Part of this trip is about reading, writing and spending time not on a computer…… so I am handwriting this! Well almost. We packed on Saturday for our week in the West Country. My visions of packing with heavy suitcases of novels and magazines got obliterated by new purchases and extra bags for all the laptops and power supplies that have come with us.
Our first visit was with the Jimjam’s brother Andy in Winchester, half way on the journey to Devon and in time for a slap up early lunch. A fellow foodie and all round good guy, Andrew had chosen the rather superb Chesil Rectory for lunch which according to the Maitre’d was the 3rd oldest building in the city. The option of starters left us all wondering what to have. Claire and I had a fabulously rich squid ink risotto with chilli calamari on the top. We were both much mocked for the Goth appearance the squid ink gave our lips. The bald man devoured a huge helping of smoked mackerel and whisky pate while Andrew had enjoyed the ham hock. The only thing on the menu we didn’t try was the asparagus soup. I have to admit defeat with the risotto. It was gloriously opulent and bursting with flavour and I don’t feel I did it justice really, but I was trying to leave some space for the roast Pork belly I had drooled over the menu for.
The main course didn’t disappoint by any stretch of the imagination. The Roast beef was piled high and succulently pink accompanied by a huge Yorkshire pudding. My Pork was stunningly cooked, moist with slightly crisp layers of juicy fat full of flavour. Now I am slightly disgraceful in that I love horseradish with roast pork and the dollop of creamed horseradish that melted into the gravy did nothing but enhance it. My other accompaniment was an apple sauce which was almost a mousse. So light and fluffy I would have asked for ladles more if I had the courage and space! Crunchy roast potatoes and red cabbage lit up the plate and a sweet puree added some more textures. The bald man and Claire both had a fish pie which was piping hot and full of fish and bright green peas with a piped potato top. Neither of them left a morsel. We opted against desert as we were losing time and had absolutely no space anyway. It was not a cheap meal, but it was certainly a memorable one and I would thoroughly recommend a visit to the Chesil Rectory any opportunity.
From Winchester we headed badly toward Devon. When I say badly, neither of us had studied a map and spent 25 mins driving around Winchester until we were out on the open road when the car broke down. Thankfully the car broke down in the car park of a French Restaurant and cooking school in the pouring rain. We were rescued and plied with coffee by the waiter who added a couple of exquisite truffles and refused any payment. Within the hour and thanks to the most friendly RAC man in history we were back on the road, slightly soggy but with much better directions on how to get to Devon.
You always feel better once a sign post announces you are going in the right direction for your destination and once the Brixham signs started appearing we were a lot more relaxed. The cottage we are staying in is light blue, perched on a hill looking right out over the harbour. Brixham is a really beautiful fishing town with a bustling harbour, pastel coloured cottages and a view to die for. We dumped our bags and left for town at speed, clambering down some lethal stairs to get to the harbours edge. A brief walk around the town and we decided a G&T and pint was definitely in order. So to a local pub we went and straight into the nosiest gaggle of Scousers. Not just the noisiest gaggle, but the most foul mouthed, butt crack showing, shell suit wearing gaggle I’ve seen outside of Liverpool. One of them proudly boasted how he’d been thrown out of every pub in his neighbourhood “’Aven’t I” and promptly misaimed his pint to his mouth and threw most of his lager down his front. Obviously more than one drinking problem! We left pretty damn quickly as I was sick of hearing how overweight his wife was declaring to be and another “gentleman” was busy stuffing Roger Rabbit down his trousers….. don’t ask, it happened.
Our haven was a little restaurant called Beamers where we were welcomed, seated and given menus by now the politest waitress in England. Traditional fare was on the menu with not a hint of spice. We chose to share a bowl of mussels which when they arrived and we tucked in, both had the look of “damn, should have ordered one for myself” Little local mussels drowned in cream and garlic sauce, richer than the traditional mariniere, that neither of us could get enough of it. So beautiful!
The Bald man was in need of meat and ordered an 18oz sirloin while I stuck with the reliable fish and chips. By the end of our meal we were both full to the gunnels and the Bald man declared that had been the best steak he’d had all year! Very high praise indeed! We collapsed into bed exhausted, full and happy and left the windows wide open for a while, filling the room with fantastic sea air and not a single Scouse sound in earshot.
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