Movin' to the Country

Smack in the middle of my internship, I found a week scheduled at the Royal Oak in Bishopstone, a Wiltshire village of 600 people more or less.  A week living on Eastbrook Farm, cavorting with sheep, pigs, "veal", and "beef" . . . and working in the kitchen of a gastropub with current head chef, Barny Haughton.

Okay, so I was a lot nervous.  I'm a competent home cook - sometimes even a very good one.  I've learned a tremendous amount this year about skills, techniques and "off-roading" - what I call cooking without a recipe and being inspired by seasonal offerings.  But working in a proper restaurant kitchen?  With an award-winning chef?  I think not.

And yet, the week has to rate as one of the biggest highlights of the year.  Helen & Tim's big brick farmhouse where I stayed was so quintessentially English and unpretentious - shelves stuffed with books every which way, kitchen Aga, complete with rather moody dog, Gracie, and wellies and farm overalls piled on hooks outside the side door.  The main door, of course, is rarely used. 


My little blue room looked out onto thatched roof cottages and I could hear irritated cows when their breakfast was too long in coming.  As for my breakfast, the lady of the house left out fresh squeezed orange, carrot and ginger juice daily.

My walk down to the pub in the crisp mornings, and again in the late afternoon for dinner service, wound through back lanes and fields of daffodils.

 

And the pub itself was the best kind of education.  A patient teacher, whose "barking" delivered in the Queen's English made me smile even in the midst of a stressful dinner rush, threw me into the thick of everything and I learned fast.  My first day there, it was only the two of us on.  I may have butchered the pork loin a second time while preparing it, but I was plating starters and pork belly mains by supper.  The cast of local characters wandered by the kitchen often to check in, and Nick, the lovely KP, kept spirits high and dishes clean.  But wow - I have so much respect for anyone who chooses a chef's life.  Every night I collapsed in exhaustion - after Montepulciano and long talks around the pub fireplace that is.