Romania (4) Biertan and Sighișoara

This is a new post though it covers the events of the 28th of June 2023
It will be moved to its appropriate chronological position shortly.

A Fortified Church and a Medieval City Centre

Where are we Going Today?

Romania

Sibiu (county)

Our plan for Wednesday was that Vlad would drive us the 75km from Sibiu to Biertan in the north of Sibiu County. There we would visit the fortified church before driving a further 30km north and east to Sighișoara in the south of Mureș County.

The fine weather that had been with us since we arrived in Romania deserted us, the hitherto clear skies became increasingly overcast, the temperature dropped from pushing 30° to barely 20 and we were blessed with occasional rain showers. It was a bit too much like home.

Driving from Sibiu to Sighișoara in central Romania, we continued our journey through Transylvania

Sibiu to Biertan

North of Sibiu we found ourselves in a largely flat, green countryside. The road was not wide, but more than adequate for the quantity of traffic.

North of Sibiu

The few villages we encountered were linear and long. Almost all the houses faced the main road – and most buildings were in better repair than the one front left of my photograph. Storks' nests are a feature of every village.

Long, linear village north of Sibiu

Further north, among a few low hills, the weather became more overcast.

Approaching Biertan

Biertan

Seven villages in Sibiu and the surrounding counties make up the Transylvanian Villages with Fortified Churches UNESCO world Heritage Site. Biertan is one such village, and it is dominated by its huge church which sits on a low hill right in the centre. All seven churches were built by Transylvanian Saxons.

Fortified Church, Biertan

Transylvanian Saxons

Transylvanian Saxons are (or rather were) Germanic people, though not necessarily Saxons, who migrated to Transylvania at the invitation of King Géza II of Hungary (ruled 1141–1162). Further waves of migrants arrived in the following centuries. Their role was to defend Hungary’s southern and eastern borders, against marauders from Central Asia. Some marauders, like the Mongols and Tartars, are well known, while the fame of others, like the Cumans and Pechenegs did not spread to western Europe. The Hungarians also hoped the Saxons would introduce some Central European culture to a backward and rural province.

The Saxons prospered as a merchant and artisan middle class between the Hungarians who owned the land and the Romanians who worked on it. Romanian speakers were in the majority, but there was no Romania until the mid-19th century and Transylvania was part of Hungary until 1919.

Biertan Church

We climbed a covered walkway up to the church.

Walkway up to the church, Biertan

UNESCO's seven fortified churches were built at various times, but they were all fortified in the late 15th and early 16th centuries. Biertan church was built between 1486 and 1524 in late Gothic style over an earlier Romanesque church.

By this time marauding bands had given way to the Ottoman Empire. They were a much more serious threat and Transylvania became an autonomous vassal state of the Empire from 1541 to 1699.

The church interior is largely plain, maybe because it is disused, or perhaps because the Saxons changed from Catholicism to being Lutheran in the 16th century.

Pulpit, Biertan Church

The ceiling, though, is quite elaborate…

Ceiling, Biertan Church

…and the carved altarpiece, dating from about the time the church was built, is one of the finest in the region.

Carved altarpiece, Biertan Church

Late Gothic/Early Renaissance in style, the detail of the carving, the gilding and rich colours (now gone) displayed the wealth and sophistication of the Transylvanian Saxons.

Close-up of central panel, Biertan Church altarpiece

We popped into the vestry, which has what looks like an old but efficient heater…

Vestry, Biertan Church

…and a wonderfully convoluted lock on the door, so this was probably where they kept their communion silver.

Lock on the vestry door, Biertan Church

Outside the church building, but within the fortification, we strolled round to check that the bastions were still fulfilling their purpose…

Bastion, Biertan fortified church

…and look across the village they were protecting to the hills over which the marauders might have approached.

Biertan and the hills behind

In peacetime the priest transformed the Eastern bastion into a ‘Prison for Unhappy couples.’

'Prison' for quarreling couples, Biertan Church

The couple were locked into the room with a single bed, table, chair, plate and spoon. They had to share until they learned to get along with each other.

Inside the prison for quarreling couples, Biertan

How often and in what periods of history this unique form of marriage guidance counselling was carried out, they do not relate, nor do they divulge the success rate.

Nearby is the grave of Lukas Unglerus (or Lucas Ungleich), who became bishop of the Transylvanian Saxon Lutheran Church in 1572. The religious Reformation that swept across northern Europe in the 16th century had little effect on the Catholic Hungarians or the Eastern Orthodox Romanians, but the Tranyslvanian Saxons were more receptive. That they maintained their unity in becoming Lutheran was largely due to Bishop Unglerus. He died in Biertan in 1600, which remained the seat of the Bishopric for another 300 years.

