The Kitchen in Falmouth has taken on “stuff of legend” status in the Dent 2018 dining chronicles. Each time I tell the story, it becomes hazier, more grandiose, but the core of the memory remains intact.
I recently went on a road trip to Cornwall and ended up at 8pm on a Friday night in a dark, single-room cafe-bar with 20 covers. The chef pushed a mauve, B&Q-style 1980s bathroom tile into my hands, on which words like “Rabbit + Scurvy” and “Sea-trout + Cuckoo” were written in block caps with Magic Marker.
This was the menu. Seven dishes. Of what, exactly, it was unclear, because they keep their powder very dry. Between courses, I hung with the smokers in the adjacent courtyard and cuddled the restaurant’s resident bedlington terrier. Or, rather, attempted to cuddle, because the hound was clearly so widely loved by visitors that benevolence fatigue had set in months back.
The Kitchen’s pudding course, named simply “Toffee Apple”, turned out to be a Jackson Pollock-style dirty protest of black pepper, caramel, chervil panna cotta, rhubarb compote, brittle toffee, flecks of butterscotch mousse, chocolate, fennel, apple and cumin puree, and at least half a dozen other sweet, bitter and umami components. It was at times orgasmic and at others deeply unpleasant, like a good marriage.
I sat for hours drinking Trevviban Mill rosé and watching chef Ben Coxhead work quietly in a small, prison-cell-like space, plating fried, golden-skinned gurnard on to a perfectly balanced warm pear compote. And his fabulous asparagus dish: three varieties sitting in a buttery, onion-apple broth. That rabbit with scurvy turned out to be Thumper from Bambi served on scurvy grass, a vitamin C-rich, mustardy cress that was apparently given to the sailors of yesteryear.
Whenever I tell this tale, people say, “Hang on, and this is in Falmouth?” To which I reply, “Yes, Falmouth – you should go!” Although, whenever I recommend The Kitchen, I always wonder if chef Ben has, by that point, been noticed by Michelin or been hounded out of the south-west by furious locals who stopped by for dinner and didn’t get anything they envisaged as such. No side of spuds on offer. No basket of bread. Not even a salt shaker. Instead, small portions of exemplary local produce served with unabashed weirdness. You eat this all as it’s ready, and in no particular order, using 1970s cutlery on what looks like your gran’s best china, and sitting next to a shonky bookcase that looks for all the world like a lending library while your hair gets blown about by loud Stevie Nicks and Jefferson Airplane. You might still need chips on your way home.
You’ll either love The Kitchen or you’ll hate it: it could go either way. Still, restaurants such as this in British seaside resorts make my heart burst with happiness. I had arrived in Falmouth at the four-star St Michael’s Spa hotel to discover that it was largely a building site. The reception desk made no mention of the honking, cement-speckled elephant in the room as they handed over our key card and suggested we have dinner in their soulless dining space, The Flying Fish. This throwaway example of disappointment says so much. “Let us underwhelm you,” British tourism says so frequently. “It’s not as if you’ll be back!”
But places such as The Kitchen excite me, because there is a genuine, heartfelt attempt to wow the palates of those dropping by. There is no sea view, which is how Cornwall masks terrible cooking. And, yes, I do mean you, the Godolphin Arms in Marazion, with your two tiny, cremated croissants. Meanwhile, The Kitchen is a dark space serving strange, possibly challenging plates of rare venison flecked with vivid cerise beet mousse – part dinner, part crime scene.
My scrawled notes say that “Salty Fingers” are like samphire and apparently grow on Cornish cliffs, and that “Scurvy” isn’t actually very pleasant and I’d understand if pirates and sailors possibly preferred to suffer gum disease. The notes go on to say that chef Ben, like all the best cooks, rather enjoys leaving diners befuddled. And that The Kitchen is one of the most fantastic, albeit wonky, boho and flawed restaurants I’ll visit in 2018. Book now, as they say, to avoid disappointment.
• The Kitchen, Old Brewery Yard, Falmouth, Cornwall, 07543 703973. Open Mon-Sat, 9.30am-4.30pm; dinner Thurs-Sat, 6.30-11pm. About £30 a head, plus drinks and service.
Food 9/10
Atmosphere 9/10
Service 8/10
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