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.

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.

Stunning meal at Y Polyn - worthy of drawing rather than snapping

Cowie and I have been looking forward to eating at Y Polyn for the last 2 years. Ever since we discovered the Wellington Arms and Diana Henry’s Gastropub Cookbooks we’ve been trying to find an opportunity to get to Carmarthen in order to eat here. As Jay Rayner points out, it’s pretty much in the middle of no-where. Which is a major part of its charm.

The drive from our lovely BnB to the pub was worth the price of dinner alone. Bluebells danced like miniature ballerinas in Chelsea football shirts whilst wild garlic played the role of smelly white socks. Shade dappled, the fading sunshine dazzled and warmed the road ahead. The fact that Cowie and I hadn’t seen each other for a while just made the drive even more memorable and heightened our sense of anticipation to a dangerously high level.

We were greeted by the site of chickens plucking away in the back garden in much the same way as we were at the Wellington Arms and felt a bizarre feeling that art directors often get when they see an amazing picture. We immediately felt as if we had already eaten here. It’s hard to explain, but it was the sense of “advanced recognition”



We enjoyed a couple staggeringly strong gin and tonics whilst reading a book called The Wright Taste which is written by Simon Wright, one of the owners. He used to work for the AA restaurant guide but left and set up Y Polyn with a fellow AA critic with their wives who do the cooking. Thank goodness they switched their pens for pots and pans, because their cooking and hospitality at Y Polyn is far more exciting than reading an AA restaurant guide.

We were so at ease in the restaurant that I didn’t want to use my camera. It also seemed a shame to disrupt a peaceful room. And more importantly I wanted to enjoy our meal together. So instead I’ve done a few sketches to illustrate what we had. They are rough approximations and not exactly enough to gain me entry to St. Martins. So please excuse them. If you could be as nice about them as you were about the St. John drawings I’d be very grateful! There’s something terrifying about publishing them.



Cowie’s fish soup was perfect. And I use that word with full knowledge of its weight. It was like Goldilocks’ third bowl of porridge. Just right in every regard. Perfect thickness. Perfect seasoning. Perfect temperature. Perfect amount. Perfect flavour. Perfect croutons. And perfect gruyere. And blessedly straight forward to draw!



My shaved asparagus salad with parmesan wasn’t quite so perfect. In fact it was pretty average. If you were being kind you’d call the asparagus subtle or delicate. But the truth is that it was bland. And unfortunately overpowered by the parmesan. And worse still it was also a bugger to draw! But I imagine that anything would have seemed average when compared to Cowie’s fish soup. In retrospect my experience has all the hallmarks of food envy.



Cowie’s coracle caught Towy Sewin (sea trout) with lemon beurre blanc looked stunning. It was a shade of rosy pink that spoke of British summertime. But tragically it was fractionally overcooked. It brought back harrowing memories of when I overcooked a £75 sea trout at a dinner party. I berated myself for days afterwards. But that aside, it was still very good. It’s just agonising that it wasn’t as perfect as the fish soup.



My duck shepherd’s pie was so good I got carried away drawing it and overshaded the whole thing. But never mind. Apparently it has been stolen with pride from the menu at Balthazar in New York. There’s a time and a place for theft. And this is one of them. Rich, hot, sticky duck melted under and a topping of mashed potato and parsnip in an iron clad shell. It’s my dish of the year so far and had me seriously considering licking the dish clean.



As we drank the last trickles from our carafe of Grüner Veltliner we couldn’t resist sharing a dessert from their gobsmacking selection. It turned out to be an inspired moment of weakness. The custard tart with rhubarb ice cream and ginger crumbles that we shared was enough to make you want to hit Cntrl+S and save your taste experience to your memory bank. This has just shot to the top of my all time favourite dessert list.

As we lingered over coffee, the amazing aftertaste of rhubarb and glow of warm hospitality we wanted the evening to carry on forever. We found ourselves exploring their amazing range of cookery books and bantering with the staff. Whilst our food wasn’t quite perfect, it wasn’t far off. And the moreish mouthfuls that were spot on were as good as anywhere that we’ve eaten. It was more than worth the 1000 mile round trip in Cowie’s little car. And is further proof that Diana Henry has an eye for a good place to eat.

I guess that if you enjoyed somewhere enough to spend a total of 5 hours writing and drawing about the meal, then it’s a sign you’ve enjoyed it!

Further reading:

Y Polyn Website
Y Polyn Facebook
Y Polyn Twitter
Y Polyn review by Jay Rayner
Wales in Style by Simon Wright
The Wright Taste

What a weekend...

