L’Enclume is the poster child of the slow trend. There’s a
very off-grid feel to the whole thing. From the moment you arrive in Cartmel,
unplugging is the name of the game. It’s a village with little phone reception,
and even fewer parking spaces, so you end up abandoning the car somewhere far
away, a bit like a naturally-occurring Center Parcs.
Its relaxed vibe was well-timed. Sartre and I had spent a
fractious day – I’d worried him by pointing out a signpost to Gretna when we
were up at Keswick, and he’d vexed me by insisting on a trip to the Derwent
Pencil Museum.
Negotiating the village on foot is very much part of the
experience. You could be 200 miles from the M6, not 20. And the fact Cartmel is
in the Lakes, but doesn’t resemble Lakes topography at all, adds to this
uncharted feel.
We stayed at L’Enclume in the little collection of rooms by
the same name, across the village from the restaurant itself. As the sun sets,
you’d be hard-pressed to find something nicer than having a drink on the tiny
square, bordered by a traditional English pub on each side.
Having slaked our thirsts and forgiven each other for the
crimes of the day, we wandered under the medieval arch and down the lane to L’Enclume.
L’Enclume means anvil in French and there are bits of
rusting farmyard machinery artfully placed through the restaurant. The
white-washed stone walls and cottage garden glimpsed through the windows make
you feel as if you’re in Cesar Soubeyran’s house.
Marcus Wareing has been quoted as
saying ‘formality is out’ in modern dining and that’s in evidence here, not
just in the rustic simplicity of the room. Simon Rogan’s able front-of-house crew are
enemies of the frosty and stuffy. They’re warm and engage you in chit chat. (On
hearing our account of the day, the waiter was clearly on my side on the
Derwent Pencil Museum).
I think the current foodie craze is built on the fact that people
seek out novel experiences, rather than just a preferred option. It taps
deep-seated human drivers like adventure and self-improvement. For me, L’Enclume
delivers supreme novelty in an understated way. You don’t get stories behind
the dishes or fussy presentation, you just get jaw-dropping cooking, with
well-produced ingredients in daring combinations.
The alchemy comes to life in plate after magical plate (and
sometimes, slate, bowl, or miniature rockery). Local produce is the backbone of the menu – in
fact, L’Enclume grows many of its ingredients on its own farm just outside the
village - but is served in concert with the odd exotic ingredient.
If one (unreasonably talented) chef made each of the 20
courses we ate that night from start to finish, one after the other before
moving on to the next one, it would take two and a half months. Which certainly encourages you to appreciate
every bite. A few of special note:
- The oyster pebbles – perfect
little oyster-flavoured meringues, served with a herb that tastes exactly
like oysters . (We either looked like fine dining rookies or two very
hungry people, because our waiter felt the need to advise us not to eat
the real pebbles that the dish was served on).
- Cream celeriac and ox
tongue – the meaty tongue submerged in the delicious celeriac and Tunworth
mixture, like a lurking edible Nessy
- Potatoes in onion ash –
quite remarkable flavours from humble ingredients
- Iced blueberry and sheep’s
milk – the latter delivered as tiny spherical balls of pure dairy oomph
The skill level is immense and awe-inspiring. The gods of
the kitchen managing to create gasps of wonder (and hisses of envy) with every
dish. And it’s miles away from being a vanity project. It’s all unfailingly
delicious.
If you seek escape from life’s algorithms and want to eat
food that gives you bragging rights for life, then book your trip now. Just
bear in mind your drive home will probably mean an encounter with service
station food – the definition of a rough bump back down to earth.