It’s 11 a.m. and freezing cold, and I’m already on my fourth meal of the day. I convince myself I’m eating to stay warm but in truth, I can’t get enough of the pickled this and air-dried that on offer at every turn in the Cotswolds.
The day begins when it is still dark outside with a “first breakfast” of fried kippers and tea at the Hare & Hounds, a stylish manor-house-turned-inn that is my base for the next two nights. Enveloped by emerald-green fields and overlooking an arboretum, it’s the kind of bucolic setting that’s attracting a new generation of London foodies to this produce-rich pocket of the United Kingdom.
Roughly 160 kilometres west of London, the Cotswolds has to be one of Britain’s loveliest areas. Spanning 2,040 square kilometres across Gloucestershire County and slivers of Warwickshire and Oxfordshire, the Cotswolds was designated as an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty by the British government in the late ’60s, and rightly so. Sweet-looking towns with not-so-sweet names – Chipping Sodbury, Lower Slaughter, Slad – have provided the backdrop for dozens of British movies and television shows over the years, from Bridget Jones’s Diary to Pride and Prejudice to the Harry Potter films. The region is also among the country’s wealthiest, not in the least because it’s home to royalty: Prince Charles’ family home, Highgrove House, is just a couple of kilometres from the Hare & Hounds, and a store by the same name is given pride of place on the main street of nearby Tetbury, population 5,250.
Prince Charles’ efforts can be given a great deal of credit for spreading the “green” word; his not-for-profit Highgrove Shop showcases Duchy Originals, HRH’s own organic product range, and an array of products created by British chefs and artisans. It’s here I purchase my second “meal” of the day: a pickle-and-cider jelly, handmade in small batches in Gloucestershire using organic ingredients from Highgrove’s gardens. It melts into the still-warm fig-and-walnut bread I buy from Hobbs House Bakery around the corner.
Driving north from Tetbury I pass rolling hills patchworked with crumbling dry-stone walls, colonnades of red-leaved Japanese acers and impossibly pretty villages dating from the Middle Ages, almost entirely built out of native honey-hued limestone.
Meal three is a handmade Brunch WeeBeastie: the biggest Scotch egg I’ve ever seen, made with pulled pork, apple, Stilton and apricots. There are more than 40 varieties of egg for sale at the small stall in Stroud, a 20-minute drive from Tetbury and buzzing on the morning I visit. The town’s Saturday Farmers’ Market attracts hundreds of regional producers like The Handmade Scotch Egg Company. Among others are Hayles Fruit Farm, Yara’s Fudge and Woefuldane Organic Dairy, who make a mean double Gloucester cheese. Elsewhere in Stroud, Slow Food menus are displayed in the windows of ancient pubs and contemporary bistros flourish among twee antiques shops and candy stores.
On the way back to Tetbury I stop at Abbey Home Farm, a 650-hectare organic farm that produces vegetables and cereals as well as meat and dairy. Owners Will and Hilary Chester-Master are kept busy with regular farm tours as well as their small café, serving warming dishes such as butternut-squash-and-butterbean stew and carrot-and-coriander soup. Some 90 percent of ingredients used in the cooking are plucked directly from the surrounding fields.
My visit to the Cotswolds coincides with the tail end of autumn, which means that by 4 p.m., it’s cold and dark again and there’s nothing to do but eat some more. Dinner tonight is enjoyed early at The Chef’s Table, almost opposite Highgrove. Co-owner Michael Bedford helped nearby restaurant the Trouble House earn its Michelin star before opening his own establishment, which also has a petite deli and cooking school attached. It’s not a place for those on a diet. The wild-mushroom casserole comes with truffled cream and foie gras butter; the duck cassoulet is served with lashings of smoked bacon and Toulouse sausage; and the slow-braised beef sits on a bed of Dauphinoise potatoes and buttered Savoy cabbage. Needless to say, everything I try is utterly delicious.
The day after my gut-busting meal at The Chef’s Table I move on to Bath, looking forward to sampling the creamy cheeses and piquant preserves for which the city has become known in recent years. I drive east past towns with names like Doughton, Dodington and Didmarton before arriving at the pretty spa resort that first attracted the Romans in 43 A.D. People still come here to “take the waters” but more often than not, they stay to indulge in the area’s rich food.