Rad Hart-George should be renamed Rad Fearnley-Wittingstall-Hart-George if you ask me. But then again, I'm not great at names. For instance I want to name my sons Cuba and Muddy. Just for banter.

Rad hosted a brilliant party for 12 up at his parents' house in Anglesey. It's miles from anywhere and all the better for it. We were blessed with weather that was so good, it is a near certainty that we are in for a horrific summer of snow and hail. We spent the Bank Holiday weekend living as if none of us had a care in the world. On several occasions it felt as if we were in a Jack Wills advert and when I recounted the weekend's tales to my Grandfather he thought it sounded like a grown up version of Swallows and Amazons. The truncated highlights include:

My first ever trip on a sailing boat...





The catching and subsequent smoking of two mackerel...













And the baking of fresh bread to spread our amazing smoked mackerel pate on.







It was one of the most enjoyable weeekends for ages. Thank you Rad so much for everything. All the photos are from Rad's blog where you will also find the recipes all the delicious food we stuffed ourselves with.

Welsh Bank Holiday Cookoff

After a long week with work in France, Cowie and I zoomed off to Pembrokeshire for the bank holiday. I slept. Cowie drove. I got told off for farting. 7 hours after being picked up from Reading we arrived having exhausted all of the 49 junctions of the M4 and then some!



The journey to Wales is all about the road signs. From the civilisation and high brow English signs with one language and clear directions... to the multi language gobble-de-gook of the Welsh ones. Best of all near Carmarthen there is a brown road sign for McDonald's. I rest my case.

Without going into too much detail we had signed up for a weekend of cooking with James and Henry, experimenting with easy to eat foods. James and Henry had slaved over a fabulous hunk of pork belly which made me feel like I was having a picnic in an Elysian field. Soft, warm, salty, oozey and so moreish and naughty! Well stuffed and still exhausted we slept with a view over the coast towards Ireland and America and woke to see the sea crashing against the rocks.

Saturday brought military precision and military drinking. After a well paced breakfast started the cook off. I was despatched to the second kitchen to make a leek and bacon quiche. Armed with Thomasina and a big fat reliable cook book I went to work. Bacon, onion, leek and garlic got sweated and reduced to a satisfying filling. At no point did it look like I had got the quantities right. It seemed like the contents in the frying pan would overwhelm the pastry case and splat all over the floor. With the pastry case blind baked with gravel on top and the cream, milk, eggs and cheese whisked up, all I had to do was pour. And remarkably it all fitted! There was room left for me to place an egg yolk in the centre for artistic effect! If all else failed at least we'd have an egg in the middle!

Astonishingly it worked. I might be able to rival Tamysn's medium rare quiche afterall one day!



Meanwhile the chaps and chapesses were busy cooking, peeling, soaking, drinking and generally being what my Mum would call good "doers".

Henry made a trout and potato cake...



Which emerged, quite incredibly, looking like this.





So far, so camp!

Henry's tortilla was a little less gay and tasted delicious.



By this point we had burnt our way through the Welsh parsley quota, so our garnishes started to take a less prominent role.

As the gin and tonics started to flow from our charming yellow watering can...



... and Willy's jokes began to seem funnier...





... and the drinks began to take their toll...



... everything was perfect.

Before we knew it it was time for afternoon tea. Henry, Lucy and James laid on an incredible spread of chocolate tiffin cake, fruit cake, macaroons, cookies and flapjack. All of which was fantastic. The highlight being James's moist flapjack which got thumbs up from everyone.









Henry's fruit cake was a little overdone. We worked out that this was because Henry had cooked it for 4 Pimms rather than 3 - which works out in everyday language to be 15 minutes too much!

Post tea we larked around playing extreme boules.



Before settling in for dinner which involved us being overwhelmed with bulgar wheat, cous cous, chick peas and a vast array of delious dishes. Highlights included a mackerel and beetroot salad, grilled haloumi and apparently, my quiche!



The day's activities soon started to take their toll. Cowie couldn't move for fear of farting from all the grains and pulses, Willy had a brief snooze on the sofa and James seemed to go all blurry!



We chatted well into the early hours with our creativity rising as the wine stocks plummeted. If only all of creative sessions at work involved a cook off and a small cellar of wine, we would be winning awards left right and centre!

Thank you James and Henry for a wonderful weekend. Cowie and I are in love with Pembrokeshire and can't wait to return with more time and a surfboard!