Lolly’s Lunch
Very recently I felt like a dog.
Not any old dog though — Lolly. Lolly was special; an incredibly pretty golden retriever. She was smart, cunning and had an unrivalled passion for all food. From the cheese she would steal out of the fridge (yes, she could open the fridge door so we had to get a child lock), through to a 2kg bag of dried porridge oats polished off in one sitting (we later discovered her wilting next to her empty water bowl), she loved it. The only thing she loved as much as food was the beach. So on the day she found a family having a relaxing BBQ on the beach, she decided to invite herself along. It must have been one of the happiest days of her life. It took us 2 hours to find her, and when we did she was sat a whisker away from the roasting coals, transfixed and drooling at the abundance of food cooking. They told us she hadn’t moved from the spot and had regularly participated in sampling the delights the BBQ had to offer. We took her away, apologising profusely. I don’t think they were overly bothered. I think they were more humoured with how Lolly hadn’t become a side dish, considering she was practically griddling herself.
The FishHouse in Newquay, Cornwall, helped provide a contentment and happiness I can only compare to how Lolly must have felt that day. Indiscriminate from the outside, you enter through a strange door that doesn’t really fill you with confidence. A corridor escorts you along, a glimpse of the kitchen to the left helps you know you actually are in a restaurant, and not about to stumble into the beach changing rooms. A relief. Once in the dining area, the view at the far end instantly grabs your attention. Sat at the foot of Fistral beach, the restaurant has commanding, sweeping views over the expansive Atlantic. It’s mesmerising — I take a few moments to admire it, and I start to get the tingle, knowing the evening ahead will be special. It is a small venue, with capacity for only 20 people — it doesn’t feel small though, rather more exclusive and intimate. Bright decor helps the room expand. Rustic wooden panels akin to driftwood cover the walls. Seashells and fish portraits are dotted around in a similar fashion to limpets on the beach rocks below. The bar sits perfectly proportioned, a myriad of bottles on the shelves behind and just the one beer tap. Sat atop is the days freshly baked focaccia.
The whole place buzzes, especially the kitchen which sits fully visible at one end of the restaurant. It’s as encapsulating as the sea view, roaring and bubbling away on its own oceanic level of energy. Usually when I eat out, I try to gauge as much information as possible from the plates of food I can see around me. Here, dishes appear in the pass, each one more intriguing than the last. Lobsters, dripping in so much butter as to be almost sexual. Scallops proudly sat atop their shells — they look so light and delicate I think they could be inhaled as opposed to eaten. Seafood curry, the smell of which is so good, I debate starting a round of applause for the person who has ordered it. I wish I could sample all of them like Lolly did that day without an ounce of shame.
Fortunately the menu is concise. There is also a sprinkling of daily specials, the content of which is only decided a few hours before service depending on the local catch of the day. I am here with my partner, Lindsey, who doesn’t actually like seafood. Anyway, after some debate, I opt for salt and pepper fried squid as a starter, followed by the crab and tiger prawn linguine as a main. Lindsey opts for the focaccia, followed by the only meat choice — a rib-eye. To drink, we order a bottle of the sparkling Rose, made at the Camel Valley vineyard only a few miles up the coast. I’m not really a wine person, but whenever I see this bottle I have to order it, it’s honestly flawless.
Before long, the starters arrive. My starter is served with a wasabi mayonnaise and Pak Choi asian salad. Impossibly light batter wraps each squid ring. The squid inside is so delicate, it almost dissolves like candy floss on the tongue. Wasabi mayonnaise adds a zingy kick, and the asian salad dances with flavour. The Pak Choi sits proudly around a sea of chilli and garlic dressing — I could have eaten a whole
plate of this alone. Across the table, Lindsey is devouring the focaccia at an alarming rate — I’m reminded of how seagulls swallow without even attempting to chew. I swoop in. Each piece absorbs the accompanying balsamic perfectly. Rosemary and seasalt cut through the slick giving an insatiable demand for more. We agree, it is the best focaccia we have ever tasted.
Next up, the mains. Tiger prawns sit on a throne of perfectly cooked linguine. The flakes of crab meat are so fresh I think there must be a one-clawed crab scuttling around somewhere in the kitchen. Chilli and garlic combine perfectly to give balance that doesn’t over power the pureness of the dish. Cherry tomatoes burst with the slightest tickle. Rarely does food feel as fresh as this. Across from me, Lindsey has lost her inner seagull. She shrugs, the rib-eye isn’t good. She was right — unfortunately it slipped well below the benchmark that had been set by my dishes. Large strings of fat throughout have made it almost impossible to cut. We debate — I state it is partly her fault for ordering meat in a seafood restaurant. Could she have at least tried a seafood dish? After a little discussion, we decide to tell our waitress — who’s service has been flawless — and she kindly offers to knock it off the bill.
My meal has been so impeccable I can’t really empathise…but I try to, at least. She suffers with crippling food envy at the best of times, so with her dish not being good, it’s an inferno of self-pity.
After a look at the dessert menu we decide to share Affogato — with a shot of amaretto. Two scoops of ice-cream, drowning in liquor and hot espresso. It’s so delicious it has helped partially extinguish the fire within my partner. It’s a triumphant finish to the meal.
The bill arrives and I find myself reflecting. The FishHouse. Sat on one of the best beaches I’ve been to — it offers simple honest seafood which is nothing short of perfection.
Lindsey leads, and we leave. In one of the happiest places I’ve been, I can only compare it to how Lolly must have felt being begrudgingly led away from her beach BBQ. Not wanting to leave, but a distinct sense of peace, smugness and contentment — both at the view and the food I have seen and tasted.
Fish House https://www.thefishhousefistral.com/
