OH, FOR PEAT’S SAKE
Fife’s Michelin-starred Peat Inn may be small but it is perfectly formed
The Peat Inn proves that good things come in small packages
Before my recent sortie to this genteel but sleepy corner of Fife, I had been to the Peat Inn twice before. The first time was almost 10 years ago, and very jolly it was too. The second time was about four years ago and while the food was excellent, it was memorable for a completely different reason.
Sitting by the fire, sipping an aperitif while studying the menu, the maître d’ had approached us and taken our food order. Once we’d relayed our decisions a remarkable exchange took place. ‘And would Sir like the same wine that he had the last time he was here?’ asked the rather smart man in a suit. ‘Er, what did I have last time?’ I asked in utter amazement, at which point he told me exactly what I’d consumed, adding that I‘d enjoyed it a lot; so much so, in fact, that I’d contemplated ordering a second bottle. Or so he said. I was gobsmacked. In almost 20 years of stuffing my face for a living I’d never heard the like.
For someone who struggles to remember where he left his car keys almost every day of the year, this was an almost supernatural feat of recall. It pointed, I thought at the time, to an almost obsessive attention to detail that, while disconcerting, was also deeply impressive and which was subsequently shown to be reflected in the quality of the food at Geoffrey Smeddle’s bijou little restaurant with rooms.
Very little has changed in the intervening years. The place may have had a facelift and has won a Michelin star – awarded in 2010, thus ensuring it remains as full as ever – but it is otherwise pleasingly unchanged. In fact, on a rare warm early summer’s evening, sitting next
to the window and looking out over pristine gardens bathed in soft sunlight, the place has an almost ethereal quality.
So, too, did the food. From his time as the launch head chef at Terence Conran’s Glasgow restaurant Zinc, it was immediately obvious that Smeddle is a talented chef who believes that less is more. Although that doesn’t always sit well with those of us whose life view revolves around the belief that bigger is better, it’s nothing that in extremis a poke of post-match chips in Anstruther can’t fix once Geoff ’s artistry has run its course. Sacriliege I know, but...
Yet again, however, our visit to the Peat Inn confirmed that while the portions may not be fatboy sized, they are undeniably perfectly formed. We were reminded of that when our amuse bouche of wild mushroom consommé with wild garlic and poached grapes arrived and we were confronted with a mélange of earthiness spiced with the strident notes of the wild garlic and the punchy sweetness of the grapes.
The starters arrived in short order, with the simplicity of the spartan and unadorned St Andrews Bay lobster (save for a light seaweed butter) in stark contrast to the bells and whistles of a warm salad of East Neuk wood pigeon that was bursting with flavour and accompanied by a pair of gorgeously oozing crispy quails eggs and a silky smooth pea panna cotta that brought a smile to both our faces.
The next stage in our meal’s wonderfully stately and measured progress was a main course of honey-glazed breast of Gartmorn Farm duck with Jersey Royal fondants, broad beans, locally-sourced spring vegetables and a beautifully nuanced sherry hazelnut dressing. On the other side of the table a plate of Jock’s Croft Farm rare breed pork with truffled potato beignets, roast carrot, braised little gem lettuce and shallot jus appeared. If that all sounds mildly fiddly – and accompanied by a dizzying amount of provenance – then you’d be right, but if your starting point for a posh night out is that you’ll get food that packs a huge punch and which you know you could never, ever cook at home, this fits the bill perfectly.
That was certainly the format for pudding, with a fiendishly tricky but perfectly executed hot Grand Marnier soufflé with strangely muted salted caramel ice cream and cinnamon madeleines on one side of the table and a honey parfait with passion fruit mousse accompanied by a banana and yoghurt sorbet on the other. Marvellous, just as you’d expect.
Slick and palate-provoking, our coiled spring of a meal at the Peat Inn was a gem. Sure, the portion control verged on the parsimonious, but this was an occasion and we were there to marvel not to gorge – and marvel we duly did.