Paul Ainsworth at Number 6 in Padstowe

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 Padstowe.

“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 Padstowe.

We’ve been to Padstowe 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 Padstowe. 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

Smuggling Scallops at The Ship in Rye

On a wet Sunday evening The Ship Inn was quite quiet but felt inviting and ideal for an evening of board games and more scallops. We hunkered down and imagined we were smugglers trying to evade detection. We set about a marathon session of Scrabble along with a pint of Harvey’s. I just wish I had written this review using the scrabble board to record our thoughts…

Coquille Saint Jacques tasted great but wasn’t the elegant dish we were expecting. It was a bit cloying and overly dense but in fairness the scallop was the star of the show. And to be honest what’s not to like about cheese, cream and scallops even if it wasn’t an ethereal version.

Smoked haddock gratin with toasted sourdough was delicious. Very simple. Very naughty. Very good.

Scallops with smoked prawn and chipotle sauce, served on corn fritters, were brilliant. The smoked prawns and chipotle are a great match and a speciality of the Ship. Whilst I loved them, some more sauce would have been very welcome indeed.

Unfortunately scallops with bacon and pea risotto read well but ate badly. Everything was tasty, but the cement-like risotto shouldn’t have been allowed out of the kitchen. It needed to be far looser.

Despite a dodgy risotto and sloppy Coquille Saint Jacques, we had a very enjoyable experience. The staff were a fun bunch of quirky youngsters sporting interesting tattoos, brooding make up and genuine smiles. It’s a great pub that does imaginative food and takes care to create a creative experience that sets it apart from other pubs. So much so that they get full marks for their fantastic website which not only provides all the information that you need but does it with such style seamlessly links with the imaginative vibe you get when you settle in for a session.

Further reading:

The Ship Inn website
The Ship Inn on Trip Advisor
The Guardian on the Ship Inn

This is part of a small clutch of posts about our trip to Rye for the Scallop Festival.

Scallop-ology at Webbes Fish Café in Rye

Scallops are funny things. Their sweet flesh and one dimensional texture make them easy to fuck up. Like a damsel in distress, they are easily overwhelmed. But treated with sensitivity and simplicity they can soar to fabulous heights. After 11 scallops each and a bottle of wine we felt like we had become “scallopologists” and had dreamed up our own scallop tasting menu that I’ll share with you later.

We arrived at Webbes in Rye feeling excited about trying their scallop tasting menu and immediately were worried. The downstairs café was bustling and looked fun. But the upstairs restaurant felt tacky and provincial. Posters in cheap frames advertised their Christmas party menu and the lighting was about as flattering as Basil Fawlty after half a dozen pints of gin. We then asked to move table, away from a view of the toilet and staircase and felt sorry for the next couple who were dumped their. I excitedly chose a bottle of Bacchus from Chapel Down but was told they had run out. Luckily this was the end of any negatives and the scallop marathon commenced…

A small cup of curried parsnip soup adorned with a seared scallop set us on our way. The gently spiced flavour of sweet parsnip complimented the scallop very well. The luscious texture of the soup matched the fishy flesh perfectly. It was an attractive and tasty start that filled us with a sense of reassurance.

Scallop ceviche was far less successful. The flesh had lost its bounce and the marinade was underpowered. Worse still, the minced red peppers anchoring the plate, were overpowering and seemed out of place. It would have been far better with a lick of chilli, some shallots and perhaps a slither of avocado. If you’d served this to a Peruvian they would have been disappointed that one of their national treasures had been let down.

A Thai style scallop with citrus dressing, bean sprouts, coriander and sesame seeds was a bit like a deconstructed Vietnamese summer roll. But without the soft wrapper and sweet hoisin dipping sauce. Cowie enjoyed this one more than me. It was very pretty and an excellent idea. But I wanted something that elevated it above being a dainty salad and something sweet to give the scallop a hand.

“Scallops and black pudding” has probably appeared on most restaurant menus in the UK in the last few years. And rightly so. It’s a cracker. Their addition of a slice of tart apple at the bottom worked brilliantly. It set the saliva glands pumping and made you really focus on the scallop. This dish stood out for us as the one that most elegantly showcased how to create a scallop dish. You need to provide the stuff the scallop doesn’t have: texture, tartness, meatiness. And this dish did it head on.

The kitchen’s second attempt at pork belly and scallops was excellent. Because the pork was so soft and tasty, we’ll forgive them for the first cold effort and the flabby skin. It reminded me of a moment in Master Chef last year when Greg Wallace almost had a fit when someone served him a dish like this one. He raged against the idiotic idea of mixing scallops with pork which unfortunately shows his ignorance. It’s a classic combination that you’ll across Asia, Australia and Spain and got a definite Ole from us.

