Have yourself a tasty little Christmas

I was keen to explore the rest of my current 'home' (Robert Thompson the Hambrough) so agreed to have an aperitif in the lounge. I imagined roaring log fires, wing armchairs and homely touches but in fact it's more like a Swedish sauna with tables and chairs. The vaulted blonde wood ceiling and white plain walls gives it a slightly austere appearance, I suspect it comes into its own when you can fling open the French windows on a balmy summer evening onto the little terrace. On Christmas eve despite Ventnor's infamous microclimate, I'm not chancing it however! There are enormous glittery stars hanging from the rafters, little tealights in glass pots and my favourite white lilies but my room, though significantly bigger than the lounge, is much more cosy. The menu looks way more interesting, tonight's is as follows:

Appetiser
----------
Cornish Oysters in Various Forms
Or
Salad of Smoked Pheasant Breast with Celeriac, Apple and Walnuts
Or
Fine Tart of Onions
----------
Watercress Soup with a Truffled Poached Organic Egg
Truffle Brioche
----------
Roasted Saddle of Venison with Creamed Savoy Cabbage
Roast Parsnip and Sauce Grand Veneur
Or
Pan Roasted Monkfish Tail with Curry Spices and Cornish Mussels
Seasonal Vegetables
Or
Risotto of Butternut Squash with Glazed Bosworth Ash,
Trompette De La Morte and Autumn Truffle
----------
Tart Tatin of Apple
Tahitian Vanilla Ice Cream
Or
Citrus Terrine with a Natural Yogurt Sorbet
Warm Madeleines
Or
A Selection of Fine Cheeses
----------
Coffee and Petit Fours


I've ordered a deep, dark bottle of Clos des Andes Malbec for the duration of my stay, there are wine pairings available but I find generally these exceed my famously deficient (in some peoples' minds) capacity for alcohol so my decadent wine plus a couple of Kir Royales will do me just fine.


The dining room has a much warmer feel, there's still the wooden floorboards, the minimalist but elegant decor but with the sage green textured walls, jewel-like sea green satin blinds, the most stunning slightly Art Deco mirror above the unlit fireplace it's all so much more snug. Whilst I'm pondering the room my beautiful evocative-of-the-sea fluted crystal dress plate and silver twist of a napkin ring are removed and a linen waterlily containing a couple of just-from-the-oven Cheddar gougères appear accompanied by a mini disc of the most fragrant focaccia with that most perfect sea-salt adornment. Oh my this is seriously good!


But lo, the appetizer arrives. It is a diminutive pot of the most sublime silky cauliflower panacotta, marinated lobster and shellfish oil and is a massive seafood hit but the perfect size to get you salivating for more. That's one talented chef!


Next I plumped for the Fine Tart of Onions, I may had hankered for some of the onion to be as caramelized as the rest but that's my own taste and I'm sure this was all part of achieving the optimal texture and there's no denying it's very tasty.


The heady aroma of the other diners' truffled brioche have already assailed me several times and when my Watercress Soup with a Truffled Poached Organic Egg and Truffle Brioche arrive I can't wait to dive in. Beneath the foam is the most verdant of green soups. I've waxed lyrical before about both my love of the black diamond - truffle (I'm rather partial to black diamonds in all forms actually) and softly poached eggs which when speared release their golden elixir in rivulets to anoint the rest of the dish. Hence my excitement and it didn't disappoint. It wasn't too heavy and felt slightly virtuous despite the decadence of the truffle.


The sculptural Roasted Saddle of Venison with Creamed Savoy Cabbage, Roast Parsnip and Sauce Grand Veneur was next to grace my white linen altar. I'd been fearing that I would struggle (blame the focaccia, gougères AND brioche!) but one taste of the Clanger shaped perfection of parsnip, a ridiculously good parsnip puree, the rosy succulent venison and that rich 'hunter' sauce and I'm sold. Somehow I manage to utterly clean the plate. I think I may have died and gone to heaven!


A palate cleanser or pre dessert of pear posset with vanilla foam may restore my sense of equilibrium, I am literally reeling from this menu. The Space Dust (popping candy) hiding in the soft creamy folds of the foam literally has the pear nectar dancing on my tongue. I do love a Space Dust surprise, it's a witty little treat to find in your dessert. It seems the packets of my childhood have had a welcome resurgence and I for one think this is a good thing.


I'm not entirely sure there's any room left but I plan to tackle the at least a corner of the Tart Tatin of Apple with Tahitian Vanilla Ice Cream. I've had many tart Tatins, sometimes the pastry can be rather dense and stodgy, the caramel just too caramelized verging on bitterness and the whole thing can be very hard work and frankly just too tart. But this Tart Tatin is how they should be, the light-as-air pastry shattering on your tongue, the bronzed apples yielding to the spoon and a very attractive plate. It was a masterpiece, sadly there was no room at the inn (cue seasonal nod!) to do it complete justice as there is a limit.


The finale were a couple of festive petit fours and in my case, hot water. Even a mild Earl Grey may have pushed me over the edge tonight.
I chose to come to the island, to this (so I'm told) slightly shabby very off-season seaside town that time forgot because my interest was piqued by this intriguingly incongruous "restaurant with rooms." Michelin starred and Ventnor - sophisticated eyebrows were raised somewhat. But this is a find, this epicurean diamond truly is a gourmet destination, this incredibly breath-taking food and attentive and warm service wouldn't be out of place in any of the foodie capitals but here instead of having to drag myself onto public transport or spend a king's ransom getting a cab, I can just climb upstairs to my beautiful room and most likely collapse.
And oh my, tomorrow I get to do it all again! Thank goodness I has the foresight to bring my hiking boots, though possibly known as the worlds worse walker, I need to somehow prepare for an even more sumptuous Christmas lunch. Tomorrow I'll explore Ventnor and see if what I've read is true, I suspect that the chicest of seaside resorts would struggle to look its best all shuttered up in winter garb but I think there could be much promise in a windswept beach and wintry sea, as long as the rain stays away! It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas!