Bishop Lukas Unglerus - this looks like it was once on the top of his grave

Outside the Church

At its peak Biertan was home to some 5,000 people, but the growth in the 19th century of Sibiu (Hermannstadt) to the south and Sighişoara (Schäßburg) to the north led to Biertan's declined in importance and population. Then the Transylvanian Saxons left and today’s 1,600 inhabitants are 74% Romanian, 18% Roma, 5%y Transylvanian Saxons and 4% Hungarians.

Although the Germans are largely gone, the village still looks Germanic.

Biertan with a largely Germanic look

And the storks are still here, one nest built on a pole above a maze of wiring almost up to Indian standards. On the house behind, the builder has selected another stick…

Stork's nest, Biertan

…which he will soon add to the nest.

Just the right stick, I think

We left Bierton and continued towards Sighişoara. Biertan wants to be a tourist attraction, but I saw no other foreigners in town. There were plenty of stalls where locals were selling homemade honey, backscratchers and anything else they might palm off on tourists. It was, though, refreshingly uncommercial, the goods for sale were genuinely locally made and instead of the rapacious ‘fleece the tourists’ vibe of a major tourist attraction, we received a smiling welcome. It will not last, now is the sweet spot for visiting Biertan.

Sighişoara

Sighişoara

Mureş County

Sighișoara is a town in Mureș County with around 25,000 inhabitants. Originally the site of a Roman fort known as Castrum Sex (because it was hexagonal - sorry if that disappoints anybody), Transylvanian Saxons are believed to have settled here around 1190.

In the 14th century Sighișoara became a royal centre and was recognised as a ‘Civitas’ (an urban settlement) in 1367. Transylvanian Saxon artisans and craftsmen built the fortifications and dominated the economy. In the 16th and 17th centuries they had as many as 15 craft guilds regulating and promoting their activities. The Historic Centre of Sighișoara, recognised as a UNESCO world Heritage Site in 1999, sits within their fortress, one of the oldest continuously occupied fortresses in Europe. It feels very much a village within the modern town.

Lunch in the Square

The main gate is now a clock tower…

The Clock Tower, Sighişoara

… and as the day’s uncertain weather was going through a benign patch (it did not last – see the photo above) we lunched outside one of the restaurants in the square.

The opposite corner of the square, Sighişoara

Lynne went for a local speciality – as did many around us – Ciorbă se Fasole in Pită, or as the English translation rather prosaically puts it Bean Soup in Bread. Romanians and their Moldovan cousins draw a distinction between supa and ciorbă (often translated as sour soup). For more information see the end of the Bucharest post.

Bean soup in Bread, Sighişoara

Removing the top from the bread reveals the bean soup. Finding beans that first arrived from the Americas in the 16th century in a traditional dish might seem surprising, but Romanians having made polenta from millet for millennia, changed to maize almost as soon as it was off the boat. And it is not just Romanians, Southern Europe embraced the tomato, Northern Europe grasped hungrily at the potato and India and South East Asia reached for the chilli as though we had been waiting for these things all or lives.

Bean soup in bread, Sighişoara

The problem with the dish is that once you have enjoyed scraping the soup-sodden bread from the inside, there is nothing to do with the rest. As it was obviously the restaurant’s best-selling lunch, I hope they had a strategy for using the leftovers.

I chose a simpler ciorbă.

A simpler ciorbǎ, Sighişoara

Exploring Sighișoara

Our walk was interrupted by rain, but were we daunted? Yes, a bit.

Not all the inhabitants were Transylvanian Saxons. Vlad II, Prince of Wallachia, also know as Vlad Dracul (Vlad the Dragon) took refuge here 1431-5 and was hosted by the mayor while the Turks were bust invading Wallachia. His wife was pregnant when they arrived and soon gave birth to a son, called Vlad like his father. In time he would become Vlad III Țepeș (the Impaler) aka Vlad Dracula. He was the model for Bram Stoker’s Dracula, but although he was undoubtedly a blood-thirsty sadist, there is no evidence he was blood-thirsty in Stoker’s literal sense.

Dracula's birthplace, Sighişoara

Dracula was born here…. possibly. There is little evidence this was the mayor’s house at the time but it is the oldest stone house in Sighișoara and it was here when Vlad III was born, so….

But he was, definitely born in Sighișoara, and they have a bust of him. He was not all bad – at least that is the Romanian view. A couple of hours elapsed between these last two pictures, in which time we checked into our hotel, changed our clothes and the rain stopped.

