ANOTHER national newspaper review of The Wild Garlic in Beaminster, run by the “genial, goateed” Mat Follas. You can follow him on Twitter @matkiwi where’s there’s been some talk about this piece. Eg:
sallyshalam sally shalam by matkiwi http://bit.ly/cCtJYM TOP TIP if you want to eat here – Londoners apparently cancel dinner res last-minute so always worth trying for table
meemalee meemalee’s kitchen by matkiwi Nice Guardian review of the flat above the Wild Garlic that I stayed in http://bit.ly/avXnku – my review here http://bit.ly/91RqQq
This article titled “Hotel review | The Wild Garlic, Dorset” was written by Sally Shalam, for The Guardian on Saturday 6th November 2010 00.05 UTC
With the exception of Thomasina Miers, the most recognisable MasterChef winner is surely genial, goateed Mat Follas, who scooped the title last year showcasing his love of foraged food. Victory has enabled the Dorset-based former IT consultant to follow his star. The Wild Garlic is it, a small, unassuming restaurant in tiny Beaminster (I say tiny because one minute you’re approaching the town square, the next – if you do not park right away – you will be swept out of town by the tide of traffic, next stop, Bridport).
Gastronomes will, of course, have read the opening reviews last year. The reason I am coming is to try out a new apartment, just opened above the restaurant. It proves a devil of a job for me to book the apartment and get a table on the same night, but eventually I pull it off.
My private domain is reached via a staircase from the restaurant (or a side door when The Wild Garlic is shut). So here I am, in the late afternoon, watching the light fading through the stone mullion windows and the 4x4s emptying out from the square.
I’m in the large bed-sitting room looking through to a kitchen-diner, off which is a shower room. I like the personal touch – a good eye has put this together, it’s a personal selection, rather than handing over cash to Laura Ashley’s design service and saying, “There you go, get on with it.” Purple velvet, orange leather, black and white toile de Jouy, a bit of Ercol furniture here, and Scandinavian glass there. It’s a posh bedsit, that’s what.
Time for a bit of my own foraging. Disappointment. No little plate of brownies to have with a cup of tea. There is milk, butter and – nice touch – a bottle of wine in the fridge though, and a basket on the counter-top contains tea and coffee things and Dorset cereals. It’s on the basic side, however, and I cannot find a teapot or cafetière.
No news tonight, either – the telly is only a DVD screen. When I ask about the heating though, chef himself comes up to sort it. Blimey.
Dinner, with a friend (Sophy has been itching to come for months), is everything we’d hoped and more. Exciting food, served by smiling and knowledgeable staff, in an unponcey atmosphere.
An inter-course amuse bouche arrives after the starter of hand-dived scallops with garlic on seaweed and salad of butternut squash and goats’ cheeses. It’s a plate of tiny leaves, nasturtium, oyster leaf, red sorrel and red Russian perilla.
“Bloody good – worth the money, which most restaurants round here aren’t,” says my pal, savouring every mouthful of her £20 plate of rose veal fillet with almonds. Venison, the best I’ve ever had, comes on a bed of the only red cabbage I’ve ever liked and accompanied by a mini game pie. By the time autumn berry clafoutis and chilli chocolate soup turn up, we’ve slowed to a crawl. All credit, we agree, to Follas, frankly, for opening off the beaten track, but thank goodness I only have to get upstairs.
The Wild Garlic is a bijoux restaurant-with-a-room, but I can’t help thinking that very soon Mr Follas and his worthy team are going to need more restaurant – and more rooms.
guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010
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