What is it that elevates a meal out into something enjoyable or special or, preferably, both? Is it down to the food alone or does the service have to be more than just good and do the surroundings need to offer more than just a load of tables in a room?
I don't have the definitive answer but I do know that as soon as you turn down the drive to Black Pool Mill on an early summer's evening, there's something quite special about the elegant and imposing four-storey building. Built in 1813, this former working flour mill has recently been refurbished and restored to its former glory as a brand new restaurant attached to the Bluestone Resort in Pembrokeshire.
The man behind Bluestone - and who first dreamt of reopening the mill three years ago - gave us a guided tour around the building a few days earlier. You can read about that here. But I had returned on Sunday evening, two days after it opened for the first time, to enjoy the restaurant as a diner and to see if it could live up to its billing as a "unique heritage dining experience".
I remember the mill in its former days as a tearoom serving quiche and scones and tea in china cups and saucers. So perhaps I approach the restaurant with more than a hint of nostalgia and rose-tinted memories of cycling down as a young girl for a Mini Milk ice lolly. In those days, the mill was already crumbling and after it closed for good some 20 years ago, it only deteriorated further. After two decades of looking quite sorry for itself, it gives me real joy to see it coming back to life. And I know it does too for Bluestone boss William McNamara who told me he wanted people to be able to enjoy it.
Although it's attached to Bluestone, the restaurant is open to the general public too. The main restaurant on the first floor is for bookings but they take walk ins on the ground floor. And for those who simply want to enjoy a drink on a summer evening, there is no better place for watching the sun disappear behind the trees and listening to the splash of the fish rising to the surface of the Eastern Cleddau estuary, which is tidal until just upstream of the mill.
The setting is undoubtedly special - the Cleddau river is perhaps one of the most under-rated parts of the Pembrokeshire Coast National Park and there's a sense of tricking time into standing still. Maybe it's the peace and tranquillity or maybe it's because we've arrived at golden hour and the sky is turning from gentle lilac blue to delicate peach and each one of the 20 windows is glowing a soft warm yellow. I'm in awe before I've even walked through the door.
Inside, the first things you become aware of are the original iron cogs, wheels and milling equipment which dominate the vast room and which provide a striking backdrop to what is a rather plush restaurant. It doesn't even try to hide its industrial past and it's quite unique to be seated for dinner surrounded by carefully restored wood and steel. It's impossible not to half-close your eyes and imagine it all working and whirring away. If only the walls could talk.
As it happens, the only noise we can hear are the gentle murmurs of our fellow diners. It's a very relaxed, muted atmosphere, occasionally punctuated by a crash from above, which is where the kitchen is. There's a whole team of staff on standby when we enter the restaurant on the first floor and we're shown to a table next to the window, the evening sun streaming in and giving a golden light inside as well as out.
The quiet, yet deft, service sets the tone for the rest of the evening. There is the occasional hesitation from what is otherwise seamless and unobtrusive service - no doubt the team are still learning the ropes and the quirks of the building and how it all works. It's a Sunday evening so we go easy on the drinks front and order a couple of half pints of fruit cider. But there's an extensive wine list for those who are more of a connoisseur than I.
The menu is not long, which I never think is a bad thing. It shows a kitchen which focuses on doing a few things well and has confidence in its ability. There are five options to start, ranging from £7.50 to £16 and seven choices for the main course, the cheapest being the charred hispi cabbage at £13 and the Landsker 8oz fillet steak at the other end of the scale at £38. It's not a pretentious menu nor is it fussy food but it's more than gastropub.
I order the roasted radish bruschetta with summer herbs and black pepper oil (£8) while my fellow diners (mum and dad for those mildly interested) plump for the fresh scallops with minted pea puree and crispy bacon (£16) and the Welsh rarebit with homemade bread and Bluestone ale cheese sauce (£8.50).
Each dish was striking to look at when it arrived, especially the delicately pink radishes with their deep red tomato sauce and the vivid green of the pea puree with the scallops. The hands down winner of round one was the scallops, meltingly sweet and soft in the mouth and countered with the smokiness of the bacon and sweetness of the pea.
My radishes, roasted to a juicy sweetness, were sat on homemade sourdough bread with a slight hint of char from the grill. The rarebit was undoubtedly rustic-looking but it was pleasingly cheesy and the mixed green salad on the side was a nice touch.
The main courses arrive following a nice lull after our starters have been cleared during which we watch the sun sinking behind the trees from our window seats. We had the bouillabaisse, mixed seasonal seafood in a saffron broth with samphire and garlic aioli (£24), the chicken breast stuffed with foraged nettles on a pea and asparagus risotto (£19) and the slow-cooked lamb shoulder with rosemary potatoes, glazed carrots and lamb jus (£24).
The bouillabaisse had some meaty chunks of monkfish, mussels, prawns and lobster, all swimming in an intense saffron broth which had more than a hint of heat, in a lovely lip-tingling way. A generous heap of samphire sat on top to make a visually arresting plate of food. A crouton of sourdough with garlic aioli was balanced on the side. I could have done with a spoon to eat the soup with (I used my dessert spoon) and the seasoning was on the heavy side - I definitely didn't need to add any salt from the electric salt and pepper mills on the table. But it was a very tasty dish and nicely filling too, for those who may doubt the portion size.
The chicken - stuffed with nettles foraged from around the mill - was moist and balanced delicately atop a creamy green risotto which was perhaps a little on the soft side. But it was a feast for the eyes as well as the taste buds and another satisfying dish.
The lamb shoulder was wonderfully soft and came falling apart and with a little jug of intense, deeply flavoured lamb jus with a wonderful shine. More jus wouldn't have gone amiss, especially as the roasted Pembrokeshire new potatoes were a decent size and the glazed carrots too. But dad thoroughly enjoyed it.
I need to mention the sides - which we didn't order - but the Mill salad, thick cut chips and chargrilled asparagus are all available for an extra £4. And I think the children's menu is worth mentioning too. Considerable thought has clearly gone into offering kids a "proper" restaurant meal rather than a half-hearted nod to children's tastes and the Monkfish goujons, panko crumb chicken fillets, slow cooked beef ragout pappardelle and beef sliders are all reasonably priced at £10.
Our waiter returned after clearing our plates - which we'd polished clean with our fingers - with the dessert menu, which offers just four rather "puddingy" puddings. Personally I'd like to see something fruity on the menu, but even so, it was an easy decision to go for the dark chocolate and walnut tart. We also had the brandy and bara brith pudding which came with homemade custard.
The tart came with a quenelle of Chantilly cream and was intensely rich. It was delicious but I'm glad it wasn't any bigger. It's not one for those who aren't keen on chocolate but luckily I love the stuff. The bara brith pudding was not a dainty-looking thing but it was worth it for the custard alone, which was beautifully silky, creamy and sweet.
We finished the meal with a round of coffees and lingered as long as we could as the evening light turned to dusk and the bats started swooping outside. The whole meal had been magical and to leave the table felt like breaking a spell.
In summary, there's a real emphasis on locally sourced and seasonal ingredients and the chef, Paul Owen, makes nearly everything in the kitchen, including the bread and crackers and even forages for the nettles outside. Nothing is complicated but neither is it simple fare. It's good food done well, which often proves harder than it looks.
I don't think there's anywhere else like it in Pembrokeshire, if not Wales. It was a special meal, not because of the food alone, or because of the attentive service or the historic setting. It was all of those things combined which elevated this dining experience to something really rather special. I left feeling like for just a couple of hours, I'd been part of the mill's 210-year history and helped shape its future too.
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