Indeed, gluttony got me there in the first place. There are 20 Michelin 2-star restaurants in the UK and I've only eaten at 3. I want collect them all! Gidleigh Park has been an object of desire for a while. Gorgeous place on the edge of a favourite holiday destination, much admired executive chef Michael Caines, great experience at "daughter" restaurant The Bath Priory (see 21.11.11), No. 3 on The Sunday Times ranking of the top 100 restaurants in Britain. There, Gidleigh ranks above all of the nation's Michelin 3-stars, and behind only The Ledbury and Le Manoir. So getting there has been burning a little hole in my brain for months, and was at least 40% of the motivation for this weekend on Dartmoor. The remainder being getting to get my other half to a restful place to relieve his gruelling work schedule.
It was a magnificent experience of lucullan* proportions, with ... as expected and planned for ... the bill to match. (Our lunch, all in, was roughly the same price as three nights and two dinners at our B&B.) In addition to the cash, and advance reservations, Gidleigh takes a good deal of transport effort.
This may possibly be the most isolated Michelin-starred restaurant in the UK, about two miles past the small village of Chagford, a mile of it down a single track, heavily forested road hemmed in for much of the way by high stone walls. Nervous drivers and claustrophobics beware. There's even a sign half-way along that affirms you're on the right track and tells you not to lose heart. Eventually you come into a cleared, shallow valley, lawns stretched before you, a long, half-timbered house stretching across the other side, with a hillside of woodland framing its back. It's classic 19th century Arts & Crafts, Olde England revival. Inside, the bones of the style carry on, with lots of carved dark woods, leaded windows, armourial crests and big furniture. But there are modern touches here, from lighter paint schemes to tastefully injected modern art, that add comfort and avoid any stuffy, old fashioned feel.
A genial, and overwhelmingly French, staff welcomed us warmly and, upon hearing our name, was ready for the reservation and settled us into the bar. It's a pleasant space that balances Tudorbethan bones and darker colours with light pouring in from the adjoining conservatory, offering stunning views to the other side of the valley. Cocktails and menus followed. And here's where gluttony set in. On offer was three courses off a limited set menu for £56. Immediately dismissed. Why come all this way, to try one of the finest restaurants in the country for the first time, to be so limited? The choice then moved to three courses a la carte for £105, or the eight-course signature menu for £125.
Now honestly, dear readers, can you imagine me doing anything but thinking "an extra five courses for just £20? Hell yes!". And thus we jumped in with both feet. Adding the wine flight for Piers. (I was driving, so just took a few sips of each glass. Considering there were se
ven of them, he could share without feeling deprived.) And this was, admittedly, a bit much. By the end of course four I was satisfied, at the start of six I was pushing it. My prodigious ability to consume dessert no matter how full got me to the end (plus the three+ hours at table), but it was a bit of a marathon. The experience left me feeling qualified to report on the full scope of Mr. Caines' & Co's skills, but uncomfortably full and wracked with a serious dose of dieter's guilt. The five course menu would have been the better option, but for some reason it's not offered at lunch.
The food was magnificent. French inspired, but laced throughout with modern touches. Heavily locally sourced. Both classic and innovative. The menu balanced, the presentation exquisite. Though occasionally just off perfect, as when our two plates were not identical, were set in front of us at different angles or ... quelle horreur ... my single fried herb leaf was standi
ng proud against the roast garlic clove, whilst his had fallen over. (These are the things my detail-oriented husband notes, particularly when the last series of Masterchef hasn't had time to fade from his memory.) The service excellent, the wine choices particularly good and explained by an expert, friendly and conversant sommelier.
We opened with a three-bite, perfectly oval morsel of loch duart salmon, prepared "souvide" so it was cooked and firm, yet
retained the vivid colour of the raw fish. Laid on a bed of salmon jelly and cucumber, topped with a bit of Oscietra caviar, dressed with micro herbs and precise dots of two types of vinaigrette: honey soy, and wasabi and Greek yoghurt. A fabulous warning shot across our gastronomic bow of what was to come. Next, terrine of foie gras with Madeira jelly and truffled green bean salad. Probably the weakest of the courses. Which is saying a lot, given my love of the core ingredient. Not bad, but I didn't pick up any truffle flavour, the foie gras wasn't any better than many I've had before and the rest of the courses were just more memorable.