We thoroughly enjoyed our evening and warmed to Webbes by the end of the evening and at 32 quid each it was great value. They cooked each an every scallop with care, precision and only came unstuck with more challenging dishes and because they were slightly overwhelmed by the number of diners they were looking after. We’d both love to have a fun, fishy lunch in the downstairs cafe.

As we tucked into a fairly solid panna cotta and treacly espresso we hatched a plan to take the restaurant over and strip it back to its warehouse roots. We decided to turn it into a Rye version of Smiths of Smthfield, but for seafood with exposed brick walls, an open kitchen and a scallop tasting menu like this:

Scallop sashimi

Miso blackened scallop

Scallop and morcilla salad

Crispy ‘scotched’ scallops 

Scallops with pork belly, artichoke puree and toasted hazelnuts

Souffle St. Jacques with a glass of Mersault

What’s your favourite scallop dish and what would your scallop tasting menu include? I’m intrigued and will try to give the recipes a go in my tiny kitchen in Sweden.

This is part of a small clutch of posts about our trip to Rye for the Scallop Festival.

Rye and the Annual Scallop Festival

Clearly, the Scallop Festival is big news. On a rainy weekend in late February, the quaint cobbled streets of Rye were wriggling with raincoats, walking sticks, rainbow umbrellas, antique experts and scallop eaters. The annual festival gives the town a much needed tourist boost in the bleak winter months and introduces newbie’s like Cowie and me to this delightful town.

When we found out about the festival we thought it would be an awesome idea for a romantic weekend. We stayed at the quite brilliant Simmons Guest House which didn’t put a foot wrong and gave us a luxurious base from which to explore the area. Their sense of style, charming hospitality and top notch breakfast make it the best bed and breakfast we have ever stayed in. Sally Shalam would love it.

We explored the wilderness around Dungeness and the delights of Rye’s backstreets including a hilarious lunch at a very old fashioned tea room called Fletcher’s where it seemed they operated a shoot on talk policy. We even found ourselves whispering our order to the waitress. Crab and tomato soup along with a crab sandwich were good but could have done with some aggressive seasoning to bring out the flavour of the crab. And some non-plastic bread for the sandwiches wouldn’t have gone amiss either. If you are a Trappist monk, or have a fetish for Shakespearean collaborators you’ll love it.

The George Inn is an impressive set up with a restaurant that is well regarded, a bar that is welcoming and rooms that look pretty slick. It’s even on Twitter and according to the Guardian is one of the top 10 cosy hotels to cuddle up in during winter. However, a large golfing society who had just played on Rye’s excellent links course, slightly warped our experience given that we couldn’t move for bow ties, pompous men and golfing bravado. Some people will enjoy its ‘country glam’ vibe, but give me Simmons any day.

We spent a memorable rainy afternoon roasting ourselves next to the Standard Inn’s comforting fires playing a 1983 edition of Trivial Pursuit and downing gallons of excellent Harvey’s bitter. The atmosphere was a great deal less geriatric than the rest of Rye and could almost pass for being lively. Their range of proper pub food, good beer, hot fires and collection of board games make this pub a bit a lot more than just standard. And better still it is directly opposite Simmons, so we only got moderately wet.

In many ways we are delighted that it rained so much. It meant we didn’t embark on a monster cycle through grotty Hastings and past the never ending caravan parks that sadly litter this stretch of coast; instead we enjoyed the luxury of Simmons, the comfort of Rye’s charming pubs and enough scallops at Webbes and The Ship Inn to jeopardise next year’s festival (posts on their way).

Stuff to do in and around Rye:

Twitching in Dungeness
Rye Golf Club
Culture and a very decent lunch at the De La Warr Pavilion in Bexhill see Intoxicating Prose and Essex Eating
Dinner at Webbes
Sunday supper at The Ship Inn
Rye Scallop Festival
The Mermaid Inn
Visit Henry James’ House
1066 Country guide to Hastings and the surrounding area

If we’ve overlooked anything in Rye that needed to be mentioned let us know.

This is part of a small clutch of posts about our trip to Rye for the Scallop Festival.

Horse Guards Inn, Near Petworth, Sussex

What better way to spend Valentine’s Saturday than pumping out 42 miles of cycling down and mainly up the mountains of Surrey and Sussex? After our tricky cycle out of London on our trip to Lewes we decided to catch the train to Leatherhead and cycle from there instead. This increased our range dramatically and made the cycle infinitely more enjoyable. After our disappointing cycle to the Albany in Thames Ditton we resorted back to Diana Henry’s Gastro Pub Cookbook for her recommendation to visit The Horse Guards Inn, near Petworth in Sussex.

The route from Leatherhead to Guildford was quick, if a little hairy at times. And before we knew it we were in Godalming which Cowie insists on calling it Goadalminger for some unknown reason. This brought back fond memories of The Paunch’s first blog post about our stay in a tree house nearby.

