A total surprise and I couldn’t understand why the sous-chef had been so insistent that I had a haircut. An early birthday (and Christmas) present. A special dinner cooked by James Martin and his team at the lavishly posh Chewton Glen hotel deep in the New Forest. Super courtesy and care ushered the wildly generous sous-chef and me into “The Kitchen” restaurant amidst about 50 other eager diners. We sipped an excellent French Crémant de Limoux sparkling wine while the tame guitarist entertained with his strumming and singing.
I actually counted the cutlery: at least five courses! And a literal forest of glasses promised a variety of other wines. The only drawback was that the table-for-two was extra wide to allow enough space for it all. Difficult to smooch or even cha t with the beloved sous-chef!
Fresh crusty home-made bread with an onion velouté to start. Sounds easy if you can get the Roscoff onions, add a tincture of liquorice, toasted chopped almonds (or were they hazelnuts?) for crunch and a drizzle of “Rainwater Madeira” to finish. When asked for the difference between velouté and soup James replied, “About 50 quid!” I suspect that my version will be simpler! Add a glass of Rosé wine from his vineyard in Provence and we were off.
Next came an eclectic combination of Italian crab risotto with Thai spices, lemon grass and Kaffir line leaves. The sous-chef has already made our home-version: roasted the crab shell before simmering brought real depth to the stock and we didn’t bother with his cream, mascarpone or parmesan.
Between each course, James Martin regaled us with tales of his car and watch collections, his restaurants and fellow chefs. Certainly not someone shy of name-dropping! Diners were encouraged to ask him questions which he generously answered though few were probably very original.
Hand-dived Orkney scallop with a beurre blanc and an excellent red pepper sauce came next, accompanied by a Chardonnay, again from his vineyard. Unlike many/most French wines, those from his vineyard enterprise in Provence are emblazoned with his name rather than the appellation. It makes it so much easier for us simple English-types to choose. My own sous-chef was particularly gratified when James confirmed what we’ve always known, that French wine is definitely the best in the world! Meanwhile, I was planning how to create my own version of the pepper sauce.
Not an inexperienced entertainer, the famous TV chef sat alongside us diners at our tables. He revelled in the banter that became more and more risqué as the evening progressed and the wine flowed.
That Chardonnay was just right with the next cod, lobster claw and lemon gel dish. I wonder whatever happens to the rest of the lobsters. But utterly delicious. My own sous-chef host kept up a running commentary on the fast-cooking action of the brigade of about 12 chefs in the huge open-plan kitchen that was the centre piece of the room.
Braised beef cheek with pearl barley followed but my simple palate found the cheffy seasoning just a bit too salty. A taste of the red wine helped. Meanwhile, James had been re-circulating around the tables, chatting to guests and sharing tales of his life: plane piloting, guitar playing, TV cooking and much more. He’s a real trouper. The winning diner question inspired him to sign her arm in preparation for a tattoo. Using his dyslexia as an excuse for misreading the question, he offered to sign her a**e, whereupon she enthusiastically agreed. A true fan putting her skin where her mouth was!
Finally, the classic French Tarte Tatin made with Pink Lady apples and ice-cream in a chocolate apple mould. A great combination of textures and flavours, though our own version of the Tarte using home-grown Cox’s Orange Pippins (from our 150-year-old tree) in honey and butter caramel wasn’t beaten.
A terrific experience for everyone but our adventures didn’t end in the restaurant. Staying at a little local pub/hotel down narrow country roads, it had been impossible to get a taxi at the start of the evening. Hats Off to the Hordle Premier Inn receptionist who dropped everything and took us in her own car. We left a jar of our honey next morning to thank her. And, even more coincidentally, our return driver was a Romanian keen to get into the para pharmaceutical side of beekeeping! Contact details were exchanged and perhaps there’s a new recruit to the Hampshire band of bee-enthusiasts! Those extra adventures made the whole experience even more memorable.
But it was good to be home the next morning after a few hours sleep, a breakfast we could barely touch and a tricky drive through those familiar tiny New Forest roads, awash with flooding. What memories of a very special birthday treat!
