Last time I visited the Bath Priory, Chris Horridge was at the hob. Horridge is on a mission to rejig molecular structures and extract health-giving enzymes from familiar foodstuffs (if indeed, one is familiar with the delights of sycamore sap). I declared the results to be a “dynamic metagrobolis” ... but left feeling hungrier than when I arrived. Not so this time around.
Today, Michael Caines – a superchef with a significant talent that’s earned him more accolades than Slumdog Millionaire - is heading up the Priory brigade. Caines’ style is upper-crust accessible, his dishes as easy going on the eye as they’re graceful on the palate. The same could be said for his new environment: a discreetly glamorous romantic hideaway with an intriguing art collection, gorgeous gardens and lots of very, very plump cushions.
As part of the recent Priory revamp, dinner is now served in a dining room that, while still understatedly elegant, offers broader bonhomie than the overly-hushy zone I ate in last time around. The celebrities at the next table (who were, appropriately, vintage old school rather than new world Fame Academy) clearly felt very comfortable with the change; if it’s good enough for those who are naturally to the manor born, it’s certainly good enough for me. Having said that, if I’d have eaten Caines’ food on the Southgate building site, I probably still would have felt like Milady de Winter come the petits fours.
After several amuse gueule of tasty morsels substantial enough to constitute a first course, d’Artagnon’s panfried red mullet came accompanied by a dinky little bell pepper stuffed with delicate ratatouille and juicy buttons of chorizo enlivening a mellifluous melange of red pepper puree and gazpacho sauce. Meanwhile, my slow poached (therefore exceptionally moist) salmon came with a herb-infused roasted fennel and cream sauce that knew exactly when to hold back on any hint of flavour overload. After that, fennel puree, roasted langoustine and red wine sauce turned his headline act of Cornish seabass into an ensemble piece, while my main course bravely brought John Dory, belly pork, apple and ginger puree, crab cannelloni and lemon grass and ginger sauce together as one, only to leave me wondering if I’d ever view any of the components as a solo act again. For puds, Caines’ posh take on the Kinder Bueno (praline and milk chocolate mousse on hazelnut biscuit with nibbed cocoa ice cream spanned by - get this! - a delicate arch of spun sugar supported by gold leaf abutments) and a grown up trio of apple mousse, green apple sorbet and cider apple foam: both were consistently perfect on all counts.
Overall, the whole experience was absolutely stunning and, even in these cash-strapped times, worth every single penny of the £65pp price tag. His name is Michael Caines. A lot of people need to know that.
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