To Norfolk for Christmas with the future in-laws. Norfolk, like Shropshire, is one of England’s most rural counties, and also one of the largest – spreading over 2,000 square miles (Shropshire is around 1,340 square miles).
Both counties are out of commuter range (the trains between Norfolk and London are even worse than the road links) and rely largely on agriculture and tourism for their economies, so have plenty in common.
The two proud counties even battled it out during the Minor Counties Cricket Cup last year at the picturesque village ground of Horsham – the Lords of Norfolk – with Shropshire winning in a thrilling match by the narrowest of margins – just 5 runs.
One of their closest similarities is being widely horse-mad (our table mats on Christmas Day were all of famous racehorses) as well as being one hell of a drive from London. When my fiancee rang me on a Wednesday afternoon in London a few months ago and casually (and unexpectedly) announced that she was ‘driving up for supper’ – a three hour drive from Chelsea – I knew she was going to have no problem living in Shropshire.
And my fiancee (Laura) seems to love it here at Upton Cressett, which is reached at the end of ‘the lonleiest of valleys in the world’ as John Betjeman wrote of the house in the 1951 Shell Guide To Shropshire. Another simillarity with Norfolk is that Shropshire is extremely cold. Since Upton Cressett is on the top of a hill that you would expect to find in the Alps, the house is even colder than the rest of Shropshire. But again, my fiancee is used to sleeping in a bedroom with no heating, so she has settled in very quickly (she does, admittedly, adore her electirc blanket).
But there are also some major differences between Norfolk and Shropshire.
The most notable is what people eat.
A delicious traditional Christmas lunch – with rival Christmas puddings – was hosted at the house of my fiancee’s grandparents. Her grandfather has trained race horses in Norfolk for well over fifty years – and is still training winners.
The last time I had met my fiancee’s grandfather – at Sunday lunch back in the summer – he mentioned t at the end of the war, (he is in his eighties but exceptionally fit), whilst serving in Northern Italy, he had received a letter from his mother saying that war rationing meant that ‘cheese’ was almost impossible to come by in Norfolk and if he had any room in his kit-bag, could he bring some some back with him?
He dutifully bought a large Gorganzola, wrapped it in foil, and ‘smuggled’ it back to Norfolk in an old suitcase. It stank all the way – and took over a week – but such was the rarity of cheese in Norfolk, even the mouldy and crumbling old remains of the blue-veined Gorgonzola (which is made from unskimmed cow’s milk) was devoured by his family as if it were Russian caviar.
The reason that cheese was such a luxury and rarity in Norfolk during the war is that Norfolk is not a dairy county like Shropshire or Herefordshire. I am not saying there are NO cows in the county, but I have to say I didn’t see many herds around Fakenham, where my fiancee’s family live, or along the North Coast.
The latter is sometimes known as The Champagne Coast – famous for its crab and seafood. “If we are going out for lunch’ warned my fiancee shortly after I arrived. ”Stick to fish and chips, Cromer crab, or pork. We have a lot of pigs in Norfolk’.
This lesson in basic rural economics was learnt on Boxing day when we went to have lunch at the recently refurbished Victoria Inn (‘New look, new food, new rooms’) at Holkham before going for a walk along the beach. The Victoria (www.holkham.co.uk/victoria) is a chic boutique hotel and restaurant that was originally renovated by Viscount Coke and his wife Polly in 2011, and has now been re-invented again with a complete makeover. The dining room is pictured above.
Then I noted the slightly disapproving look on my fiancee’s face when I chose the sirloin steak. The website (states that the beef is from one of the Holkham family farms, so no problem there surely? My fiancee ordered the pork belly, which arrived looking like a dish served at the Gavroche and was as exquisitely tender and delicious as it looked. My steak (£20) was one of the smallest pieces of meat I have ever been served in a restaurant. It was so small I could hardly see the meat, let alone taste it.
I don’t know if it was just the end of the Christmas season (it was Boxing Day) and the chef was were down to his last rations of meat but it was as if ‘sirlion’ was as much as a rarity or delicacy in Norfolk as fresh swordfish or red snapper might be in land-locked Shropshire. After three mouthfuls, my lunch was over.
Thankfully, the chunky chips – served in a little white paper bag – were divine and some perfect home-made mince pies were served with coffee. I wasn’t exactly full but I headed off towards the beach thinking that I had inadvertently started my post-Christmas ‘diet’ early.
The next day we had lunch with my friends Anthony and Diana Scott at Creake Abbey (Diana Scott below, holding her restaurant menu, with my fiancee Laura Cathcart). The Creake Abbey estate (www.creakeabbey.co.uk) is nothing like the scale, acreage or splendour of Holkham but its 40 acres of meadow – along with its Augustine monastic ruins that date back to 1206 – make it one of the most enchanting and ‘must-see’ historic attractions of Norfolk.
And the glass cheese counter was suitably groaning with a selection of Europe’s finest cheeses, from Vacheron to Gorgonzola. I was delighted to note that the Food Hall stocked my fiancee’s favourite cheese crackers, Artisan Swedish Crispbread, made from sourdough, fresh milk, rye flour, wholewheat flower and honey and specially baked not n Sweden I should add – but, yes, Peter’s Yard in Shrewsbury, Shropshire.
The Cafe at Creake Abbey – which is ideally located on one of secret North Norfolk’s roads that cuts through towards the beach and Brancaster – is not only open during the day. That it also opens for dinner on Friday and Saturday (until 10.30pm) even in winter shows something of the ambition behind the restaurant. When we sat down at a table tucked behind a working Aga. I liked that in the middle of lunch one of the chefs strolled over to pull out an apple crumble from the oven to prove the Aga wasn’t purely decorative.
When you say you are local and seasonal, stick with it. There is nothing at all shameful about not including ‘steak frites’ or filet or beef on a Norfolk gastro-menu. In the Caribbean, one only needs to look at the thin and scrappy quality of the local cows grazing on the few tufts of grass that exist on each island to know you always avoid ordering beef. Whilst I am sure the herds of cattle at the Holkham Hall Farm are of prize-winning quality, and bear no resemblance to the scraggy examples I have seen in Mustique or Barbados, the ration-like size of the portions at the Victoria suggest that Norfolk still has a very long way to go to be famous – like Herefordshire or Argentina – for the quantity and quality of its beef.
As we looked out of the window of the Creake Abbey restaurant and admired the view of the meadow stretching out towards the Spencer estate, (no cows in sight) I asked if there were any local cattle around. Anthony shook his head. When I recounted my anecdote about my portion at the previous day’s lunch, he led me over to the butchery in his Food Hall .
Th rump steak a la Creake Abbey was extremely good, and extremely large, and it was the clear winner in the Battle of the Steaks between the Victoria and Creake Abbey. But part of the enjoyment was also knowing that steak is something of a special treat in Norfolk, just as it was back in the war and the days of post war rationing.
Friday 17th of January – Steak Night…..Scott our Butcher will be there to advise and cut you your chosen steak, to be taken to the kitchen and cooked for you as you like it. Try some of our Creake Abbey 28 day matured Rump or Sirloin. From 6pm…last orders at 8.30pm. Booking advisable.