Why are more people not extolling this chef’s genius? And where are his Michelin stars?
According to my mother, my ancestors once ran Pentonbridge Inn, close to the Scottish border. We’re talking a century ago at least, because this historic coaching inn is very, very old, which means everyone who knows whether or not my great, great, great grandmother pulled pints here is long gone, including my mother, who held all the keys to family folklore. How I wish I’d made copious notes on this stuff years ago, when instead I was gallivanting down in that fancy London, eating mackerel in seawater cream at Claridge’s or some other truly vital pursuit.
Meanwhile, in about 2017, in the historically termed “debatable land” between the Solway Firth and Dumfries and Galloway, Pentonbridge Inn began to go through a vast and costly refurbishment. It transformed from a largely ignored, ramshackle fortress against the elements into a rather beautiful, bold, pale building in which are now served chef Chris Archer’s five- or eight-course tasting menus. To someone such as myself, who knows the area, the venture is intriguing. It takes pig-headed determination to sell egg-yolk ravioli with truffle beurre noisette in a spot where the road network is patchy at best and the last train stopped in 1969. Also, retaining staff from September to May might be a major issue, because up here those are the Withnail and I months in which daylight is scarce and the sleet falls mainly sideways.
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