RUTLAND

HAMBLETON HALL

HAMBLETON HALL, RUTLAND If my car feels at home, so do I. After a pleasant two-hour trundle northwards on the A1 from London, we crunched along a shady gravel drive and stopped outside the handsome porch of a Victorian hunting lodge. Above the door, carved in stone, was the legend Fay Ce Que Voudras – Do What You Want. I fancied I saw a smile on the Royce’s imperious face. There was certainly one on mine.

Hambleton Hall is in Rutland, the tiny county which was wiped off the map by nasty politicians 30 odd years ago and which has now – to general rejoicing – been resurrected. Built in 1881, the Hall was opened as an hotel in 1979 by Tim and Stefa Hart. They were determined to create somewhere special (getting in Nina Campbell to do the interiors, for example), and they succeeded. Hambleton is highly rated for its accommodation and for its food (one Michelin star).

At first sight the place gave me the strongest sense of déjà vu. I suppose it was the architecture: a rambling confection of stone and red brick, tiling and gables – the sort of sub-Norman Shaw Queen Anne Domestic Revival style which has played a large part in my life. Surely this was a prep school? (Although, had I thought for a moment, I would have realised that no headmaster worth his salt would have permitted that hedonistic motto to remain over the front door.) Once inside, however, all impression of an educational institution flew away as I was wrapped in the aura of a luxurious country house: fine rugs, good oil paintings, plump sofas, sumptuous drapes and crackling log fires. No need to prepare those Latin verbs, then.

A word here about the staff. At this initial encounter – and at all other subsequent ones – everyone I met at Hambleton proved exceptionally friendly and courteous. The lady at Reception installed me in the tiny lift and then, despite my gentlemanly protestations, she herself ran up the stairs to the second floor to meet me as the lift doors opened. I salute such devotion to duty. The beige and pink apartment into which she showed me was called The Lotus Room, classified a ‘superior’ and therefore £215-£270 a night, bed and breakfast for two, according to season. For this you will have a modest amount of space, a canopy over the beds, a pair of easy chairs, a mahogany Pembroke table, a small bathroom (but with a splendidly large bath) and a good selection of magazines, including The Field.

The provision of this particular publication is significant. For Hambleton is in the middle of hunting country – specifically, that of the Cottesmore, but also very close to the Belvoir, the Quorn and the Fernie. And in the booklet provided in each room, Things To Do Around Hambleton Hall by Tim Hart (a model of its kind; I wish all hoteliers were as diligent in this respect as Mr Hart), you will find not only details of everything from church crawling to hot air ballooning but also a robust defence of those who ride in pursuit of the fox.

My own pleasures are less vigorous. One is looking at the view. From the windows of The Lotus Room, I could look across the sloping formal gardens and the fields beyond to Rutland Water. In my youth the creation of this reservoir caused no end of a stink, for it entailed the destruction of several homes and a rather fine church. Now it appears a model of placidity. As the sun broke through the clouds, flocks of birds wheeled and swooped over the steel blue surface and there before my eyes was the England for which most of us dream.

Downstairs was something else for which most of us dream: beautiful looking and beautiful tasting food. Chef Aaron Patterson is a local lad and he has made good. His approach is to take British, often very local, ingredients and to prepare them with the best French technique (with which he is certainly familiar, having worked in such famous kitchens as that of Le Crocodile in Strasbourg). His menu appealed to me enormously – not least because it resolutely ignores the Fusion nonsense and offers combinations which will not assault the palate with hot spices. There is also a terrific bargain to be had here: the set 3 course lunch for £21.50 (including coffee) must be the gastronomic snip of The Midlands.

In the small Dining Room (just 8 tables) my dinner began with a flash of brilliance. Roasted scallops with creamed endive were glorious: the exceptional sweetness of the perfectly cooked scallops set off by just a hint of bitterness from the endive. Then fried foie gras with soused aubergine, tomato and sweet pepper sauce. If you like sweet and luscious (and I do), this is for you. The main course was the least impressive, although still enjoyable. Roasted loin of venison with a fig-flavoured sauce was a bit too heavy for its own good. To finish, the passion fruit soufflé was ravishing – but it should have been twice the size. (£83 for these 4 courses from the carte.)

Standards at the bargain lunch next day were, if anything, even better. There are 2 choices for each course and I tried all six (thanks to my companion’s patience). Cappuccino of haricot blanc with mushroom tortellini, smoked salmon terrine, roasted cod on top of potato rösti, braised leg of hare, caramilized lemon tart and pistachio soufflé. I will not detail all the careful saucing and thoughtful combinations in these dishes, but I will say that every single mouthful was a delight.

Drinking at Hambleton means negotiating some eccentricities. This is the first time I have found the reds listed first. And the wines are grouped by general area and then by price – so, for example, under Red Bordeaux you will find a 1971 St-Estèphe (Cos d’Estournel) snuggling up to a 1989 Graves (Domaine de Chevalier) simply because the prices are adjacent (£96 and £99). There is also, in my judgement, an over-enthusiasm for decanting the red wines. Yet sommelier Dominique Baduel presides over a cellar which has clearly been assembled with great care. If you are on a budget, you can drink French provincial red for £15. If you prefer to splash out, there are fine vintages of first-growth clarets, like ’66 Latour at £445 or ’82 Margaux at £475.

For my two bottles I went to California and the Napa Valley. I feared the 1991 Forman chardonnay (£51) might be too ancient, but it still had good acidity. Honeyed in the mouth, its initially cheesy nose somehow managed to turn slowly to chocolate in the glass. The 1979 Heitz cabernet (Martha’s Vineyard - £102) was even healthier: very alcoholic, very tannic, very perfumed and very full of cherries in the mouth.

As I packed the Globetrotter in the boot of the Silver Cloud, I was sorry to be leaving Hambleton Hall. It offers a level of friendliness and comfort, combined with truly excellent food and wine, which is found too seldom in our naughty world. This is what the English countryside should be like. As we turned out of the gateway, I sensed the Royce was a little sad, too.

RUTLAND

HAMBLETON HALL

ADDRESSES