The road from Godalming to Petworth quickly became more undulating than the FTSE. Steep hills and snow didn’t make things easy. But they did help to build up an almighty appetite that only a monumental pub lunch could sort out.

We arrived at The Horse Guards Inn, just down the road from Petworth Park, in conditions that would have merited a postponement at many a Premier League football match. The warm welcome we received thawed our bodies almost immediately. And a pint or two of Harvey’s didn’t hurt either. The landlord was astonished at the distance we had cycled and couldn’t have made us feel any more welcome.

We were given a table with a view over the downs and across at the church which is many peoples’ version of the English idyll. Cowie warmed up with some tea that was served in a charming pink tea set whilst we dissected the menu.

Although the staff on the whole were brilliant, our young waiter was a bit of a loose canon. We asked him what he recommended and were quite baffled by his answers. He said he had tried everything on the menu and could vouch for it all. And then when Cowie asked some probing questions, as is her wont, he came unstuck. He hadn’t tried the hake. He suggested having steak even though the rest of the menu looked awesome. So we ignored his advice and ploughed in.

Cowie’s steak tartare was not only beautiful. But it was gorgeous to eat as well. The raw egg yolk added a glossily cocooned the shards of steak and flecks of shallot. And the toasted home made bread was perfect too.

My potted rabbit was tremendous. Smeared on toast with a smidgin of salted butter it was good. But when tarted up with some rhubarb chutney it started singing from the rafters. It had everything. So much so that I almost asked for seconds.

Cowie had a stunning main course that reminded us of a more British version of the fish broth she had at Porthminster Beach Café in St. Ives. This version featured a generous hunk of hake punctuating a broth that was rich with mussels, chorizo and tomato. It was truly brilliant. And just what a tired, cold, damp cyclist needs to perk them up.

My blade of beef with cavalo nero, rosti and wild mushrooms was almost exceptional. But it bore all the hallmarks of being left under the salamnder for too long. The beef was juicy inside but a singed exterior didn’t help it out. And neither did the charred rosti or slightly acrid cabbage. And whilst I like oriental mushrooms, I don’t think they belong on a plate of slow cooked beef in a country pub. And if we are being mega-picky, how seasonal are beans in February?

The star of my main course, in fact, was a side order of black pudding mash which was a revelation. I had worried that it would be crap. But it turned out to be magical.

With our very late lunch at an end we shuffled down the bar to sit in front of the fire and enjoy the rugby with a cup of tea and some home made fudge. The locals were warm and friendly, offering us plenty of advice about how to cycle to the nearest station.

The Horse Guards Inn is a very special place that is definitely worth cycling 42 miles for. It’s almost exactly how I’d like to run my country pub one day. Not only is it a proper pub, but it also serves cracking food, offers accommodation and they also have a mini farm shop where you can pick up home made bread and chutneys. Every village should have their own version of the Horse Guards Inn.

At the Chapel, Bruton, Somerset

Like a rural St John but with less offal, At the Chapel is a blessing in uber-rural Somerset. The space, designed by architects MacKenzie Wheeler, must be considered one of the best gastronomic amphitheatres in the country. The room is naturally well lit by biblically large windows and the high double ceiling gives the whole restaurant a feeling of grace. The ice white walls and ceiling are punctuated by impressive artistic statements. The hanging bubbles of Babylon and plaster cast of what Cowie accidentally called “Ham Solo” allow other pieces such as mosaic shoes by Candace Bahouth to be switched in and out like an art gallery. They also have plans to open their balcony area and a wonderful south facing patio. Co-owners Catherine Butler (ex Café Med owner) and Ahmed Sidki have done a brilliant job and have great plans for making even more out the space they have.

At the Chapel is not just a restaurant. It’s also a bakery, wine merchant, café and top class pizzeria all powered by an open range and a proper wood fired oven. And joy of joys has wifi.

Like a good food blogger, I’ve been to At the Chapel a number of times now in order to sample the various strings to their bow. When we are staying with Cowie’s parents in the neighbouring village we often buy a sourdough loaf and croissants for breakfast which have always been spectacularly good. And if we are feeling peckish in the afternoon we’ve been known to devour their slightly nutty, very naughty chocolate brownies. But Cowie still claims hers are better and who am I to disagree.

I’ve also bought a couple of interesting bottles of wine from their range that shuns the stereotypical selection of middle England Claret and Chablis. An Italian red that’s made from 5 grape varieties from Calabria was a brilliant foil for a fire seared steak.

And on another occasion when we asked them for advice about making pizzas in Cassius (our clay pizza oven) they were immensely helpful – supplying us with semolina to add texture to the dough but also a pot of their sourdough starter. Many bakeries would have shooed us away but they appreciated our enthusiasm and helped us out. The pizzas that emerged from Cassius were some of the best ever.