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Ticket to Ryde

Well if I was being pedantic it should be a ticket from Ryde, as the fast cat (catamaran) called Night Ryder (yes I know!) pulled into Ryde Pier Head where in mere moments the wonderful vintage London Underground carriages chugged into the platform. And you can buy your ticket onboard, how civilized! And whilst we're talking civilized, the fast passenger ferry had wifi on it, how perfect for those of us who like to be connected to the interweb at all times!
I had been childishly enthusiastic about the displaced tube carriages as wasn't disappointed, these are the ones you might see in the transport museum not whisking Londoners and visitors hither and thither. They have long bench seats and dark wooden clad walls, have a vague musty smell but clearly have been spruced up recently. The pale paintwork is crisp and the distinctive seat upholstery is bright and very free of graffiti. I travelled the full length of the rail network, a whole 23 minutes worth and loved the spotless stations with their quaint metal destination signage and neat fences, have I stepped back in time? It was a curious experience to see the sea from a tube window, your only chance of that on a London tube is if you've managed to board some runaway train, and I may have left a white world but here in the Isle of Wight it's pretty green. There are little patches of snow but the recent rain has washed all the rest away. The sky was streaked deliciously with salmon and satsuma as we crossed over so I'm hoping tomorrow bodes a fine photogenic day.
As the train stopped going all the way to Ventnor back in the 60's the last leg of the journey was by taxi. My driver gave me a great introduction to the area and as we pulled up to my hotel - Robert Thompson The Hambrough - named as such to remind you it's all about the food (Robert is the Michelin starred head chef), we remarked of the wonderful prominence over the sea. I hoped I may be lucky enough to have a sea view and thus be able to admire that enviable view during my entire stay. And much to my delight I'd been upgraded to a fabulous room with a seating area overlooking the sea from two sides and also a huge bathtub also with a sea view.


I believe the rooms have recently been refurbished and have that sumptuous elegance I love so in boutique hotels. There's velvet cushions, a comfy sofa, a bed piled high with satin sequined and beaded fabrics, a great walk in closet that lights up when you open the doors so all your luggage can be magically out of sight and if I was inclined towards coffee, a shiny illy proper espresso machine of my very own. I opted for Champagne instead!


The bathroom has both a rainfall shower and the bathtub with a view, toasty underfloor heating, striking greeny blue glass mosaics and lots of yummy toiletries.
If I lack inspiration for my own entertainment I've got access to a vast DVD library. But i have my much desired wifi so I intend to while away my time blogging - it's well overdue!
One of my favourite touches is a couple of sophisticated matching with the decor (naturally!) Christmas trees for that festive feel. I'd had a taste of their chic yet rich Christmas decorations as we ascended the staircase to my room and I look forward to seeing the rest of the hotel when I emerge for dinner. I had a good feeling about this place before I'd arrived, the website, the excellent customer service I received (tons of advice of getting here and it was all spot on) and the warmest of welcome. This will be a very, merry, both elegant and delicious Christmas I sense! Cheers!


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Back traveling and blogging... again!

The thing about writing is that it's a solitary occupation. It's okay to whip out your little leather bound notebook and propelling pencil to jot down a couple of bon mots in company but anything more could be construed as just rude. On my last holiday I imagined that I'd be scribbling away whenever I got the chance but even though I went by myself I was living with others and we were generally armed with our cameras from dawn to dusk. And if we weren't snapping away or toiling over a hot Photoshop (well actually the Nikon equivalent which I wasn't a fan of due to my camera of choice being a Leica and it coming originally accompanied by Photoshop Elements which just seems so much more intuitive, but enough of technology frustrations) we were eating delicious food (which of course I also photographed) but now I'm heading forth for my Christmas break and I'm determined to attempt to record some of the fabulous places and tasty food I've enjoyed over the last few months (years!)
I do seem to be permanently apologising for being a dreadfully delinquent blogger. I so admire those that manage to write interesting, witty and informative blogs every day. Like many I write a lot at work each day, but spreadsheets and emails are not so artistically imaginative. I hope I mostly achieve informative, I can only hope for interesting also and crave for wittiness! Though a witty spreadsheet may indeed be a challenge! But after a long day doing my real job and wrangling my inbox into something less likely to erupt into fireworks of consonants and vowels I struggle to conjure the creative juices to commit to words the culinary musings that swirl round my head.
But yet again I find myself making promises, I think my two New Year's resolutions should definitely be to write more (blog wise) and do my expenses more regularly. I don't know if you're reading this H but if so I can hear you cheering at the latter. As the festive season stretches ahead of me hopefully with days filled with picturesque walks armed with my camera (note to self - must pack remotely sensible footwear), writing, reading and relaxing preferably in front of a roaring fire. There will be Michelin Christmas fare to savour, photograph beautifully and write about. Once I've got my bearings there's a little steam train I may have to ride to add to my nostalgic steam journeys of Britain (though I have no recollection of ever just getting from a to b on a steam train, I'm too young for that. All my steam train journeys have been at the hands of train enthusiasts who've lovingly restored some neglected carriages and coaxed a retired engine back to life to start breathing like a dragon again.
My destination for Christmas is the Isle of Wight. I've never been but when my original plans to return back to North Norfolk fell through because I didn't book my hotel early enough I threw myself into the hands of the Sawday's Special Places to Stay website and filtered by "restaurants with rooms". Lots of interesting ideas popped up but I did think I should possibly consider inclement weather just in case. As it turned out I had surprisingly percipiency as various parts of country seem very much buried under snow at this point, with possibly more to come. Now I'm not there yet (my journey is a bus, two trains, a ferry, another train and then a taxi) but I'm hoping the Isle of Wight's infamous micro-climate means I'll not be entirely snowed in. But if the weather does take a turn for the worse it will be the perfect excuse to stay tucked up by the fire, sipping mulled wine and writing. I'm crossing everything for a wifi connection so that after all that effort I can release my ponderings, my ruminations if you will, onto the world wide interweb.
But before I get all cosy in my little boutique-y home-from-home for a few days there's the small matter of getting there. Out of my train carriage window of train number two I see much more snow than I left behind, and am grateful that unusually for me I donned proper hiking boots for this journey. I'm not known for being suitably shod on any occasion (flashbacks of high heeled, strappy sandals on a Hawaiian beach and stiletto suede shoes for the chilly French countryside (read cobbles, grass, gravel etc.)) but for once I feel curiously prepared. Okay I will slip into something more comfortable, i.e. high-heeled and sequined, on safe arrival in 'Narnia' but for now I'm ready - Snow Queen and all. The most exciting part if the journey for me is the third train, apparently the Isle of Wight's dinky little Island line uses two old London tube carriages. Seeing I board a variety of tube trains on a daily basis I'm not sure why the thought of some vintage displaced underground carriages delights me so but it does. I guess it just makes it feel a bit more of an adventure.
Generally Christmas time is when we go somewhere very familiar, a childhood home, squashed around a large, loud dining table with the extended family, making the annual pilgrimage to the more far flung relatives clutching be-tinseled parcels and bottles of something warming. But my festive holiday is a little different, I'm going to a brand new place, to experience a totally different Christmas with strangers. I won't have a stocking to investigate or surprise parcels to unwrap but I will have a new world to explore, turkey-free gourmet food to savour and no washing up! For all of you trying to get to other places this Christmas both near and far I wish you undelayed journeys, considerate snow drifts and a warm welcome on arrival and of course a very merry Christmas. Ho ho ho!