Vlad the Impaler, Sighișoara

The bust sits on a terrace from where we could look over the rest of Sighișoara….

 The rest of Sighișoara

… the most notable building being the Church of the Holy Trinity. It is a Romanian Orthodox church built in the 1930s in neo-Byzantine style. It is often referred to as a Cathedral, but it is (I read) the seat of an archpriest (never come across one of those before) not a bishop, so it is only a church.

The Church of the Holy Trinity, Sighișoara

The craft guilds that flourished in the 15th and 16th centuries built themselves towers, most of which have survived. This is the Tinsmith's Tower…

The Tinsmith's Tower, Sighișoara

…and this, the most picturesque of all, is the Shoemaker's Tower. Note the sunshine, this was taken next morning when the weather had resumed normal summer services.

The Shoemaker;s Tower, Sighișoara

Having had good look round we walked up the street to out hotel (another next-day photo)…

Up the road to our hotel, Sighișoara

Dining in Sighișoara

…and as the weather was showing signs of improvement, we ate in the garden. We started with a glass of Țuică, Romanian plum brandy, which is considered an appropriate aperitif in these parts. It is a good clean spirit, not particularly plummy, but very pleasant when chilled.

A glass of țuica, Sighișoara

It often comes in these little bottles. We felt we ought to pour it into something else, but as there was nothing else, we drank from the bottles.

The Lynne ate Cârnaț de Mistreț cu Bratkartofflen, wild boar sausages with pan fried potatoes…

Wild boar sausages with pan fried potatoes, Sighișoara

…and I chose Sarmale de porc cu mǎmǎligutǎ și ardei iuțe. Sarmale de porc is cabbage stuffed with pork, mǎmǎligutǎ, the yellow cuboid behind, is the ubiquitous Romanian polenta, ardei iuțe is a hot pepper – the chilli poking out at back. I also had a small jug of sour cream and a pile of vegetable mush – I am not entirely sure what it was, but it was pleasant enough.

Stuffed cabbage and polenta, Sighișoara

We both felt well satisfied with our choices and our bottle of Castel Huniade Fetească Neagră. Fetească Neagră is widely planted in Romania and Moldova, and largely ignored by the rest of the world. Indigene Wines describe it as having fine tannins, good acidity, medium to full body…[with]… aromas of dried plums, blackberries, and black blueberries along with nice black pepper, vanilla and coffee flavours. Neither of us claim to have found all those flavours, but we enjoyed it.

Castel Huniade Fetească Neagră, Sighișoara

After a good night’s sleep we left Sighișoara and headed south to Rupea and Brașov, two more of the Seibenburgen – the Seven Citadels of the Transylvanian Saxons.

Romania

Romania: An Introduction
Part 1 Bucharest
Part 2 Cozia Monastery and Sibiu
Part 3 Hunedoara and Alba Iulia
Part 4 Biertan and Sighișoara

Kenilworth: Dining at The Cross and Gawping at the Castle

A Castle and a Restaurant Review

Kenilworth: The Where and The What

Warwickshire

Warwick District

Kenilworth (pop:22,000) is a market town in the Warwick district of Warwickshire. It is a pleasant, compact place surrounded by lush green countryside, or so it feels. But just beyond the fields to the north is the Metropolitan Borough of Coventry, and to the south are Leamington and Warwick, separate municipalities divided only by the width of the river Avon. Kenilworth is no isolated country town.

Warwickshire

Kenilworth: The Why

To the northwest, though the map does not show it, is a rural portion of the Metropolitan Borough of Solihull, the least urban, some might say the most pleasant, of the West Midlands' seven metropolitan boroughs. Lynne and I were married in Solihull’s Parish Church of St Alphege on the 26th of July 1975. So today is our 49th wedding anniversary.

Our habit of many years is to visit somewhere pleasant with a renowned restaurant and enjoy what we hope will be an outstanding dinner. This year’s chosen venue was the Michelin starred The Cross in Kenilworth. But Kenilworth is also home to a large and in some ways unusual castle, so it would be odd not to visit while it was nearby.

Kenilworth Castle

Such elegant ruins

Kenilworth Castle is a unique collection of structures, built in the local red sandstone over a period of 500 years. Here is a breathlessly brief history of its construction

In 1120 Roger de Clinton, Henry I’s chancellor, turned an existing Norman keep into a strong tower. King John added an outer wall in the early 1200s and dammed two brooks to create a mere defending two thirds the castle perimeter. In the 1300s John of Gaunt built the middle range. In the 1550s John Dudley widened the tilt yard and built the stable block. A decade later his son Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester built the massive Leicester Tower and the Italian Garden. Like most English castles Kenilworth was ‘slighted’ after the Civil War. In 1649, just before the slighting the London based Bohemian etcher and artist Wenceslaus Hollar drew a plan of the castle which is still useful.

