A Love Letter to the Tolcarne Inn

As you’ll have gathered from my monthly writing, most of my adventures in Cornwall come from saying yes to things. I don’t do restaurant reviews per se as I think food’s too subjective, too tied up in personal preference. I mean, I love spam and jam, but if I put that on a menu I reckon it would get one star across the board. So, this isn’t a review; it’s a love letter. And, without giving too much away, there wasn’t a single thing on any plate I’d have changed.

The Tolcarne came recommended by about 20 internet strangers when I put a call out for foodie recommendations. But the clincher was a new internet friend who sent me photos of three previous meals there, spaced roughly six years apart; this was a serial repeat customer who lives nowhere near the place. When someone keeps coming back across the best part of a decade, you pay attention. So, I figured I’d better get down there and see what the deal was.

I arrived after a glorious walk along the prom from Penzance, rolling in around 6pm to find the restaurant side already full and the bar side buzzing with people guzzling pints of Offshore. To blend in, I ordered one too, sat down, and picked up the menu. There’s a weird chef-y sixth sense you build up you when you read the description of a dish, visualise it, and roughly taste it in your mouth before it arrives. Years of cooking and recipe development do that, and it’s brilliant for decision making in restaurants. Except here, it rather backfired, because the whole menu read and tasted in my head so good, that I wanted to order the lot. Classic ways of doing things with subtle twists, all done just right.

I reckon bread and butter should be compulsory at any restaurant. That first step tells you everything about what’s coming. I’ve done enough big catering jobs to know that a torpedo-shaped bread roll has come straight out of the freezer and was somebody’s afterthought.

What arrived here were homemade wedges of joy; soft, warm and crunchy served with a rich, salty butter. Off to a belter. Yes, I’m easily pleased. But remember: the bread sets the tone.

For starter, I went for the crispy Sennen squid with tahini mayo and sweet chilli, plus the home-smoked chalk stream trout. Normally, sweet chilli on a menu reads as a token-gesture sauce but the tahini mayo had me intrigued. The squid arrived and the sweet chilli wasn’t your generic jelly-like stuff; it was a thin, tangy number that had me sinking into my chair, relaxing further into the evening, trusting that the kitchen had control of everything reaching the table. There was crushed spice through the batter too, cumin and coriander seeds, popping in the mouth. It’s a trick I’ve since nicked to add a bit of extra punch to my own batters. Alongside the tahini and chilli, it was so good I could’ve eaten three plates. The trout was simply plated horseradish cream and malted bread. A classic combo, and it did not disappoint: soft, buttery trout against the punchy horseradish and the deep, savoury notes of the malt. Yes please. Another pint of Offshore was ordered.

On to the main event…the hake. If something’s smoked, I’m straight in and am a huge beetroot fan (even if it didn’t make the cookbook; the editor decided against giving it a standalone chapter). If I see it, I order it. The dish was a whole dictionary of adjectives and expletives. The hidden treasure I’d missed when ordering, was the onion purée, tucked under the fish and out of sight. I loaded a fork with a bit of everything to get the full experience, and it smashed me in the face with joy. As the flavours bounced around, I found myself asking for the menu back like that meme of Leonardo DiCaprio in Django, leaning forward, wagging his finger. And there it was, the bit I’d missed: the onion purée. Smooth, creamy, slightly smoky. Not there just to look and sound clever, it was the thing tying it all together, bridging the subtle sweetness of the beetroot and the warm, salty nuttiness of the hazelnut, bacon and butter. A thing of great fun to eat. And when fish is cooked well, nothing beats it. I’m writing this four months on and I can still cast my mind back to those big flakes of hake peeling away from the crispy skin. Cooked to perfection.

Dessert was against my better judgement I’m usually a starter–main–starter kind of person. I don’t have much of a sweet tooth, but the buttermilk panna cotta was calling. When I learnt to make panna cotta on my cookery course, my poor family became guinea pigs for endless tragic versions. Too much gelatine and it’s a creamy jelly rank. Not enough and it’s slop. But get it just right and it’s a thing to behold. This one was a ten out of ten: another classic combo with a subtle twist and a nod to my food-waste vibes with a whole orange, its subtle bitterness poking its head through what’s usually quite a sweet pudding.

So, there it is. I said yes, I walked the prom and I’d happily do the whole thing again tomorrow. Consider this your nudge to do the same.

Tolcarne Inn
www.tolcarneinn.co.uk