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Let them eat cake!

Or how a horse, a pig and a tiny monkey helped us celebrate!

Birthdays generally feature cake and if you're especially lucky multiple cakes! The cake may manifest itself in a rich cream-filled gâteau beribboned and lavishly topped with delicate chocolate curls, a tower of tiny cupcakes scattered with glittery silver balls and crystalised hearts or if so inclined plump iced buns filled with crème patisserie. In some circles your special day is marked by consuming portions of your own face as your considerate friends and family have had you briefly immortalised in the medium of edible ink and icing! Or perhaps you've had your current pastime captured in cake form, if you're a budding centre forward perhaps you'd most crave a football cake, a rock star in training may appreciate their powder blue Fender Stratocaster carved into sponge of if 'In the night garden' was your bag you could have an icing Iggle Piggle dancing in one corner and no doubt Makka Pakka obsessively sweeping up crumbs in the other.
As well as the cake there's also the important ritual of blowing out the requisite number of candles accompanied by a rendition of "Happy Birthday" and making your annual wish but thankfully giving someone "the bumps" seems to have gone entirely out of fashion!
Today is both my fairy goddaughter KK and my birthday. And at the terribly grownup age of 4 (and at my somewhat older age!) it seemed fitting to have a proper grownup afternoon tea party. And we decided this afternoon tea should be relished in the place of previous enjoyable afternoon frolics - the Caramel Room at the Berkeley Hotel in Knightsbridge. They can provide the typical afternoon tea just like other purveyors of this tradition - dainty sandwiches, lavishly jam and Devon cream topped scones and a sweet finish of some sort of dinky cakes and/or pastries but they also have a speciality up their culinary sleeves. The pièce de résistance is their Prêt-à-Portea or 'a fashionista's afternoon tea'. Their unique twist is to get inspiration for their delectable creations from this season's designer collections. Artfully arranged on our iconic Paul Smith cake plates are a Sonia Rykiel nautical vanilla and raspberry jam layered mousse topped with a humorous yellow hat, Yves Saint Laurent soft romantic white chocolate mousse and raspberry custard finished with crunchy meringue scattered with mini strawberries, Chanel must-have clog biscuit adorned with chocolate studs, Erdem dark silky chocolate cake filled with passion fruit and delicate lace, Jean Paul Gaultier fluorescent cheese cake, Anya Hindmarch light apricot sponge summer Halen bag, belted Jason Wu poppy seed cocktail dress, Christopher Kane pale pink almond macaroon and Paul Smith orange, papaya and pink lavender bavarois.



But before we start sharing out the 'desserts' we have some typical little triangular sandwiches filled with smoked salmon, beef and pickle, soft cheese and crunchy cucumber and egg mayonnaise rolls then we had a plate of savouries. Again these reflect the season so we have spoonfuls of saucy moist nuggets of duck, marinated prawns, cornets filled will delicate crabmeat, soft cheese and roe rolls and refreshing watermelon shooters. As we demolish these, our most favourites are replenished before the lure of the designer exotica makes us cast the savouries aside. My top of pops are the gooey chocolate cake, the delicate macaroon and the biscuity chocolate iced clog.



And if the loaded cake tier wasn't enough both KK and I have our individual beautifully decorated plates delivered topped with spookily my favourite cakes crowned with a candle to blow out and wish upon.
KK is a little too distracted by her presents to consider the delights on her purple monkey-head plate much. I'd got her a tiny knitted monkey to attach to her schoolbag as she started pre-school this week and as she is now old enough to start pony riding lessons I thought I'd buy her a large toy horse so her other extensive baby doll, teddy and monkey collection can learn to ride also. Another J had got her an ever so soft Peppa Pig which was accompanied by its own puppy. How apt as another J herself has the most gorgeous beagle puppy Jäger! So KK has her first rider and H is already dreading getting a potentially sugar-high four year old and cumbersomely large horse home in the rush-hour. Whoops er sorry about that!
I've also done incredibly well and been lavished in loveliness. Continuing the designer theme another J has presented me a bottle of my favourite Coco by Chanel perfume and H has given me a gorgeous Alex Munroe necklace I've had my eye on. I've also succumbed to a delicious morsel of sparkliness designed by my local friendly jewelers (I'd only gone in to pick up a repair!) Thoroughly spoilt for sure!
The company and the cakes were utterly wonderful and it's been a truly memorable birthday, the only niggle was that the Berkeley had an unfortunate issue with their air-conditioning and both the beautiful, sweet creations and all of us were melting in the heat. It was actually a joy to get back outside again. We were given the now a little more compact mint green 'handbag' shaped doggy-bag with a few more of those Chanel inspired clog biscuits and other cakes in them to take home and they really tried to find a bag big enough to accommodate the as yet unnamed horse, though that proved too tall an order. So what shall we do when you're five KK? And I promise H if I go large again I'll have 'the man' deliver it!