I’ve dined alone here too at the coffee bar with a copy of the Observer spread before me like Wellington with a map of Belgium and marvelled at the texture, flavour and appearance of a bowl of exquisite white bean and chorizo soup.

And did my best not to wolf down an immaculate serving of liver, bacon and mashed potato which was almost perfect but for their not being a second helping!
But I haven’t wanted to write a review until I had also tried their pizzas. At £10 a go they aren’t exactly giving them away. And why should they when they are this good. The use of semolina in the sourdough gives the base a crunchy textures and makes you want to demolish the crust after you’ve inhaled the middle.

My chorizo and red pepper pizza was first class. The mozzarella spewed everywhere but wasn’t overloaded. And the chorizo itself added a richness that probably should come with a health warning or two.

A goats cheese pizza and a top class margherita confirmed they know what they are doing in the pizzeria department.

The only thing that lets them down is the lack of warmth from the service. Hellos, welcomes and goodbyes are hard to come by. Smiles fleeting. And service slow and frustrating. On one visit I waited 30 minutes for my soup. Got moved table twice. And witnessed several calamities such as a lady being burned by a coffee that had just come out of the machine and a walk out because of the slow service. If this had been a one off I wouldn’t have mentioned it. But it has been a recurring theme that detracts from At the Chapel deserving the near perfect score that Matthew Norman gave them. Just because you are in a Congregational chapel doesn’t mean you can’t relax. You are a smile and a hello away from perfection.

At the Chapel, High Street, Bruton, Somerset, BA10 0AE

01749 814 070

http://atthechapel.co.uk

The Restorative Powers of The Queens Arms in Corton Denham, Dorset

Our bodies and pockets were full of Sudafed, Lemsip, Paracetemol, catahr and reams of tissues. So we decided to shun our bikes and drive the 18 miles to The Queens Arms in Corton Denham, near Sherborne.

Fans of Malcom Gladwell will know what I mean when I say that when we first saw the pub we had a real “blink” moment. Our first impression of this stunning, golden stone pub with enchantingly friendly signs outside wasn’t something we just felt in our heads. I felt my tummy turn, looked at Cowie and felt a thrilling surge of emotion knock my cold clean out of my blocked up head. It seems good pubs have a medicinal quality, that the likes of Glaxo should bottle. We immediately knew we were in the presence of a special country pub.

But this isn’t just a country pub. It’s a lot more too. Their attention to detail is charming. I loved the way they laid their pork pies out on the bar along with a whole Montgomery Cheddar. I was inspired by their array of local ciders and apple juice. I craved their range of bottled Moor Beers. I greedily guzzled their local ales. And we adored their fire, friendly service and attitude towards dogs.

We wolfed down a pork pie whilst deciding what to have for lunch. The pastry was beautifully crumbly, but we would have liked more jelly and a touch more salt. It turns out that they make excellent thinking food.

So with our brains enriched by pork pie we decided to share a bowl of mussels smothered in merguez sausage and tomato sauce. It was a very wise choice. Like everyone else, I’m a sucker for a good bowl of moules mariniere. But a good bowl is a rarity. Often they tend to miss the mark. So I’m often more interested in trying something a bit different in the hope of discovering something new and exciting. It turns out that spicy lamb sausage with a tomatoey sauce works brilliantly with mussels. It works with chorizo, so why not.

Still buzzing after our mussels, I was sent out to fetch the dogs from the car – I returned to the pub and the dogs immediately made themselves comfortable in front of the raging fire. They quickly became the stars of the pub and were befriended by numerous children and other dogs who wanted their front row seats.

For main course Cowie enjoyed a very memorable aubergine parcel with a spicy three bean stew. Whilst quite metropolitan for a very rural pub, it was full of flavour, beautifully textured and looked exquisite. If you can find a finer vegetarian main course in a country pub in the West Country please let us know.

Sausages and mash looked good. But I didn’t get a look in. So let’s just assume they hit the mark.

My oxtail hot pot was very delicately composed but suffered,as hot pots often do, from being a bit thin. That said, it looked charming and warmed my sniveling body to the very core. It was almost as if it had been created as a medicinal restorative.

We left with a small bill and a huge feeling of satisfaction and warmth. And then roamed off for a sensational walk across the ridge that overlooks the village and beforepopping into a cracking tea room called Bramble and Sage for a slice of cake and a cup of tea.

It was such a thrill to discover The Queens Arms. It’s now in my top 3 favourite pubs in the country and I can’t wait to go back. And I swear that since paying them a visit my awful cold has completely disappeared. If Glaxo are looking for new business ideas for 2010, they might want to consider opening a range of “medicinal watering holes” inspired by the Queens Arms.