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Redwing Bar and Dining, Lympstone
“It’s a bit like the village in ‘Hot Fuzz’, only made up of holiday home-owners”. Perhaps not the best of first impressions of the tiny, typically-Devon village of Lympstone, yet it was nonetheless the location of our destination for the evening, Redwing Bar & Dining. Lympstone, for those who don’t know (and to be honest, that’s pretty much everyone – the place really is off the map, especially to students), is one train stop before Exmouth, and really shouts (well, more gently murmurs) “retirement” as soon as you get off the train.
Upon locating the ‘main road’ (I’m being generous), the village is essentially made up of cottages as far as you can see, decorated in such a way that made me think of a middle class decorating battle Royale: 'Cath Kidston vs. Farrow & Ball'.
You may think the point of this piece is just to construct the equivalent of a character assassination on this little village of Lympstone (“poor old Lympstone”, etc), but you would be wrong; in fact, the opening paragraph is merely there to highlight my amazement at what this place had in store for myself and three student friends. The purpose of our journey was to sample the culinary delights of the village’s newest gastronomic delight, Redwing Bar & Dining.
The cosy Inn is tucked away behind the corner of the main street in the village, but not in such a way that would tend to indicate mediocrity; in fact, if anything, its nonchalance would suggest aspirations aiming towards the ‘high-end gastro-pub’ part of the spectrum. Upon entering, this suspicion is confirmed, but in an entirely unexpected way; the bar area is full of bright furnishings, teamed with the classic bar-and-specials board combo, which together made for an unusually eye-catching, welcoming area. The atmosphere was unbelievably relaxed, made all-the-more enjoyable by the incredibly enthusiastic and friendly staff who came across really well – not in that annoying “I’ve been trained how to be over-complimentary, to the end of getting a larger tip” kind of way; I got the sense they wanted to be here and genuinely were enjoying what they were doing. Upon being seated, we were treated to fresh bread with a light, salted butter (reminiscent of the kind you’d typically get in the States) which got us salivating for the prospect of the impending meal.
Now to the most important part – the food. There’s probably one thing I should get out of the way before I continue: I seriously love food. Not in that overly- faux middle class, over-the-top ‘foodie’ way; simply, I love eating, and (attempting) cooking, good food. I certainly was not disappointed. We all skipped starters (student budget after all), but were enticed by the prospect of sea-food for mains. Myself and L both went for the local River Teign Mussels, in a classic cream and white wine sauce, which were plump and cooked to perfection. There was a good balance to the dish, because for many over-zealous cooks white wine ends up ruining a perfectly good sauce by forcing acidity to become the focal point of the dish. This was not the case, and as any sea-food lover knows, it is the perfect accompaniment to fresh mussels, allowing their subtle flavour to really come through and take charge of the dish. Perhaps the only low-light was the fact that a large proportion of them (perhaps a third) did not open, and whilst that is not the fault of the kitchen per se, it was frustrating simply because the being teased by the prospect of inedible mussels is harrowing. J ordered the salmon and noodles, and N the seabass, and were both impressed by the lightness and freshness of dishes that have the potential to become far too heavy and dry.
Upon ordering dessert, it was an altogether more difficult decision for us all, simply because there was such a great choice of things to try. L and N went for the plum and vanilla bean crème brulee, and (under a self-created and wholly artificial pressure) I hedged my bets with the chocolate brownie and vanilla ice cream. I feel that I could have ordered anything from the dessert menu and been perfectly happy, so it pains me to write that the only let-down of the dish was that the vanilla ice cream wasn’t home-made. That aside, a perfectly cooked, almost-gooey chocolate brownie (nice and firm on the outside, slightly moist on the inside) with marbled chocolate shards and a warm chocolate sauce was a treat. In fact, I’m willing to forgive the bought ice cream because without it the dish wouldn’t have worked; it certainly needed the ice-cold, cleansing nature of an ice cream or sorbet to cut through the chocolatey goodness to stop it cloying at the top of my mouth. My fellow diners were even more impressed with their choice of brulee, which was like summer on a plate, with a fresh shortbread finger and two-tone fruit coulis, which reminded us all a little of rhubarb and custard sweets, making it a fun yet ‘grown up’ desert.
On our walk back to the train, I realised that this place could be a real gem. The food was fresh and seasonal (and affordable too – two courses for around £15), they had a great selection of drinks (including a Czech larger that J raved about) and an all-important atmosphere that balances welcome with intrigue. Sufficed to say it worked on us; we’re already planning our next trip back, and I would definitely encourage anyone who appreciates food to take the rickety train up to the toy town-esque village of Lympstone to sample the delights Redwing has to offer.
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The Wild Garlic, Beaminster
So, it’s mid-November, which generally means it’s a rubbish
time to be a student; deadlines are approaching, it’s colder inside the house
than out, and the bank balance is starting to look bleak. The best news I
receive this month is the annual ‘come home for your father’s birthday’, an
invitation which I gladly accept due to the fact that (a) my washing will be
done for me, and (b) I’ll get home-cooked food. Well, little did I know that
this year was going to be far better than I previously had imagined…
It’s a few days before I’m coming home and I get a call from
my mum, who sounds far more enthusiastic than usual: “I’ve got some good news”.
My mind immediately races to several conclusions: “We’ve won the lottery”;
“We’re going to pay for you to go to law school”; “We’ve got you tickets to see
Jerry Seinfeld at the O2”. Whilst none of these assumptions were correct, the
reality of what my mother has to say is, whilst more realistic, equally as
exciting (well, not quite, but I’m being self-indulgent): “I’ve booked us for
lunch at The Wild Garlic on Friday”.
Maybe they had won the lottery?