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Cley Not Really Next The Sea

Cley, or to give its proper name, Cley Next The Sea is not next to the sea at all. It used to be before a greedy landowner decided to attempt a bit of land-grabbing whilst the rest of the busy trading port were distracted by the Plague. This caused the river to silt up and the sea retreated and a nature reserve was born. I suppose they considered renaming their village but decided that "Cley Quite Close to the Sea" didn't the the same ring to it! So the only sea I've seen is a thin sliver on the horizon beyond the fields from half way up Cley Windmill. Entering the balcony I carefully hook open the door to ensure I'm not stuck out there should a particularly blustery gust of wind slam the door shut behind me. Well I guess they picked the perfect location for a windmill, when its job was to grind corn not necessarily to house passing visitors to Norfolk. Retreating back inside after taking a few photographs espy the ladder leading up to the Wheel Chamber. This is the most sought after room in the mill, it can only be reached by this ladder and once up there a second ladder will take up again to the bathroom. There's a handy winch to help pull your luggage up into the room and the views I believe are even more spectacular.



For breakfast for a change there was smoked haddock and poached egg. If you pre-booked this or the kippers this night before you could start the day a littledifferently otherwise it was a full English. I intend to enjoy the blue skies again and avail myself of some goodies from Picnic Fayre and find a grassy knoll to fling my new picnic blanket upon. I generally seem to explicably acquire picnic hampers despite the so very rare opportunities I have for picnicking (I've alluded to my addiction for hampers before when I mentioned the 'hamper porn' both Fortnum & Mason Harvey Nichols send me every year). This time in Holt I was able to hold myself back on the hamper front and succumb to another lovely picnic blanket instead. Though today I'm most grateful for this transgression as it would not be pleasant sitting on the sodden grass otherwise and now I can perch on a soft spotty waterproof backed blanket to enjoy my impromptu picnic.
Picnic Fayre is a wonderful deli we discovered last year and I'd set my heart on one of their famous venison pies. And whilst I was there I picked up some Snowdonian cheese with garlic and herbs, roasted, salted broad bean snacks and a bottle of proper local apple juice. If I didn't fear that I'd ruin my appetite at the special Wine and Dine event at the mill tonight I would have availed myself of more of their fine fare as it was very tempting. (on returning home the first page this month's Delicious fell open was to a familiar shop front - Picnic Fayre has been short-listed for 'Deli if the Year' - it seems I have good taste!)
Across the road from the deli is Made in Cley, which as well as some jewellery and local photographs sell their own pottery. Much of it is too colourful for me but I love the minimalist white flan dish and being without a picnic hamper I am devoid of plates so I could make use of it for my small feast and gain an attractive dish into the bargain.


I found a idyllic spot to soak up a few rays of sun and see if the venison pie is as delicious as I remembered and delighted to find that it was as moist and meaty as last year and definitely worth the acclaim. The apple juice washes it down rather nicely. The whole situation seems redolent of "piles of ham sandwiches and lashings of Ginger beer" that used to fuel the intrepid adventures of Enid Blyton's Famous Five and marked my first forays into solo reading. I harboured dreams of being George, Ann was too insipid for me and George had no siblings as myself.
Sadly my quintessential English picnic got rained off I shouldn't have really been surprised I was possibly tempting fate the moment I threw my picnic blanket on the ground. A little bit like when you light the barbecue and you think "was that wise, have I really angered the sun god now?" Actually the shower didn't last very long and perhaps I could have lingered over my venison pie but as the first few drops spotted my improvised picnic plate I packed everything up and walk back to the windmill. My plan was to drop off my tripod and find a spot nearer to the mill to reconvene my picnic however it was very fortunate that I went back to my room when I did as suddenly the heavens opened and the brief shower returned bringing back all its friends to form a torrential downpour and it would have been a very sodden picnic if I'd stayed on my grassy knoll.
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I spy Cley!

Cley is the last destination on my little North Norfolk coastal tour and as I drag my suitcase and sundry photographic paraphernalia plus a few local purchases from the Coasthopper bus stop towards my B&B, I ponder the challenge of negotiating these village roads thus laden as a packhorse. There are no pavements and normally the act of nipping behind a parked car or stepping precariously on the cobbles marking someones front door when a particularly wide four wheel drive tank rumbles by is fairly easy when unencumbered but today it is proving quite perilous. But when I yank my case finally over the little bridge (gravel and 'spinner' cases don't mix) and see my first view of Cley Mill in the recently restored late sunshine it has definitely been worth it. At the very first glance at the majestic windmill whilst driving through Cley last year to partake of the fine goodies from Picnic Fayre and seeing the sign for 'B&B' made me determined that I would make use of their hospitality one day and experience mill life. I quickly grab some photos in case the fickle weather turns again and am then escorted to my Barley Bin room.


The room is lovelier than I expected, I'd only decided that I wanted stay in in the actual mill not the other out buildings and as this was the only remaining room I hadn't weighed up the merits of one room over another. And as I hadn't done the normal research I hadn't realized that that my room would be so enormous, with a bed the size of a small village, a slouchy settee, antique tables and chest of drawers, a wonderful French looking tall mirror and the best surprise (because I hadn't read the website) a giant claw footed bath.


Clearly a mill would need a large space to store their barley hence my rooms generous proportions. The bathroom is the only place I can see the round wall as the Barley bin is in the lower part of the mill and thus seems attached to the cylindrical tower.
After freshening up and unpacking I descend to join the other guests for pre-dinner drinks and then into the transformed dining room. The evening meal is billed as Dinner by Candlelight on the front gate outside and there's no false advertising. The romantic in me thinks how cosy and elegant and the blogger in me thinks 'I wish I owned a miner's helmet!'. My waiter is charmingly accommodating (Victoria take note!) and fills the rest of my table with additional candles which brightens my outlook.



Shortly afterwards the Pan Fried Fillet of Red Mullet on a Watercress & Walnut Salad with Orange and Vanilla Sauce is served to us all (they have a set menu at Cley Mill). Very soon the soft murmurings in the dining room are replaced by mmmmm's as all the diners comments on the moist flakes of fish and the delectable citrusy sweet sauce, with the peppery bite of the watercress and crunch of walnuts. I made sure I mopped up every gorgeous drop with my remaining bread, that was a seriously good sauce.






