GETAWAYS
© Adam Ready, Sideways Media
© Adam Ready, Sideways Media
while citrus and Oscietra caviar provided brightness and that unmistakable pop of brine. Paired with a textured, peachy Burgundy, the combination was nothing short of symphonic.
Then, Mr R’ s mushroom dumpling, a dish of such earthy, autumnal beauty that he found himself closing his eyes to better appreciate it. The walnut and celery adding crunch and freshness against the dumpling’ s silken exterior, while our sommelier poured a buttery, oxidative Jura wine that somehow made the whole thing taste even more of the forest floor. In the best possible way.
The Wyndford Wagyu was a masterclass in restraint. Japanese beef of this calibre needs little embellishment, and Smith wisely lets it shine, supported by the holy trinity of onion, parsley and mustard; classic companions elevated to art. Each bite was butter-soft, deeply flavoured, profound. The Bordeaux alongside- structured, dark-fruited, elegant- was a perfect dance partner.
For Mr R it was the Cornish turbot with native lobster that truly stopped him in his tracks. Turbot so pristine it barely needed cooking, its flesh flaking beautifully beneath his fork in pure white shards. The lobster was sweet, almost indecently so, while the truffle and cep added earthy opulence, and the salted grapes, oh, the salted grapes, provided bursts of concentrated sweetness that somehow made everything else taste more of itself. Our sommelier paired this with a Grand Cru white Burgundy, all hazelnut and minerality, that elevated the dish into the stratosphere.
Cheeses followed. A considered selection of British beauties in various states of ripeness, each one singing with terroir and the skill of its maker. With these, a glass of aged Tawny Port, all dried fruits and gentle sweetness.
And then, the finale. Smith’ s signature chocolate with sea salt was a masterclass in contrasts: bitter, sweet, saline, rich. The crème fraîche and cocoa nibs added tang and texture, while the‘ Madagascan vanilla’- paired with oabika and black truffle ice cream- was so unexpected, so brilliantly conceived, that I actually laughed with delight. Who pairs truffle with dessert? A genius apparently. The accompanying Sauternes, honeyed and unctuous, was the final golden thread in this extraordinary tapestry.
But wait, we weren’ t quite finished. With coffee came a parade of petit fours that deserved their own standing ovation. The signature chocolate and truffle caramel was pure decadence, while the sparkling wine and sloe jelly provided a sophisticated palate cleanser with its delicate wobble and gentle boozy sweetness. White chocolate and pistachio offered creamy luxury punctuated by nutty crunch, while the Jamaican Blue Mountain fudge was so deeply coffee-scented, so perfectly textured, I may have made audible sounds of pleasure. The pecan and Pedro Ximénez brought sticky, sherried richness, while the lemon drizzle- bright, sharp, nostalgic- was the perfect final note. Each one a tiny masterpiece and proof that Smith’ s attention to detail extends right through to the very last bite.
The following morning, we returned to Woven for breakfast, the dining room transformed by daylight; the atmosphere altogether different but no less lovely. The buffet was quietly impressive: fresh pastries that clearly shared DNA with last night’ s award-winning bread, jewelcoloured preserves, thick Greek yoghurt with honeycomb that dripped golden and viscous, perfectly ripe fruits that actually tasted of something. But it was the cooked breakfast that truly sealed my devotion. I ordered the full English( because when in Berkshire and all that) and it arrived as a example of simplicity done supremely well.
Cumberland sausages with proper snap, bacon crisped at the edges but still yielding, eggs with yolks the colour of marigolds( local, naturally), buttery mushrooms, roasted tomatoes that were almost jammy in their sweetness and black pudding that would make any Irish grandmother( my own included I should think) weep with joy. The sourdough toast- warm, nutty and perfect for mopping up every last bit of yolk- was, unsurprisingly, exceptional. Accompanied by freshly squeezed juice and coffee so good I had three cups, it was the kind of breakfast that makes you want to abandon all dietary principles and move in permanently.
As I walked back through the grounds afterwards, peacocks calling somewhere in the distance, horses being led out to the estate’ s polo fields, I felt that particular pang one gets when an extraordinary experience is drawing to a close.
Coworth Park wasn’ t just a little escape for Mr R and I, it was a gift for my soul. Every detail was considered, every member of the team memorable in their own right, luxury was effortless rather than ostentatious and Smith’ s Woven and his unique storytelling pulled at my own editorial heartstrings. I am already praying for my return.
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