Wenceslaus Tollar's plan of Kenilworth Castle (property of Toronto University)

Had I attempted to take the photograph below any time between 1200 and 1700, I would have been standing in the mere – and, of course, I would have no camera.

King John's Curtain Wall and the surviving main buildings, Kenilworth Castle

From the mere we made our way up to the tiltyard (24 on Hollar’s Plan). This is the top of the dam that created the mere, levelled and widened for use in jousting. At the end of the tiltyard, we entered the castle through what remains of Mortimer’s Tower (23). Inside we turned right and descended to John Dudley’s stable block (6)….

Stable block (photographed from the left, though we approached from the right)

..not because we are interested in Tudor horse accommodation, but because it is now the café. It was lunchtime and cup of tea and a cheese scone felt a appropriate. It also gave us the opportunity to marvel at the carpentry of the wooden roof.

Stableblock roof

Fed and watered we walked up across the base court (22) to look at the main buildings.

Main Buildings, Kenilworth Castle

On the right is Roger de Clinton’s tower, buildings 16 and 20 have gone, John of Gaunt’s Mid-Range (14 and 17) can be seen further back and the Leicester Tower (21) is on the left. Although the building stone remained unchanged, the architecture did not. Clinton’s Tower originally had arrow slits but no windows; windows were weaknesses, and as glass was unavailable, they also opened the interior to the elements. John of Gaunt’s 14th century buildings had glass windows like the those seen in churches of that date and signify the start of the change from castle to palace. The Leicester Tower had glass from floor to ceiling on every storey, the cost was stupendous, but Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester was a man on a mission: to marry Elizabeth I. The queen, maybe, encouraged his ambition, though she never would marry him, nor anyone else. She visited in 1566 and again in 1568; between visits he completed the tower so she could stay in surroundings as luxurious as any palace in the world. That would win her, he thought.

Clinton’s stronghold acquired some windows over the centuries…

Outside Clinton's Tower

…and the medieval hard man would have been shocked by the view from the northern side.

Looking north from Clinton's Tower

The Italian Garden was part of Robert Dudley’s campaign for the queen’s hand.

There is a better view from an unremarkable and wall-less room up a small flight of steps.

The Italian Garden from the room where Edward II abdicated

Here, on the 20th of January 1327 the serially incompetent Edward II was told to abdicate in favour of his 14-year-old son Edward III, while Edward II’s wife, Isabella of France and her lover Roger Mortimer were appointed regents. He objected, but nobody listened.

Edward II was held here for a few months, then taken to Berkeley Castle in Gloucestershire where he was murdered. Three years later, Edward III overthrew his mother and Mortimer, as any stroppy teenager would. He had Mortimer executed, while Isabella (who was only 35) settled for a long and interesting retirement at Castle Rising in Norfolk (we visited in 2022).

From the Inner Court (15) we entered the kitchens (12) where modern stairs took us into a tower….

Looking down on the kitchen

…from where we could look into John of Gaunt’s Great Hall. The ground floor was for storage and servants, the hall itself was above that, but the floor has gone.

The Grand Hall was on this level but there is no floor

John of Gaunt was a younger son of Edward III (r 1327 – 1377) whose oldest son, Edward the Black Prince predeceased his father, so his son, thus became King Richard II on the death of his grandfather. Twenty-two years later John of Gaunt’s son usurped the throne and became Henry IV (r 1399-1413). His son became Henry V.

Henry V made a speculative claim on the throne of France and in reply the Dauphin sent him a chest of tennis balls, a way of saying, ‘run off and play, sonny.’ The chest was opened in this very hall. The insult led to Henry leading a major incursion into France and winning the Battle of Agincourt, though he never did become King of France. The tennis ball story features in Shakespeare’s Henry V and was taught as fact when I was young. It is now thought to be ‘fake news.’

The windows are worth looking at, the style intermediate between those eventually put in Clinton’s Tower and the windows of the Leicester Tower.

The Grand Hall windows

There is little to see in the Leicester tower but Hardwick Hall in Derbyshire, built so 30 years later shows what the Tudors could do with glass – and it’s not a ruin. We visited 2018.

We left the castle and checked into our B&B a short drive away

The Cross, New Street Kenilworth

Tradition dictates that choosing the restaurant is my job, and Lynne remains in the dark about our destination until we get there. The criteria for choosing I will keep to myself, but after a couple of years of tasting menus with so many courses we started to flag, I was looking for a restaurant offering an old fashioned three course meal. The Cross does that - and offers a six-course tasting menu for those younger and stronger than us.