The next course was the Fillet Steak with Garlic Roasted Cherry Tomatoes, Sautéed New Potatoes & a Wild Mushroom & Wholegrain Mustard Sauce. As I watched these being delivered to the other tables I made my usual mental calculations as to discretely extricate the scary tomatoes away from the meat and other good things. But as mine is delivered I realised it looked different than the other plates, instead of the roasted (evil) tomatoes ring around the meat my beef was adorned with the wild mushrooms with a stack of sauté potatoes to the side and ne'er a tomato in sight. I was seriously impressed! I couldn't even recall mentioning my tomato-phobic nature when I made my reservation but I must have and they'd cleverly remembered. The fillet steak melted in the mouth and a question regarding provenance netted information that it was bred and sold by their butcher in Melton Constable. So two for two so far, how would our meal end? The night's menu was pinned up on the board outside the mill but I hadn't seen it so it had all been a surprise.






The finale was a bowl of Slow Roasted Rosemary Plums, Rose Wine Syrup & a Minted Chocolate Garnish. The minted chocolate garnish was a reminder of my favourite from the Marks & Spencer chocolate mint selection we used to enjoy as a Christmas treat and started to melt subtly in the warmth of the aromatic plums and merge into the rose wine syrup. It was indeed three for three, this was a delicious and inspired pudding and Adam, the creator of all this bounty, is a seriously talented chef. Tomorrow night we've got the special gala wine and dine event, what heady new heights will we reach tomorrow? The couple of diners not already on the list for the extravaganza are very eager to sign up, and we retire to the lounge to drink coffee and tea and to mull over our collective joy of the windmill.

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Hit the Huts!

On my list of must photograph scenes were the popular, photogenic and ever so expensive beach huts in Wells. I'm not exaggerating about the price of these huts as one has just sold for nearly £70,000, and this is a small wooden shed that you're not allowed to sleep in! That's a serious amount to pay to ensure privacy when changing out of your sea-soaked bikini or applying sun cream away from stray sand particles (and I bet the sand gets in there anyway!) But all that aside they do make a lovely photo!
I had walked down to the beach and hoped the scraps of blue sky would remain long enough to fire off a few shots. There are a few brave souls who are frolicking in the sand but I'm on a one-track mission and after setting up the tripod and checking out my favourite huts I find an abandoned sand castle that clearly has suffered from an abortive siege and makes an evocative foreground.



The sky looks more promising out towards the sea and I didn't have to fear swimmers would interrupt my shot.









As I climb the steps off the beach I remembered that oft used photographers' maxim "look behind you!" as the back of the huts made an interesting composition. It's a shame about the shy, big, blue sky today, I just had to make do with the big, blue huts!


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The Victoria - I am not amused!

I arrived early at The Victoria at Holkham (due to there being a hour between Coasthoppers at night) so found a comfy settee in the Moroccan lounge surrounded by fat creamy candles and a size-of-a-bath bowl of citrus fruit and chilled a little before checking out the menu on offer tonight. There were a couple of interesting options but I wanted something fairly undemanding tonight and instead of the local rump steak and one of my favourites potato treatments - Gratin Dauphinois I opted for the simpler sounding Wild mushroom, truffle & mascarpone risotto for my main course. But for starter I thought I'd stay local and chose the Marinated breast of Holkham pigeon, carpaccio of fig & pancetta. Not being a fan of those winged rats in Trafalgar Square I always think that one less pigeon in the world is a fine thing (and yes I do know that the plump birds that fly happily around the estate are mere second cousins to those nasty, deformed clawed pests of public buildings). I ordered my choices in the lounge and taking a delicious glass of Malbec with me before being led to my table.
I'm seated in the conservatory and in the warm light I'm not entirely sure if the newly painted woodwork is a soft pistachio (is that even possible?) or a dusky blue. On second thoughts I'm going to split the difference and say it's a muted teal and it is echoed in the abstract meandering stems (a more green-fingered diner than me could probably pinpoint the flora) on the heavy cotton cinnamon blinds that adorn each window. Which as tonight we are experiencing the extreme opposite of lovely summer evening (though there's been no snow yet!) the less I see of the gloomy rain lashed goings on outside is a good thing.
But to paraphrase the introduction from Cabaret, "outside it is windy... in here life is beautiful!" and in these attractive surroundings I'm looking forward to my meal tonight here. I'd tried to bag a table at Morston Hall on the nights i hadn't already committed myself to some fine dining but that seems to be the hottest ticket in town and I always leave it too late. One day I'll stay there for the weekend and then they'll have to feed me!
Being prepared as a lone diner you're used to arming yourself with a prop or two. Unless you plan to stare into space between courses and interaction with your waiter/waitress you need a book, newspaper or in my case an iPad. I can write or work on my latest photographs when I'm in between courses and if inclined switch to reading whilst eating. Sometimes you end up chatting to the other diners around you and sharing a few travelers' tales but on other occasions you are grateful for the Boy Scout preparedness.



My amuse bouche is delivered, a little espresso cup of Mushroom tarragon soup which had a earthy, thick, creamy taste and is rather good so it bodes well for the rest of the evening. I always feel like Alice after devouring the "eat me" cake when drinking from an espresso cup, I don't get the practice not ever being able to develop a taste for the flavour of coffee, so the novelty has never worn off.
Next my just-off-the-estate pigeon turned up astride a big saucy cross of jus. The pigeon's flesh was moist but just a tiny bit unyielding to my knife. I admired the juxtaposition of the pigeon, the soft rosy slices of fig and crunchy shards of pancetta. And of course the ubiquitous sprinkling of those wispy touches of verdant pea shoots do add a pretty touch.