On to perhaps the most innovative dish: Cornish salt cod with Beesands crab, chorizo, samphire, tarragon and a lemon puree. The cod starts fresh and gets just eight hours salting to give it taste and firmness but preserve the delicacy and flavour. The crab, mixed with a light mayonnaise, the tarragon and the samphire are there less as individual tastes, more as binders and softeners for the strong flavours of the fish, which has been rolled in paprika before cooking, the chorizo and the lemon. Exquisite, and one I might try to re-create at home in a humbler incarnation.
Then to Cornish duckling, pink and flavourful, its wafer thin slices wrapped around savoy cabbage infused with smoked bacon, accompanied by sweet and smokey roast garlic cloves and a spiced jus. Probably the most traditional dish on the menu, and possibly my favourite of the savoury courses. Fish and fowl out of the way, it was time for the meat climax. West Country beef fillet with wild mushrooms, shallot and a horseradish confit, with smoked marrow and a red wine sauce. The dish was very similar to the recipe I tried last Valentine's day (see 15.2.12), and gave me inspiration and example to try again.
In the French tradition, cheeses came next, as a transition to the sweets. This fromage, however, was resolutely local, and upheld my long belief that the Southwest of England can go head-to-head with Gallic cheese makers any day. Triple cream Sharpham, Quick's mature cheddar, Little Stinky (similar to Stinking Bishop, but a little less aggressive) and Harbourne Blue are national treasures.
Those without a sweet tooth could stop now, but... out came a palate cleanser of exotic fruit salad with passion fruit sorbet and a crystalline of pineapple. Perhaps the most exquisite presentation o
f all in its combined drama and simplicity, the fruit salad cut into tiny, precise, exactly matching cubes, the quenelle of sorbet crowned with a fan of pineapple, all just a few bites. And those bites perfectly calculated to sharpen the taste buds for the final, rich course to come.
We concluded with one of the finest chocolate and caramel desserts ever. On one side of the plate, a square of caramel and cardamom parfait, its texture somewhere between mousse and that gooey, guilt-inducing stuff that tops the best millionaire's shortbread. On the other, a shot glass shaped tube of dark chocolate, filled with milk chocolate mousse and topped with a cardamom foam. Heavenly.
The wine flight was filled with unusual and rare stuff, much of it not great for straightforward sipping but completely transformed when consumed with its food. The whole point of a good pairing, of course. This was particularly noticeable with a Rosso di Montalcino 2007 San Polino, to which I wouldn't have given a second thought tasted straight, but was practically miraculous with the duck. The sommelier was proud of Gidleigh's ability to find very special wines from unexceptional areas like Corsica. Most producers there are doing cheap and cheerful, not even worthy of export. Yet the Ajaccio 2010 Comte Abatucci, Cuvee Faustine was so good with the salmon it immediately went on our search list. We also appreciated the growing trend to match foie gras with German Rieslings rather than the traditional Sauterne. Here it was again, this time a Mosel Riesling Spatlese 2009 from Dr. H. Tanisch, Bernkastle Badstube. While we didn't know this particular wine, we've been tasting in the region and still have half a case of something similar in the cellar. Which we'll now save for when we break out our own foie gras reserves.
After more than three hours at the table, getting up was an effort, but necessary to the digestion. We adjourned to a comfortable wicker couch in the conservatory, watching the afternoon light dapple the croquet lawn and fat wood pigeons flit through the pines. An hour with coffee, the newspapers and staff popping in to make sure we were ok rounded things off nicely, though the exquisite plate of petit fours barely got a touch. An advertising supplement from The Sunday Times folded into a makeshift doggie bag. This glutton, after all, couldn't bare to leave anything behind!
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*If you're unfamiliar with this adjective, to take the time to look up Lucius Licinius Lucullus, the fascinating republican Roman (118-56 BC) who gave rise to the term.
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