Eyas at The Falcon shows fine dining flare in the Northamptonshire countryside

Season Three of The Bear has been a bitter disappointment. A show that once had a magical balance of comedy, drama, characterisation and plot now seems to be meandering in the artsy foothills of award pursuit, with critical acclaim now considered more important than entertaining an audience. I stuck with it because I was invested in the characters from previous seasons, and I want to see how their arcs come to an end. But it was hard work.

There remain moments of brilliance, however, and more fascinating insight into the immense pressures and obsession for detail that goes into fine dining. That thought pushed its way into my head last night as a spoon too heavy for the delicate bowl in which it had been thrust flipped out, flinging some particularly tasty potatoes across the front of my dress with the action and force of a Medieval trebuchet. Carmy, The Bear’s moody proprietor, may be insufferable this season, but he wouldn’t have paired that dish and utensil. There are a million little stresses in the pursuit of culinary perfection.

Fortunately, the weaponised spoon was the only discordant note in a delightful dinner deep in the Northamptonshire countryside to celebrate my husband’s birthday. 

Eyas is one of a handful of restaurants within driving distance of Milton Keynes that appear in the Michelin Guide. None have stars, but rather bear “plate” status … promising fine dining establishments the Guide has its eye on. This one sits in the picture-postcard village of the Castle Ashby estate, attached to a traditional inn called The Falcon that Lord and Lady Northampton have turned into an upscale spot for a retreat or a special event. Though only half an hour from the hotel that Team Bencard calls its second home Monday through Friday, Eyas and its surrounding village feel a world away in both distance and time. Film makers wouldn’t have to do much to set an 18th century drama here.

Outside, that is. Eyas’ interiors are sophisticated enough to be in the heart of London, with creatively contrasting fabrics, elegant pottery and innovative architectural features. (I loved the ceiling panels punctured with holes of different sizes; an abstract version of a night sky.) Our table looked out over the hotel gardens, enlivened that night by a local wedding reception. Seasonal floral arrangements and an enormous wreath of dried flowers hanging like a chandelier above the room bring the outside in.

Logically for a place operating out of a historic agricultural estate, Eyas’ Head Chef Russell Bateman and team source ingredients from farmers, gamekeepers and nurseries within and around the 10,500 acres that comprise Castle Ashby. Obviously that doesn’t work for seafood or wine, though the latter challenge is partially solved by sourcing some bottles from a relative’s estate in Sussex.

Piers won the starters competition, as a birthday boy should, with a gorgeous plaice dish that balanced soft and crunchy, salty and sweet, and paired sea and land with fresh-cut herbs. 

My gnocchi was a very close runner-up. I appreciated the creativity of bacon lardons and apricots in the cheese sauce, but my final verdict on the fruit was “interesting experiment” rather than something I’ll rush to try again. The base cheese sauce, however, would do any Italian trattoria proud, and mopping the remains up with a slice of sourdough was just as good as the original dish.

As the designated driver, I started with a glass of the Wild Idol sparkling rose, by far the best non-alcoholic wine I’ve ever tried. I immediately looked it up online and it’s available direct from the maker for £24 a bottle. The company is obsessed with the environment and its green credentials, which fits well with the restaurant.

We both opted for the pork belly as a main and were split on our opinion. The birthday boy thought it was good but that the fat could have been rendered more; I was rolling my eyes in porcine pleasure. This may be because under normal Weight Watchers adhering circumstances, the saturated fats in pork belly make it the most sinful of indulgences … so I was just revelling in the transgression. We were both impressed with the perfectly balanced sauce which, it transpired, owed its interesting zing to miso and fish sauce. That we will be trying at home.

The most memorable thing on the plate, however, was the veg. A quarter hispi cabbage, grilled, became the base of an exquisite pile of peas, pea shoots, nuts, another green (possibly courgette or cooked cucumber) and just enough feta-like cheese to give it a bit of bite. If you’d been served two of these as a vegetarian main, you wouldn’t have missed the meat. 

The dish of the night, however, was desert. A scoop of chocolate ganache, on a bed of passion fruit sauce, covered with sweet, crunch bits, topped with a quenelle of ice cream (or maybe frozen yogurt) with a tartness to contrast the rich chocolate, topped with more passion fruit. In appearance, it was so simple as to almost be disappointing. It certainly didn’t set up the expectations that come with complex pastry work. But one bite reminded you that whether you’re at your local pub or a fancy restaurant, ultimately taste is all that matters. And this was an explosion of delight in the mouth.

It was also so rich that we had no chance of tucking in to the praline and chocolate disc that came after with birthday greetings, or the beautiful after dinner chocolates. We took them home with us to have for dessert the next night, as we returned to our standard fare Chez Novotel. 

Eyas is yet another point in the much-maligned midlands’ favour. Honestly, there’s nothing like this within half an hour of our home in North Hampshire, despite our proximity to London and all of our pockets of affluent London commuters. We do have a one Michelin star local option at L’Ortolan, but they’ve just announced they’re closing, and the best gastro-pub in the area, the Purefoy … thought to be on track for a Michelin mention … closed in January. Margins are tiny in fine dining and the market is tough. 

So I’ll excuse Eyas’ ill judged cutlery, and ignore the rather weird amuse bouche of an avocado sabayon that tasted great, but lost its body so quickly it failed completely as a dip for the veg it came with. (Served in a shot glass with some veg spears on the side, it would have been perfect.) Such are the vagaries of experimentation. I’m so glad that, like the fictional “Bear”, people are out there pushing the envelope to serve up memorable meals in the English countryside.