I'd swallowed a couple of forkfuls of the Wild mushroom, truffle & mascarpone risotto before I pondered the flavour. I couldn't recall what was on the menu that had made it sound so appealing and then remembered the 'truffle'. The mushrooms were very apparent but I really couldn't discern the thing that attracted me to the dish in the first place. It was a pleasant mushroom risotto but not risen to any heady heights with that ever so distinctive perfume of those nuggets of black (or if very lucky white) gold nor an extra creamy unctuousness that I would have expected from the mascarpone. To be honest it was a tad dull! I was thinking that I'd rather reach for some bread and then realized I hadn't been offered any. I scoped the other richly grained, chunky wooden tables and they all seemed to have been either be furnished with a roll or have a few vestiges of torn apart hunk of bread. I shrugged and wondered why I hadn't also been served with any.
After a wait my negligent waiter took my dessert order of Chocolate fondant, peanut butter parfait, praline ice cream. The menu explained that I needed to be patient for ten minutes for the fondant but that is pretty standard so I turned back to my book on my iPad and let the minutes tick by. When I lifted my head to see what was happening I realized the entire restaurant had emptied. It was just me, and still no dessert. I reckoned at least thirty minutes had passed, maybe more, I hadn't exactly set a stopwatch. Suddenly my waiter re-appeared seemingly vaguely shocked to see me still sat there and asked in a fairly accusatory tone whether I'd had my dessert. I would have thought the entirely empty table would be a big clue here unless he thought I'd eaten the plate also. It also occurred around then that the other unusual thing was that I'd never been offered any water. The lack of bread was irritating enough but why was there also no water offered. Do lone diners not eat bread, drink water or really deserve any form of service? All the other diners, either back in their rooms or on the way home now seemed to have had the requisite amount of attention, I could only assume that they just thought "I wanted to be alone" and taken it just too literally!



When my dessert arrived it seemed interesting enough though the trendy use of slate would probably mean some teeth-on-edge knife scraping in the empty restaurant, well at least no one would be disturbed. And ice cream on slate didn't seem such a wise decision if it melted too quickly. I made some tentative tip of spoon forays into the peanut butter parfait. I'd always be perplexed why I like peanuts but have always detested peanut butter. I've tried it a few times, I remember as a child occasionally a peanut butter sandwich would be thrust in my chubby hand in the belief that is what a child would relish - and I didn't. But I could happily scoop as many peanuts as would fit in those hands when the 'nibbles' bowls would appear around the lounge that would preclude my parents' dinner parties. Coming back to the present I decided this parfait was a little too sweet for my taste and focused on the safer chocolate fondant and ice cream. The chocolate fondant was rich and chocolaty, maybe could have been oozier but then on the other hand it might have oozed right off the slate which would have been a dreadful waste of chocolate. The final piece in the triptych was the ice cream, it tasted smooth and faintly resonant of something, but couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. So I spooned another morsel of ice cream whilst referring back to the menu searching for that elusive taste and as I read the word "praline" my tongue discovered a shard of said praline. And to my surprise as the praline melted my mouth exploded with mini firecrackers as that childhood favourite space dust or popping candy had been secreted in the praline. This was a lovely surprise and really lifted the dessert.
I then asked my taciturn waiter for a taxi and to continue with his charming and effusive manner all evening (!) he announces that I'm unlikely to get one! Well, there's a lovely thought, I could just stay in the empty restaurant all night. Fortunately for me someone, possibly the restaurant manager has more wherewithal and rustled up a taxi from Fakenham to take me back from Wells. It transpired that not only did my dessert struggle to make my table it was a no-show on the bill also. And after pointing out the omission he kindly considered the lassitude of its arrival good enough reason for me not to pay for it.
I felted a little cheated by my experience tonight at The Victoria, we'd enjoyed a lovely seasonal lunch there last year of lobster salad and buttery new potatoes and I'd decided then to put them on my list of places to revisit. And even though I thought my risotto was lacking it wasn't the food that left a bit of a sour taste, it was feeling so abandoned verging on ostracized. Was it because I was a solo diner or did I just get terrible luck with my waiter? Well sadly for whatever reason I won't be going back and I personally wouldn't recommend The Victoria at Holkham. I have no doubt that others will have had a different experience (well I hope so) and if my delinquent waiter ever gets to read this I hope he feels suitably chastised and treats the next diners or diner with more consideration.

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Raining buckets in Wells

The rain didn't bother to tease today, it started with a torrential downpour, eased off slightly to fool the locals and visitors alike and then caught us all out again with another drenching. I had my eye on pictures of the pretty Wells beach huts and armed myself accordingly with tripod et al but neither myself nor my camera particularly like being rain-lashed so opted for the dryer mooching around the shops option instead.
When the hunger pangs started to strike just before 2.30pm I tried a couple of the local hostelries (namely The Crown and The Globe Inn) but was thwarted by the time and neither could (or would) offer me the merest repast so seeing the sky bruising again I opted to hop on the Coasthopper, check out the goodies at Big Blue Sky and then onto the Hoste Arms in Burnham Market. I know for a fact that it's warm and comfortable and at the very least I could get some afternoon tea. It doesn't strike me as the perfect day for afternoon tea, I'm traditional I feel the need for a balmy afternoon before really craving a scone slathered with strawberry jam and a some dainty crustless cucumber sandwiches. Today feels more like hot soup or something toasted and cheesy.
Due to entirely misreading the now very soggy bus timetable and cleverly choosing a stretch of road where there's no bus stop (otherwise I may have realised the error as clearly I wasn't where I thought I was) I had a very wet extended wait in the rain for the next bus and finally arrived at the Hoste Arms impersonating a drowned rat. At least I established that my camera bag was waterproof, the rest of me didn't fare so well. But I found an inviting fat leather squashy armchair and collapsed into it determined to have now a very late lunch. At least they could rustle up some warm cheese scones which really hit the spot. A perfect rainy afternoon tea!