One of the city’s most historic restaurants is the Pump Room. Adjoining the Roman Baths – a beautifully preserved site once used by the Romans for bathing – the dining room has been serving up sundaes and sandwiches for more than 200 years. Hand over a couple of pounds and you can sip mineral water that’s spent 10,000 years getting to your glass. I order champagne and pair it with raisin-flecked scones and finger sandwiches filled with ingredients such as cheddar cheese and Abbey ale rarebits, and smoked mackerel with egg and capers.
The only sensible way to end the day is with a soak in the neighbouring Thermae Spa, which claims to be the country’s only natural thermal spa. The mineral water in the alfresco rooftop pool is set to 33.5°C – the air temperature is closer to freezing. Through the steam rising from the water I can just make out Bath’s austere skyline, fading into the dusk.
A table has been reserved in my name for dinner at The Bath Priory, one of the region’s most handsome country hotels, set amid lovely landscaped gardens just outside of town. The Gothic-style building is home to a restaurant helmed by Michael Caines, who has two Michelin stars to his name. Caines’ menu is classic and intricate by turns, promising seasonal dishes that might include a roast-quail salad with baby leeks and a hazelnut dressing or a slow-cooked rump of lamb atop puréed fennel and crushed potatoes with a tapenade jus.
Like his peers, Caines cleaves religiously to his neighbouring suppliers; he’s also committed to reviving old recipes from the region, regularly mining vintage cookbooks for dishes he reinvents with modern ingredients and presentation in The Priory Restaurant.
Despite having taken few breaths between meals over the last week, I awake late and famished the next day and head straight to The Hole in the Wall for lunch. It may be small but what this unassuming eatery lacks in size, it more than makes up for in substance. Opened in 1952 by the late restaurateur George Perry-Smith, the establishment has changed hands on numerous occasions over the years. Acclaimed chefs such as Rick Stein and the recently-deceased Keith Floyd cut their teeth here, and the current chef is doing a fine job of holding the culinary mantle high.
The restaurant is set in a pair of Georgian townhouses; its menu reads like a naturalist’s handbook of the area. There’s potted Bath rabbit, fish battered with a local ale, and Brixham crab cakes; the beetroot, fresh horseradish, nettles, watercress and butternut squash have all been pulled from fields surrounding the town. My roasted loin of local venison melts in my mouth, the accompaniments – dark-chocolate tortellini, mashed parsnips, bitter apples – providing the perfect contrast to the gamey meat. But it’s the desserts that really impress – the banana-and-cinder-toffee parfait could quite possibly be the best thing I’ve ever eaten.
My last destination is Oxford, one of the world’s great university towns. Aside from the jaw-dropping architecture, Oxford is just like any other student-centric spot around the globe: bicycles outnumber cars, there’s a bar on every corner and affordable restaurants serve up authentic cuisine.
After checking in to the arty Old Bank Hotel, I stroll to the Cherwell Boathouse for dinner. Set overlooking a river, the property – one of Oxford’s most iconic punt stations to this day – looks like something out of The Wind in the Willows. Brightly coloured pheasants amble across rocky paths, rooks caw in the distance, rabbits scamper across the fields and the air is just chilly enough so that a mist rises from a neighbouring pasture. I half expect Mr. Toad to greet me as I walk into the fire-warmed dining room.
The food is hearty and rustic, inspired by ingredients that grow and roam in surrounding fields. I start with an almost creamy game terrine paired with a slightly bitter onion confit, pickled beetroot and juniper. The sweet-potato-and-chestnut strudel that follows also comes with beetroot, this time candied, as well as creamed spinach and a dusting of parmesan.
Aside from allowing me time to digest my meal, the 10-minute walk back to The Old Bank gives me a good excuse to sample Oxford’s best ales. At the King’s Arms – a pub that, according to popular myth, has a higher IQ per square metre than any other bar in the world – I order a Brakspear organic beer with hints of honey before moving on to a Ridgeway Bitter at The Eagle and Child, once frequented by the likes of C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. I can see why they liked it – it’s so thoroughly Oxford: tasteful, inviting, and peacefully and perpetually warm. •