The Wild Garlic is a restaurant situated in Beaminster (a
sleepy town on the south coast between Exeter and Bournemouth) which, whilst on
the face of it seems little more than a more-active-than-average mortuary, is
actually a rather charming little village lucky to house one of the finest restaurants
in this part of the country. For those
of you that love reality-culinary TV (like me, unashamedly), you’ll be familiar
with the owner and head chef of this café-come-gastro pub, Mat Follas, who was
the winner of BBC’s Masterchef in 2009. The rotund New Zealander gained
prominence for his love of local, fresh ingredients that typically were
available to forage within the surrounding countryside, which is why the
location of this restaurant makes perfect sense.
As you can tell, I was pretty excited by the prospect of
dining at Mat Follas’ restaurant – Mat
Follas! – and so it was difficult to hide my initial disappointment upon
first sight of the restaurant. Situated in the central square of the village,
it is utterly non-descript from the outside, blending in with the monotony of
craft stores and news agents. Yet I tried to stay positive, if only because I
knew my mother had known I’d wanted to come here for ages, and I didn’t want to
seem ungrateful.
We entered, and things immediately changed. The décor was a
mix between off-white wooden panelling, and light-mint green walls, which
worked really well with the blackboards and real wooden fire. We were shown to
our seats by a welcoming waitress, who had that laid-back kind of attitude
which rendered validating our reservation superfluous; it’s something I really
like in waiting staff, simply because I know I’m far too stiff to pull it off.
Yet I immediately felt at home, and had almost immediately forgotten about my
earlier doubts.
Once drinks were out of the way, we got stuck into the menu,
which led to quite an extensive and in-depth discussion between M and I
regarding how on earth we were supposed to choose from such fine options; we
decided on skipping starters (of which there was a surprisingly impressive
range, including the intriguing red onion tart tatin) and went straight for the
mains. Having deliberated for quite some time, M went for the Jerusalem
artichoke risotto with radishes, and I (rather indulgently) went for the 12-hour
cooked pork belly with sweet potato.
When it came out, I was initially taken-aback with the
vibrancy of the colours, and indeed the aromas that were brazen across the
plate. Indeed, one of the joys about a less descriptive menu is that when you
are presented with the dish, there are surprises which often can elevate it
above your expectations, and I can safely say that was the case with my dish.
The pork belly was cooked to perfection; the 12 hours cooking were clearly the
difference. It dispelled the myth that certain cooks seem to have, which is
that pork has to be ‘murdered’ at a high temperature. In this case, the pork
was obviously cooked over night at a very low temperature, and it showed as the
meat came apart at the slightest of touches, meaning that the flavour was
amplified above expectations. It was topped with crackling that, whilst in the
eyes of some could be said to be overdone, in my opinion was as it should be
(crisp and full of flavour), and was accompanied by roast carrots and a (giant)
parsnip.
As I referred to above, the dish was elevated above my
expectations, and that was not just down to the cooking. Accompanying the pork
were two types of purée; sweet potato (as included in the menu), and beetroot.
Now, I can hear the reservations that people may suggest regarding sweetness,
but the genius of the design of this dish came through with the fact that the
two sweet purées, with a fairly sweet meat, were perfectly offset by the
crackling and the juice, which provided a saltiness that was essential for the
success of the plate as a whole.
Even though I’ve become slightly carried away with this
dish, it is only just to mention that M’s dish was also really quite brilliant
(dare I say it, for a veggie plate). The flavour of sweet Jerusalem artichoke and
slightly bitter radish ran throughout the pearl barley risotto, which was a
first for both of us, and whilst it could be criticised for being a little too
rich, the finished article was a lesson on how to achieve the perfect risotto
texture; al dente enough for some
crunch, but creamy and smooth at the same time.
Whilst this was all rather enjoyable, the crowning glory of
the meal was still to come (to our delight). I’m sure if you’re reading this
then you probably have all experienced that moment when, having unanimously
agreed that everyone is far too full to have desert, you take a look at the
menu and observe the awkward silence that precedes the inevitable “well, I
suppose we could share something”. And in all honesty, there was no way either
of us were going to refuse; the real question was how were we going to decide
what to have. After much deliberation, we settled on the intriguingly-named
‘lemon curd pavlova with peanut butter dust’, and we certainly backed the right
dessert.
Even though the concept of peanut butter dust sounds
inexorably pretentious, the dish offered far more than the description
entailed. The pavlova – soft and airy with whisked egg whites – was filled with
clotted cream, and topped with a mixture of lemon curd, toffee sauce, peanuts,
peanut butter dust, and the rather unusual beetroot dust. It was a triumph. The
light meringue, with its crisp exterior and gooey inside, was matched perfectly
by the simultaneously tart lemon curd and sweet toffee, with the whole peanuts
adding a crunch that was backed up in flavour by the peanut butter dust. In
truth I probably could have done without the beetroot (it added little in
flavour), although I must admit it worked perfectly in terms of visual effect.
After we devoured the lot, M got slightly giddy, and in her enthusiasm managed
to get the waitress to bring Mat out of the kitchen to explain the concept
behind the dish. I may be sounding a little harsh actually; the waitress, as
previously explained, was lovely, and Mat – in between cooking and brining out
food personally to some of the other (lucky) diners – was more than happy to
explain his ideas about the dish, and food generally; interestingly, he said he
tried to adhere as close as possible to the balance of sweet, sour, savoury and
salty, hence the addition of peanuts and beetroot to the desert.
Overall, The Wild Garlic delivered where it matters most; in
the taste and presentation of the food, and in the atmosphere of the restaurant
itself. Whilst Beaminster has little else to offer, and possibly detracts from
the personality of the establishment, it is pretty easy to forgive when you see
that the reasoning behind its location is clear; foraging is what Mat Follas
does, and he does it very well. Oh, and he’s a nice guy too… always good to
know.
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