5 North Street, Winchcombe, Gloucestershire GL54 5LH.T: 01242 604566
8/10
You know what it’s like when you’ve wanted to eat somewhere for ages, but you never seem to get round to it?
And then finally you get there, you eat and you think: what a waste of time.
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I feared this might be the case with 5 North Street, a small, slightly wonky restaurant in the small, slightly wonky Gloucestershire village of Winchcombe.
North Street has had a Michelin star for several years and that counts for a spectre of assurance and expectation, whatever your views on the little red book.
When I heard about the place several years ago, I thought: “Yes, that would be interesting. It’s in the Cotswolds, so Liz Hurley might pop in, maybe in that dress, and that would make a good intro.”
But I needed an excuse to head so far south of the M42 comfort blanket.
The opportunity arose when I stayed that way, sort of, at the stately Lords of the Manor, in that area of Notting Hill by Stile known by Liz and her chums as The Slaughters.
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But the chef there, damn him, force-fed me scallops and stuff. I was water-boarded with fine wines. So I had to cancel lunch the next day. North Street went south.
Time passed; the guides came and went; No 5 remained, pulling in the plaudits. One day, I said, one day...
The opportunity knocked once more when I stayed overnight in Cheltenham. I re-booked for lunch the next day in Winchcombe. Unfortunately, I ate quite a bit in Cheltenham (I think a pattern is emerging), “quite a bit” equating to an eight-course tasting menu for lunch and a three-course dinner. That night, I drank someone else’s claret but as he was a stockbroker I felt no guilt. But the next morning, I did feel... hmm... is “stuffed” inelegant?
Still, I couldn’t bail on North Street, not again. Sometimes you’ve got to take one for the team and that’s what I did, after a light breakfast (“No eggs or sausage, please”).
Winchcombe is a bit north of Chelters, 10-15 minutes by Range Rover. With my Skobbler sat-nav, purchased as an iPhone App for £1.49, the journey took me about an hour-and-a-half. The Skobbler informed me I had arrived when I was 600 yards away, in a car park. I gave up and walked.
When I arrived at the restaurant, situated in a small, double-fronted building, I made a key observation: one table was occupied. I felt a bit squiffy. Was this going to be one of those “what a waste of time” times?
In a sense, yes. Because I am kicking myself I wasted so much time discovering North Street. It is a great restaurant, just my thing, and hopefully yours. You could take your mates there, or your mum, or Liz Hurley. There is really good, honest cooking with nice, informative service and no flannel. I totally recommend it.
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The beamed dining room seats 28 and is traditionally English, but with warmth, not haughty chill.
The £28 three-course lunch menu looked great. Squab pigeon or Cornish plaice to start, chump of lamb with girolles and port sauce or mackerel with pasta for main, followed by duck egg crème brûlée and raspberry sorbet or cheese.
Having finally got to North St, I thought I’d up the ante. It gets a little confusing here because there is an à la carte but it is spilt into three set menus, costing £40, £45 and £50. You can mix and match between the menus and they’ll sort out the damage at the till. What did I fancy? Frankly, all of it.
I found it hard not to start with the Cornish plaice, crisp seaweed, cockles, peas, sweet shallots and tomatoes.
Instead, because you’ve got to really, I had the Cornish lobster. Admittedly, this was on the £50 menu. But half a lobster? To start? On a 50 quid lunch? I’m in every time.
The beautifully sweet shellfish came in a kaffir lime leaf sauce, on a bed of thin pasta and a bonnet of ginger vegetables, everything well balanced. The dish could have gone that ubiquitous, dumbed-down Thai-flavoured way, but didn’t. It looked and tasted great.
I should point out that the lobster was preceded by a three crunchy, tasty squares of Welsh rarebit with rhubarb chutney, two fabulous, warm, steaming mini loafs of bread (toasted sesame and apricot and walnut) and a pre-starter of vine tomato and smoked paprika soup with chive oil. Yowza.
Head chef Gus Ashenford, who runs North Street with his Gloucestershire-accented, Brummie wife Kate, keeps things deceptively simple.
So a well-plated dish of monkfish, roasted on the button, came with interesting puff-like cep gnocchi and a blobs of zingy sweet and sour pepper dressing.
There was a celeriac and horseradish purée, complementary rather than bullying, and good green veg (pak choi and baby leeks).
For dessert, I had the warm Jamaica cake with duck egg custard, rhubarb both poached and as a sorbet, accompanied with a light, crunchy poppy seed biscuit. This was the least elegant course (from the £40 menu) but was nevertheless way above satisfactory. It is just that what preceded it was so good.
The lunch menu changes daily and is the one to go for it you live locally and can pop back regularly. But anything, in truth, is going to be a treat here.
Next year marks the 10th anniversary of the restaurant, which is an achievement in itself. Kate runs front of house and does all the washing up. They don’t have a dishwasher – too many different special plates and posh glasses.
I usually nip off anonymously after a meal but wanted to meet Gus, not least to ask him how he can afford to serve half a lobster as a starter. It’s easy, he explained. He’s not in the restaurant business to make pots of money. The 42-year-old chef and Kate, both alumni of catering college in Cheltenham, live above the shop with their children and having time together as a family, as well as enjoying work, is good enough for them.
I had bread left over and was asked if I wanted it wrapped to take home. I’ve never been asked that before, so I did. I finished Gus’s baking that night, knocking up a decent cheese sarnie.
North Street is the restaurant that keeps on giving and in a trade that is too often about “take, take, take” that is a wonderfully refreshing attitude.