Kenilworth is also only an hour’s drive from home, and there was a suitable B&B a conveniently short walk from the restaurant. That walk took us from the High Street, where there are several restaurants, into the less promising New Street.

Walking to The Cross

Andreas Antona opened Simpson’s in Edgbaston in 1993. Four years later it became Birmingham’s first Michelin starred restaurant. In 2013 he asked Simpson’s head chef Adam Bennett to become chef-director of The Cross, his new venture. A year or so later The Cross won a Michelin star and has maintained it ever since.

According to their website The Cross is housed in a Grade II listed 19th-century inn. It also says the main dining room is a former school room and the bar was previously a butcher's shop. Whether the inn came before the schoolroom/butcher’s or after is not vouchsafed.

Aperitif and Canapés

We did not bother with the bar, the evening was still warm so we enjoyed our drink and nibbles outside.

From the extensive gin list, we chose Kenilworth Heritage gin, because it is local and we had seen it on sale (for a hefty price) in the castle gift shop. Despite it being a) artisan and b) expensive, neither of us liked it very much.

What an enormous G & T!

The canapés were a treat for the eyes…

Canapés, The Cross, Kenilworth

…but good looks are not everything.

Despite its tiny nasturtium leaf, a mini-croque monsieur is just a cheese and ham toastie. Although nicely made and beautifully presented the ingredients were uninspiring.

The beetroot in the spoon is an example of the chef-y technique of spherification. The idea is that the largish bubble of liquid beetroot should burst in the mouth with satisfying consequences. Lynne liked it, I liked the idea but would have preferred almost any other fruit of vegetable. Lynne was also delighted by the tiny contrivance on top, a herb with something to crunch. She thought it was bursting with flavour, I was unconvinced.

The filo basket of tiny chopped potato topped by goat curd was a pleasing little mouthful.

Lynne’s Starter

Broth of Devon White Chicken, roast winglet, new seasons onions, broad beans, tarragon.

A large soup bowl arrived, empty but for a small hill if vegetables covering the winglets (what part of a chicken is that?). The broth came in a separate jug and the waiter poured it round and eventually over the vegetables.

Broth of Devon white chicken, The Cross, Kenilworth

More than a touch of theatre is required to turn soup of the day (chicken and vegetable) into a Michelin starred dish, but it helps. The deep, rich intensity of the broth did the rest, and the tarragon worked its usual magic with the chicken.

My Starter

Tartar of Beef, soy pickled mushrooms, radish salad, yeast crumb and mushroom ketchup.

Inside every man hides a blood smeared hunter. Such an atavistic monster even lurks behind my kindly elderly gent façade so I need to be thrown a slab of raw meat every now and then.

In this case though, the raw meat was not a slab, and instead of being thrown it was elegantly presented, hiding beneath a radish salad. There was little added to the finely chopped fillet steak, a little seasoning and something, I know not what, that bound it nicely together.

Beef tartar, The Cross, Kenilworth

In his ‘French Odyssey’ Rick Stein wrote I noticed in France that steak tartare has become fashionable once more, so I hope it catches on again here in Britain. I suppose the idea of raw meat is a bit hard to take for some people, but it’s always struck me as completely lovely. Hear, hear. I loved the steak, I loved the tiny pickled mushrooms and the blobs of mushroom ketchup, I even loved the radish - and the yeast crumb provided a different crunch to make the dish complete.

Bread

Around this point in all restaurants of this ilk, some bread appears, baked on-site or by a local artisan baker, accompanied by a special butter. I am not sure why I am expected to want bread and butter at this stage of a meal. I had a piece to see if it was good, and it was truly excellent, but I could eat no more.

Bread and butter, The Cross, Kenilworth

Wine

Beef tartar demanded red, so I ordered a glass of Rioja. The rest of our meal wanted white and choosing a bottle from the long (and sometimes expensive) list required thoughtful browsing. Among the often-underrated wines of Portugal I spotted a Bucelas. When Portugal was too poor to care much about quality wines, Bucelas, near Lisbon was one the few designated quality areas. It was popular in Victorian England but more recently, many of its vineyards disappeared under Lisbon’s urban sprawl. Lower production makes it hard to find, even in Portugal, but it remains good and I was delighted to see a bottle at an affordable price.

Main Course

Cornish John Dory, baby gem lettuce, peas, girolle mushrooms and bacon, parsley, new potatoes, chicken jus with lemon thyme.