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A very special place to stay in Wells

The neat cream building with dusky blue door and windows is the luxury B&B Merchant's House in Wells. D and MC stayed here last summer after we packed up the cottage in Holme and I went to stay at Titchwell Manor. I'm sure they had a lovely visit but we haven't spoken about really that much since then so we haven't compared notes yet.
The discovery was due to the kind ministrations of Alastair Sawday. What makes his guides so indispensable is in the title - Special Places to Stay. He uncovers and carefully details those places that are especially welcoming, especially beautiful, especially quirky or historic, especially good at cooking or especially unique. And Liz and Dennis (and their adorable dogs - friendly Poppy and more nonchalant Rosie) tick all the boxes with their lovely and wonderfully historic home. They have two rooms, one with a imposing oak four poster bed and the blue room. I'm staying in the blue room. I have a light airy room, lit by a chandelier with attractive wood topped distressed cream chest of drawers, matching bedside table, wicker chair, piles of covetable natural, sandy, blue cushions on the bed and chair - for me the colours of this coast and all those beach-y knick-knacks that I'd fill my dream beach hut with. The four poster room has a bathroom a short step across the hallway whereas I have a immaculate ensuite blue and white tiled bathroom.
In the morning Liz whips up the tasty breakfast whilst Dennis is in charge of the freshly made bread. You eat breakfast in a charming room that was once a butchers. The wonderful old wooden half door where the customer would lean over and ask for their cut of meat, the extra low floor stripped of wood for easy mopping and the grooves in the window where the rods of meat would hang bely the former occupation. Dennis also told us that alongside the building next-door the merchants would bring their boats to the door and when the necessary water was reclaimed and redirected the owner switched to horses and built stables to accommodate them instead. Parts of the Merchant House are the oldest buildings in Wells so there is lots of history to hear about over breakfast.
The situation so close to the quay means you can stroll on past all the boats to the beach, you may even see Dennis on duty keeping an eye on the sea in the look-out tower. I can understand why these rooms get snapped up so quickly because it feels like home and you won't want to leave.

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Egg-ceedingly good!

After waxing lyrical about the Byfords eggs Benedict yesterday I felt I should go crazy and try the eggs Arlington this morning. Instead of their own tasty ham I'd get fat ribbons of Cley smoked salmon. From the famous smokery in the very village I'll be heading for later in the week.
If I had to choose between the two I'd struggle, they are both equally exemplary. My only conclusion is that Byfords do an exceedingly good Eggs Benedict and Eggs Arlington, my two favourite meals here so far.


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Bagging a bird!

Byfords have a reputation for their chicken, they only roast twelve a day and "when they're gone, they're gone!" and because I've been unable to bag one I'm even more determined to see what's the fuss about. So to prevent an unseemly struggle I reserve a portion for my evening meal. The menu details their local free range chicken, roasted in lemon and tarragon twice a day, every day, and you get a Half roast chicken, fat chips, garlic mayo, salad. All sounds pretty appetising!
But before the eagerly waited bird I have a little terra-cotta dish of an earthy Paprika spiced pork belly, green lentils. The paprika is rather subtle but I enjoy the succulent pork.
And then with a brief drumroll and the chicken appears. Well first impressions - there's no skimping on portions here and the chips and I'm glad there's some greenery. Sadly after all that I have to admit that I don't really get it. I want to love it, one of my favourite things is to roast a whole chicken until blistering and golden and the legs just want to tear themselves away from the 'crown'. The best bit is extracting all those glistening sticky morsels of succulent meat especially around the undercarriage. I'm definitely in the dark meat camp where the cook's treat is the oyster or even oysters! I don't normally carve the bird per se I'd rather just pull off hunks of the caramelized flesh and heap it still steaming and aromatic in the plates. So with my worship of my chicken I thought a local happy chicken of such providence and treated with due reverence would be a very fine thing indeed. But it wasn't, it was just okay. The chicken wasn't as moist as I would have liked (my fault for having one put aside for a later consumption perhaps?), I failed to discern the tarragon or lemon, the chips could do with a bit more juzzing up - maybe a tastier oil or a spot of triple cooking or something. The mayonnaise tasted synthetic and not very garlicky and I was frankly disappointed.
Maybe this was my fault, I shouldn't have set so much store on the infamous chicken, I'd bigged it up in my mind and it didn't meet my expectations. I hasten to add that it wasn't bad, far from it, it just could do better. Perhaps I'd just believed the hype too much or the chef was having a off day but whatever, it was all a bit 'meh!'


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Byford's Benedict

I fell for Byfords charms due the magic words "Eggs Benedict", which is one of my desert island dishes. Last August D, MC and I had been exploring the little shops in the courtyards of Holt and had found a handy table outside a buzzing Byfords and plonked down to partake in a cup of tea and possibly something more substantial. I think MC was especially delighted that D and I wouldn't be shopping for a while though we hadn't remotely relived our shopping orgy from our first visit to Holt but there's always a chance!
Whilst D and MC share a meat platter I realize that Byfords make a damn fine Eggs Benedict, the best I'd had for a really long time so mental note to self, must come back and maybe next time check out their bedrooms and see if they're as good as the Benedict!
A year later I'm back and the room is very nice indeed so how are the eggs? I'm feeling more like a brunch today but as this is a popular spot for taking a tasty respite (and it's rather rainy) so the place is chocked full. I didn't realize initially that there is a designated area for the residents but one of the friendly waitresses shows me to a table next to the groaning buffet table in a light room with more if the Steven Brooks photographs of the North Norfolk coast that I'd so admired in my room when my mistake is noticed. And as the queues of hungry potential diners grow I'm glad of my corner and could notice tad proliferation of families and especially pushchairs. At one point I was flanked with pushchairs (or strollers if you prefer) on every side - clearly 'the' accessory in Holt or today - Nappy Valley. And for much the time one of the babies were grizzling and occasionally screaming. Not quite the peaceful brunch I'd envisaged. But all that aside the Byfords Eggs Benedict were still as delicious as I'd recalled. There was an initial mix-up with tickets and my first portion was left standing on the pass which made it a tad cold and the hollandaise didn't look so glossy and unctuous. But that was whisked away immediately and hot on its heels came a second much hotter portion which looked much more appetizing and was indeed worth the wait.



So why am I waxing lyrical about a simple typical brunch dish. Well first it's the quality, their own glazed ham was thickly cut and flavorsome, the freshly laid happy eggs were poached well and just had enough oozy yolk when you forked it, the muffin topped which some green crunch was a great vehicle for the egg and ham and everything was draped in a perfect, velvety herby hollandaise. Which I adore and rarely can be bothered to whip up myself. Top brunch with or without the babies!

