear and was panting like a shaggy dog in the sunshine. But when we got to the top of the green sands ridge the view was epic. The trees had changed from deciduous to coniferous and the air seemed clearer.

We were blessed with glorious weather that belied the predictions by the met office and arrived in a small village called Little Wilbraham spot on 1 o’clock. We felt very smug, exhausted and ravenous as we waited for the Brown-brigade to arrive.





The Hole in the Wall is featured in Diana Henry’s Gastro Pub Cookbook, that has become our bible. It has almost always been spot on with its recommendations and this time was no exception. It has also has recently been awarded a Michelin Bib. The pub is run by Jenny and Chris Leeton who pride themselves on the pub's friendly atmosphere, wooden beams, fabulous beer and proper pub food. Even though the menu was tragically truncated due to a serious traffic accident, we had a great meal. The short menu didn’t let us down.

After a restorative few pints of lime and soda water and a pint of local ale, we ordered pretty much everything on the menu!



The shrimps were served slightly warm and tasted every bit as good, if not better, than the ones I’ve previously had at The Anchor and Hope.



Those who had the soufflé groaned and only very reluctantly offered me a nibble. It was perfect balance of flavour and texture with a walnut sauce that added an extra dimension. And for my parents who are trying to avoid carbs at the moment, it was a great treat to find such a dish on a pub menu.



When my steak and kidney pie arrived I let out a little squeak of delight. After 50 miles of cycling it was just what I needed. The pastry flaked like an anorexic Hollywood star and yielded to reveal a scaldingly hot meaty goo. Tender beef and perfectly cooked kidney mingled with a thick beery liquor that kept me quiet for at least 10 minutes. I often find kidney a bit overpowering, but not this time. Having been away from the UK for three weeks this pie captured the spirit of the English food that I’ve been missing. The bacon and spinach on the side was terrific. As was the silky parsnip mash.






Dad’s sausages with onion gravy and broccoli tasted good, as did Cowie’s scrambled eggs with smoked salmon.

By this point I’d normally be feeling pretty full and very unlikely to order pudding. But with 4 hours of cycling in the bank I unshackled my greed and let it take over…



Sticky toffee bread and butter pudding with butterscrotch sauce is not going to win me any prizes from anyone in the medical world, although I might make me a contender for a Darwin Award. It was stodgy, sweet, gungy, and so naughty it should have been made to stand in the corner. What a pudding.



Cowie’s pavlova with passionfruit sorbet was delicious. Tart, sweet and light. Just like a wannabe pop star.



And Suz’s treacle tart with toffee ice cream was great too. It had been made with milled oats, which gave it a coarse but satisfying texture. Not that I could even manage any more than the smallest mouthful!

For many reasons that are far beyond the scope of this blog, this meal was incredibly heart warming. It’s a lunch that I won’t forget for a long time. As we drove back home I felt overcome with happiness. And it made me realise the importance of family, how much I enjoy our amazing cycle trips, the joy of the British countryside and just how good proper British pub food can be. It's definitely true, distance makes the heart grow fonder.

2 High Street, Little Wilbraham, Cambs CB21 5JY.
Tel 01223 812282
www.the-holeinthewall.com

Further reading:

Diana Henry's Gastro Pub Cookbook on Amazon
Diana Henry's Gastro Pub Cookbook Another Helping on Amazon
The Hole in the Wall on Square Meal
More cycling adventures