We both chose the John Dory which, like every dish at The Cross was beautifully presented.

John Dory, and more. The Cross, Kenilworth

John Dory is coastal fish that can be found around every continent except the Americas and Antarctica. It is not landed in any great quantity being a by-catch of other fisheries. Many of those that are caught find their way to the upper end of the restaurant business. Its flesh is very white, surprisingly flaky for a small fish and very tasty.

It was surrounded by the sort of peas that remind you how much better fresh peas are than frozen, bacon that was crisped and almost sweet, and girolles with a remarkably powerful flavour that pleased me but not Lynne. All was moistened by a chicken jus and everything came together better than I had thought possible. It was a delightful dish, but the John Dory, announced as the star, just became part of an ensemble. Does that matter? Probably not.

Lynne’s Dessert

Hazelnut soufflé, praline sauce, Chantilly cream,

Who does not like a good soufflé? The praline sauce was poured into a hole dug into the top and the Chantilly cream came in a separate bowl - which Lynne perversely ignored.

Hazelnut soufflé and praline sauce

Impressed by the nuttiness, Lynne was more than happy with her soufflé. I ate the world’s finest souffle at Hambleton Hall in 2021, so I feel there is no point me trying another - what if I was proved wrong? I must look after my ego. Fortunately, after only two courses and a very little bread I felt strong enough to tackle the cheeseboard

Cheese

As has now become almost universal, all the cheeses were English artisan products. From left to right they are: Tunworth, Double Barrel Poacher, Ashcombe, Brightwell Ash and Shropshire Blue.

Cheeseboard

I am familiar with Tunworth, a Hampshire version of Camembert. It is excellent when eaten ripe, and this example was fully ripe with well-developed flavours of mushrooms and cowshed.

I am also familiar with Lincolnshire Poacher made by Simon Jones at his dairy farm in the Lincolnshire Wolds. His recipe owes something to both Farmhouse Cheddar and Comté.  The regular Poacher is matured for 14 to 16 months, the Double Barrel gets 2 to 3 years. Powerful stuff.

Kindly elderly gent eats cheese

Ashcombe is a Cotswold version of Morbier, with is distinctive band of ash. This excited me less.

As did the Brightwell Ash. Made in Berkshire, it is a soft, ash coated goat’s cheese. I have a prejudice against cheese that is spreadable, and I would have liked a goatier flavour.

Despite its name, Shropshire Blue is made by several producers in Nottinghamshire. Some of those producers also make Stilton, which I wish this was.

All cheeseboards are a compromise, so a partial success is as good as it gets, but I was a little disappointed by this selection – a kindly elderly gent can become a grumpy old git and be difficult to please, sorry.

Petits Fours etc

That leaves just coffee and petits fours…

Petits Fours

…and a recognition of the occasion.

Thank you to the Cross

And Finally

We enjoyed our evening, indeed our whole day. The meal was excellent, the flavours, the combinations and the presentation were all well thought through and executed. There were no meaningful low points, but neither were there moments that took the breath away, no horseradish ice-cream, no scallop, wasabi and apple granita. We would have liked such a moment, but maybe that is being greedy.

'Fine Dining' posts

Abergavenny and the Walnut Tree (2010)
Ludlow and La Bécasse (2011) (restaurant closed, post withdrawn)
Ilkley and The Box Tree(2012)
Pateley Bridge and the Yorke Arms (2013) (No longer a restaurant, post renamed Parceval Gardens and Pateley Br)
The Harrow at Little Bedwyn (2014)
The Slaughters and the Lords of the Manor (2015)
Loam, Fine Dining in Galway (2016)
Penarth and Restaurant James Sommerin (2017) (restaurant closed, post withdrawn. JS has a new restaurant in Penarth)
The Checkers, Montgomery (2017) (no longer a restaurant, post withdrawn. Now re-opened under new management)
Tyddyn Llan, Llandrillo, Denbighshire (2018)
Fischer's at Baslow Hall, Derbyshire (2019)
Hambleton Hall, Rutland (2021)
The Olive Tree, Queensberry Hotel, Bath (2022)
Dinner at Pensons near Tenbury Wells (2023) (restaurant closed Dec 2023, post withdrawn)
The Cross, Kenilworth (& Kenilworth Castle) 2024

Eating Aldeburgh

Finding Good Food on the Suffolk Coast

Introduction

Suffolk

Aldeburgh

This post differs from the similarly named posts for Malta, Madeira and elsewhere. There we read dozens of menus to see what local people ate, or at least the version of it restaurateurs wish to present to visitors, and then set about eating it

We did our research for those posts in Valletta and Funchal, both orders of magnitude larger than the small Suffolk coastal town of Aldeburgh (pop: just over 2,000). We did read the menus of Aldeburgh’s small clutch of restaurants and although they presented a cross-section of modern British restaurants – far better and more diverse than they were thirty or forty years ago – there was little uniquely Suffolk about them, so we had to look elsewhere.

