The Sunday Times Magazine - UK (2022-01-23)

The Sunday Times Magazine • 43

with the texture of wine gums, its
earthiness tamed under a foamy
blanket of Dale End cheddar,
crunch coming from nibs of
einhorn and “last year’s walnuts”.
“How the hell did you figure out
how to do that to the beetroot?”
asks the pal, writer of bestselling
food books. “I was very, very
bored,” Byerley says. Another
upside of lockdown: imagine.
There are 16 small courses —
complexity married to simple
brilliance. Don’t expect a
blockbusting three-ingredients
cookbook from this lot anytime
soon. One opening snack is a fat
little buckwheat pancake topped
with chopped raw venison (“aged
fallow deer”), its smoke flavour
recalling L’Enclume’s coal oil,
a nod to Byerley’s background at
some of the north’s greatest gaffs.
On top is a sprig of preserved
spruce and tiny infant pinecone.
God knows what they’ve done to
this, but its nutty, pickled-walnut
sweetness lifts the whole thing
to another dimension.
There’s not a duffer dish,
misstep or moment of ennui.
We’re enthralled till the finale —

“confectionaries”, each one a tiny

masterpiece: beeswaxed cannelés

as good as any from Bordeaux,

glossy white chocolates, macarons

fragranced with the likes of anise

hyssop. By this point in the tasting

menu pomp I’m usually a bit over it

— not here, not for a nanosecond.

This lot go beyond the hackneyed

“local, seasonal” blather. Way

beyond. Many ingredients

have an almost preternatural

freshness — those that haven’t

been left to languish in their own

juices for months until they chew

like a Starburst — as if they’ve

been pulled from the earth

minutes before finding their way

into our faces.

My only carp — we’re seated

facing the kitchen, not so much

table as amphitheatre tier. It’s

fascinating to watch: choosing

the most perfect petals of Brussels

sprouts for dotting over bubbly

mussel sauce with steamed plaice;

dunking shiitake into a boiling

bath of beef dripping. (This is

another doozy, the mushroom

as meaty as long-aged steak,

pungent with the sweet funk of

black garlic and a “gravy” of bone

broth.) But I could have lived

without witnessing the clear-up

afterwards, as puncturing as

watching the stage set being struck

before you’ve left the stalls.

We’re ferried there and back by

the only taxi driver in the village,

a fount of information about Pine:

who’s in a relationship with whom

and how in his opinion it’s far

superior to [redacted local Michelin

star] and [redacted other local

Michelin star]. He’s more like an

Italian cabbie than the usual Brit

wouldn’t-waste-my-money breed.

Byerley and his cohorts come via

the Forest Side in Grasmere —

clearly quite the talent incubator

— working with Kevin Tickle, who

has just opened Heft in Cumbria

(as I mentioned before Christmas,

making the obvious jokes).

This brigade hasn’t spent

lockdowns playing Candy Crush

or watching Tiger King, but

plotting wizardry, playing nutty

professors with the fruits of

their gardens, farms and fields.

Lockdowns suck. So to find

something so life-affirming has

been brewing over those dead,

bleak months is simply joyful.

Just January and already I’m

happy to put money on this

being my restaurant of the year n

Twitter: @MarinaOLoughlin

Instagram: @marinagpoloughlin

There’s not

a duffer dish,

misstep or

moment of ennui.

We’re enthralled

Left, from top:

snowball turnip and

fennel yoghurt with

fermented plum;

garden juice. Above:

fallow deer tartare

with juniper and pine

SELECTION FROM

THE TASTING MENU

£90 per person for

16 courses

Sugar kelp dumpling

with North Sea trout

Berwick Edge cheese,

carrot and lovage

Aged fallow deer

tartare, juniper and pine

Fennel and mead-cured

sausage with sumac

Snowball turnip and

fennel yoghurt with

fermented plum

Seeded sourdough

with house butters

Smoked pork bone

broth, chanterelles

and magnolia

Beetroot, cheddar and

last year’s walnuts

Garden juice

Steamed plaice with

smoked mussel sauce

Artichoke cone with

roasted dandelion root

Confectionaries

DRINKS

Bottle of Mathis

Bastian Riesling £49

TOTAL

For two, including 10%

service charge £252

Plate of the nation

McCain’s Jackets

aren’t such a half-

baked idea after all

Who, I scoffed with every fibre of

my lofty restaurant critic being,

would buy frozen baked potatoes?

Nothing more, nothing less, just

part-cooked spuds in a box? Say

hello to McCain Jackets, four

uniform potatoes “lovingly slow-

baked” (puh-lease) with a touch

of sunflower oil, at first glance the

very zenith of kitchen apathy.

Sure, I’ll give one a bash. Into

the microwave it goes, a sad little

item, a lunch of inertia, to be

eaten in solitude and sagging

tracky bottoms. But weirdly I’m

impressed. If you’ve ever reheated

a baked potato, you’ll know how it

never quite works, how they seize

up into waxy, unloveable chunks.

McCain has done something that

makes the interiors as fluffy as if

they were freshly baked. And

when I do a subsequent spud in

the oven, it delivers that alluring

crisp skin in — well, I’d love to say

15 minutes, but it’s 45-55. Which

makes me question why you’d

bother with the things at all,

especially at nearly 90p a pop.

Still, as instant microwave staple,

heaving with butter and some

of that leftover Boursin, to my

mortification, I’m in. MO’L

McCain Jackets, about £3.30

for four at supermarkets