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A room with a meal

After lunch I headed for Blakeney en route to Holt, I was keen to photograph the quay with the fishing boats looking so weathered and picturesque but sadly the torrential rain quickly put paid to that little avenue of pleasure. The crabbers with their little buckets were sent scuttling and probably the crabs were thankful of the rain and they could have a day's respite.
When I arrived in Holt I thought I should have a little peruse of the higgledy piggledy streets with the hidden courtyards and the lovely little unique, independent and friendly shops but alas the rain defeated me again but I had my lovely new room to explore at Byfords.


I checked out their website of course but I'm not sure it doesn't really do them justice as my room is a stunner. I have the local flint walls, with a lovely local coastal image (which I've since discovered is one of one of the ever so evocative images of Wells taken by a local photographer Steven Brooks and available for sale in their gallery in Holt - which I'd love to give houseroom to but sadly my décor doesn't lend itself to the cobalt blues and sandy tones of this coast) in the recess of the old window.


There are wonderful old antique leather chairs, battered leather suitcases, books and a pair of brass binoculars to add to the atmosphere. The ceiling is beamed, the huge bed with an imposing walnut headboard is swathed in velvet throws and piled high with textured cushions.


Through the fabulous old wooden door of the substantial bedroom comes the heady scent of the most beautiful stargazer lilies which some may disagree but I think is a lovely touch. There are little candles to light and yummy treatments for the bath and an impressive separate rainfall shower. There's also a lots of light if you want it (which some hotels stint on) I think I'm going to be very at home here (not that my bathroom at home is a patch on this one!)
I'd booked a table for dinner and was led through the higgledy piggeldy warren of a restaurant (just like Holt itself) and was seated in a cosy alcove. I had set my heart on the chicken but. "when it's gone, it's gone!" and it was indeed all eaten. My second choice of steak salad also proved too popular so I continued with the local seafood theme and opted for the Baked Cromer crab pots with cognac, Colman's & Smoked Dabble Cheese for starter and the Cley smoked salmon, Cromer crab & brown shrimp spaghetti (starter portion) for main.
The pot was very unctuous, cheesy and less crabby than I thought. I was worried I might have crab overload but I needn't have worried. It was nice mobbed up with a bit of bread that you go and help yourself to (not ideal for a lone diner perhaps, especially if you're armed with an iPad that everyone seems incredibly intrigued by!)



I'm so pleased I'd ordered a starter portion of the spaghetti, my neighbours had also plumped for something lighter and as our dishes all turned up simultaneously we all remarked in unison "if this is a starter portion, just imagine the size of the main!". My spaghetti was light but to be completely honest I didn't really discern the smoked salmon, crab or brown shrimp. It tasted generally seafood-y and perfectly tasty but I really wanted to taste that Cley smoked salmon and it didn't leap at me. I hope my palate hasn't been deadened by all this excessive extravagant dining!
I wasn't able to finish my 'starter' portion of spaghetti and my neighbours similarly struggled with theirs. Clearly we're just all lightweights, but after a lengthy and lively discussion of local and further afield places to visit and dine we were able to do some justice to a dessert.





I opted for a little stem ginger and chocolate ice cream.
I enjoyed my first meal at Byford's. It's certainly a popular place, there are queues and you have to wait to be served and sadly the favourite dishes are snapped up quickly but that's the sign of the hottest seats in town. The menu is informative, they are passionate about local food and providence and as well as the restaurant have an acclaimed deli which if I was going home directly from here I'd love to fill my bags with goodies from. I'm going to give them two forks, and if the chicken is so talked about I think I need to secure a bit of bird for myself tomorrow so I can tell you if it lives up to the hype!


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Just before I go...

Whilst having my final breakfast at Titchwell Manor of scrambled egg and smoked salmon I harked back to the fabulous Scrambled Egg Truffle Brioche Mushroom I had on arrival on Friday night. The breakfast scrambled egg was okay but I like mine a little softer and creamier so I decided I would enjoy one more lunch of the proper stuff before I head for Holt. The decision was helped by the August English summer weather which had been drenching the walled garden all morning. So I found a cosy spot in the Eating Rooms, nestled amongst the fat, orange cushions on the long sofa I wrote and enhanced yesterday's photographs. Fortunately I had been able to bask under the infamous big, blue sky and take some evocative panoramas so I had something to work with, today unless I plan to feature the big, grey skies of Norfolk I am not going to be so fortunate.



When lunchtime arrived I was planning just the Scrambled Egg Truffle Brioche Mushroom again but the lovely waitress Michelle (who's is hanging up her apron here for Mickey Mouse ears on the Disney Dreams cruises, though apparently working in the grownup restaurant means that ears won't be necessary!) suggested I tried the Rare Breed Pig Terrine, Gribiche, Croutons as a precursor to the truffle-y delight. And I probably wouldn't have tried it but I'm glad I did - definitely packed full of porky goodness and a lovely mild piquancy from the gribiche.



The scrambled egg was as truly delicious as last time and the scrambled egg was a stranger to the breakfast version.


And the accompanying Samphire Lemon Butter was both as succulent and as messy (is that just me?) as last time.



To finish, I'd spotted the Norfolk Strawberries with Lavender Cream on the blackboard but not being a fan of cream unless cooked I made some adjustments and had mine with a soupçon of Strawberry Ripple Ice Cream and Lemon Sorbet. A fruity, refreshing end to my meal.
Now I really must drag my suitcase across their gravel for one last time and head to my next destination. I've had a wonderful few days here, the stresses of the last few manic weeks melted either as soon as I entered my elegant room or tasted that first sublime mouthful of Eric Snaith's tasty and properly seasonal food. All the staff are charming and attentive and make you feel special. I must give special thanks to Margaret Snaith for welcoming me into her charming hotel, her son Eric, not just for the fabulous food but for taking time out after a busy service to talk about his philosophy and suppliers when I'm sure he just wanted to get his whites off and head home and Mark Dobby the manager of all this, whose passion seems to be shared by all. I am already planning my next visit, maybe I'll see what Christmas is like around these parts.


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