Suffolk with Aldeburgh (underlined) and the position of Suffolk in England (inset)

The people of Aldeburgh and their visitors obviously care about good food. They have, I am delighted to report, no McDonald's, Burger King, KCF, Domino’s or Starbucks, but instead there is an artisan butcher’s, a bakery or two, a specialist cheesemonger and several independent coffee shops (plus the inevitable supermarket). They also have one local speciality which marks out the town - the fish shacks.

The Fish Shacks

Aldeburgh’s pebble beach is not much use to the bucket and spade brigade, but is good for landing the catch from small fishing boats. Much of that catch finds its way to the line of sheds along the top of the beach

Fish shacks, Aldeburgh

These are not officially called the ‘fish shacks,’ but the name seems appropriate. From this angle they look rather down-at-heal, but that is misleading. Aldeburgh is an affluent little town and these sheds deal in the finest and freshest fish available – and charge accordingly.

Smoked Fish

A couple of them specialise in smoked fish, and this was there we headed on our first morning.

Smoked fish shack

We bought some smoked haddock paté. Which made a pleasant lunch…

Smoked haddock paté, toast and a salad

…and some hot-smoked eel. Hot-smoking is carried out between 74° and 85°C. The fish cooks during the process, resulting in stronger smoky flavour and a firm, moist texture. Cold-smoking is done between 20° and 30° and the fish requires curing with salt afterwards.

The eel looked like a length sawn from a policeman’s truncheon, but the advice given was to cut it in rounds between the vertebrae and removed the leathery skin with a sharp knife. This worked and we gently warmed the resulting discs and served them with buttered boiled potatoes and the last spears of the English asparagus season. And very good it was, too.

Smoked eel, boiled potatoes and asparagus

Fresh Fish

On our final day, we returned to the shacks, browsing for a fish.

An Aldeburgh fish shack

At a shack – not the one photographed – we spied a Dover sole. Big enough to feed two, it was eye-wateringly expensive, because Dover sole is, but we could not resist it.

It was a whole fish, so Lynne decided she needed some advice about preparation. The internet was, as ever, full of suggestions, but it would be a remarkable holiday cottage which supplied the sort of knives needed to fillet the fish raw.

Fortunately, Rick Stein had a practical solution. First, remove the skin. A nick near the tail starts the process…

A nick by the tale starts the process

…and each side comes off in one piece, just as Rick promised. This allows you to deal with the guts which largely sit just behind the head.

Pealing off the skin

Then dust with flour and pan-fry it whole - if your pan is big enough. Even after removing the head, a cut across the fish was necessary to make it fit our pan. Fillet after cooking…

Filleting the cooked sole

…then serve with crushed new potatoes and locally picked samphire.

Dover sole with crushed new potatoes and samphire

Thank you, Lynne (and Rick).

Restaurant Fish

Take Away

Our attempt to eat out on Wednesday ended in failure. We had not booked, every table in the restaurant was occupied and we were turned away with apologies. Time for Plan B.

I earlier listed the fast-food abominations Aldeburgh does not have, and nowhere did I mention a chip shop. I give fish and chips a pass because they are deeply embedded in British food culture, and because they are almost all independent, there are no vast chains of franchised identikit fish and chip shops.

That said, I cannot remember the last time I was in a chippy, but it was years, maybe decades ago. Aldeburgh has two, both under the same management, and one, the Golden Galleon, was 50m from our front door.

The Golden Galleon, Aldeburgh. Our home for the week was up the alley to the left of the chippy

Inside it was bright, clean and did not smell of stale frying. Although there were, as always, other accompaniments we ordered cod and mushy peas with the inevitable chips, took them home and ate them from the chip papers.

Lynne with her fish and chips

The batter was crisp, light and golden, the fish huge and flaky and the chips fresh and not even slightly soggy – and that is as good as it gets.

Eating In

We returned to our original choice of restaurant two days later, this time with a reservation.

Lynne was disappointed that the red mullet was finished, but instead chose the Catch of the Day, a pleasing plump, fresh plaice that arrived, lurking beneath a bed of capers. She was pleased with her alternative choice.

A nice piece of plaice

Lobster Thermidor is a somewhat dated symbol of luxurious, even extravagant dining.

Thermidor (19 July to 17 August) was the ‘Heat month’ of the French Revolutionary Calendar. Despite their richly descriptive names – Brumaire (Fog month 22 Oct to 20 Nov), Floréal (Flower month, 20 April – 19 May) – the Calendar did not catch on and was abandoned by Napoleon in 1805.

Created in Paris in the 1890s, Lobster Thermidor involved freshly boiled lobster being taken from its shell, shredded and incorporated into a sauce based on onions, mustard, wine, brandy and cream. It is then replaced in the shell, covered with grated Gruyère and popped under a grill until the cheese has melted.

There was no Lobster Thermidor on the menu, but this coast is best known for its crabs, so they had a Crab Thermidor. Maybe it was a bit tongue-in-cheek, and I ordered it with a sense of irony, but it was excellent. Lynne objects to ‘fish that has been messed about’ and although I am less purist, I expected the rich, complex sauce and the cheese to drown out the delicate flavour of crab, but not so, instead they worked together. It was nicely presented, though the salad dressing had a sweetness I could have done without.

Crab thermidor

Having skipped the starter, I was pleased to find I could manage a dessert. I chose the vanilla pannacotta, with rhubarb poached in vodka and shortbread crumb.

Vanilla pannacotta

The pannacotta wobbled nicely, though it may have been too wobbly, but that is erring on the right side. It also tasted of vanilla - I am always pleased when ‘vanilla’ really means ‘vanilla’ and is not being used as a synonym for ‘plain.’ I am unsure why vodka was involved; it hardly added to the flavour. The shortbread crumb provided a pleasing extra texture

An East Anglian Lunch

Not everything is about fish. We ate a lunch using ingredients culled from the specialist local shops where every item was, if not from Suffolk, at least from East Anglia – except the butter, which was sold as being just ‘British.’

An East Anglian lunch

The sourdough bread is from the bakery round the corner.

The tomatoes were supermarket bought in Staffordshire, but were (coincidently) grown in Cambridgeshire.

The cheese top left on the board is Wensum White, an artisan goat’s cheese made at Fielding Cottage on the Steggles family farm near Honingham, just west of Norwich. It is a mild, semi-soft cheese, often described as a ‘goat brie,’ though I find that confusing. It has a delicate flavour and a sumptuous texture. The name comes from the River Wensum which winds its way across Norfolk and through Norwich.

Baron Bigod (pronounced By God, by some, and Bigg-od by others) is made at Fen Farm near Bungay, on Suffolk's northern edge. Made using a Brie-de-Meaux recipe Baron Bigod has a silky breakdown under the rind and balances a clean lactic brightness with mushroomy, vegetal notes (Neal’s Yard Dairy). I always enjoy Brie-de-Meaux and Baron Bigod is as good as any, and better than most. It is surely one of the best cheeses made in England.

Digression alert! Last November we lunched at ‘Pick and Cheese’ at Seven Dials in London, where I had the privilege of tasting Truffle Baron Bigod, the same cheese with a layer of truffle infused ricotta.

Baron Bigod is expensive, the truffled version is, in Lynne’s words, extravagant. As she does not like truffles, I fear I cannot justify such extravagance.

Truffled Baron Bigod, Pick and Cheese

​

Digression over.

The sausage is a Suffolk chorizo. In 2019 we visited the Countryfile Live exhibition at Blenheim in Oxfordshire where we encountered the prize-winning Suffolk Salami Company in the British charcuterie tent.

Lane Farm Foods, Countryfile Live

Everything they produce is made at Lane farm in the village of Brundish, 20Kkm, as the crow flies, northwest of Aldeburgh. They make their chorizo with DOP Pimentón de la Vera paprika, a smoked paprika imported from Spain, but otherwise ingredients are local. It is smaller in circumference and more densely packed with pork than the mass-produced chorizo imported by supermarkets. Whether Spanish artisan chorizo’s are like this I do not know, but it matters not. This is a spicy, meaty delight and encouraged us to return to the shop and acquire a fennel salami to take home.

And In Conclusion….

We ate many other things during our stay, which were not particularly Suffolk, including an excellent pair of Barnsley chops from the local artisan butcher. There were also several, ‘cup-of-tea-and-a-sandwich lunches, and an occasionally beer and a packet of crisps. After all the food, I should mention that Suffolk is home to the excellent Adnam’s Brewery - and half a dozen or more wineries. We might possibly investigate those another time.

And we did not just eat. We visited castles and Anglo-Saxon burial grounds, old churches, local museums and more, as can be found in the other Aldeburgh post (coming soonish)