Driving to Aberystwyth with the radio on, the news is all doom and gloom - it's April 1 and fuel costs have jumped and the cost of living is spiralling upwards. I'm acutely aware I'm on my way to SY23 in Aberystywth - a restaurant that was awarded its first Michelin star this year and where lunch sets you back £110.
Is now a good time to be singing the praises of fancy pants dining? I wonder, and can food ever justify such an expensive performance? In fact, on that very day, the nine-course lunch menu went up from £95 to £110, so the pinch is clearly being felt everywhere.
A caveat to begin: bar one date with an ex-boyfriend, this would be only my second experience of Michelin-starred dining. With just seven restaurants in Wales with the coveted star, it's pretty hard to get a table at any of them. So I won't profess to be an expert when it comes to restaurant reviews. But what I will say is, as a dairy farmer's daughter brought up on home-reared meat, I know what quality produce tastes like. In fact, I'm loathe to remind you of that time I wrote about eating my very first Big Mac and fries- you can read that here.
Read more: Michelin Guide names Welsh diner as the UK's best new restaurant
I did know the name of Nathan Davies however, the chef in charge and co-owner at SY23, namely because we've written about him a heck of a lot while he's been on Great British Menu and the like. He must be doing something special, I think, to have brought the Michelin inspectors all the way to the square at the top of town in the seaside student town of Aber. Read his story here.
I've brought my mum along for the ride - I told her it was a late Mother's Day treat to make up for my woeful efforts the weekend before. So up we rock at the allotted time of 12.30pm for drinks in the bar at SY23 before being taken up at 1pm for the main event. You can get more food-related news and other story updates by subscribing to our newsletters here.
"Anything sparkling to drink?" the waitress asks us after taking our coats. We both nod and say, yes, fizzy water please, which might not have been entering into the full spirit of the occasion. But hey, we had nine courses to plough through and I was technically working. I was here for the food after all.
But therein lies the first issue, if you may. Michelin dining isn't just about the food - it's an experience, one to savour and to soak up, to leave the pretensions and the guilt at the door and to fully immerse yourself in. Just 13 of us are booked in for the set menu lunch and tables are arranged so we're sitting side-by-side, looking straight at the kitchen and the pass. It's a novel arrangement but lends the whole lunch a very intimate feel, a bit like Nathan is cooking solely for us. It's strange, but when we emerge groaning three hours later, it feels like we're leaving a friend, even though we barely chatted to the guy.
But there was something distinctly special about watching chef Charlie tenderly turn the whole turbot fish over the hot coals and chef Kuba tilt the lamb roasting over the flames. It's quite something to see Michelin-standard food almost entirely being cooked over a simple open grill with an apparent easy which belies a deep respect of the main ingredients.
So, we sit down, stealing sideways glances at each other like kids, unsure as to what to make of our front row seats. A team of three waitresses hover on standby, ready to jump forward to fill our glasses with - you guessed it - tap water, and deliver the next round of cutlery. Their gentle service and ready smiles set the tone for the next couple of hours or so.
And so the first course - listed on the menu as simply "Mushrooms".
Delivered in a substantially-rimmed bowl that looked more like a flying saucer, we got a full explanation of exactly what we had before us. This is not just mushrooms, it turned out, but a medley of mushrooms, aerated to give a wonderfully silky rich texture, studded with pickled mushrooms to give a sudden burst of intense mushroom sweetness, dotted with crunchy croutons and topped with a sliver of raw mushroom sprayed with porcini powder.
I rarely give mushrooms such rapturous attention but my word, Batchelors mushroom soup this was not. Mum and I debated if it was okay to use our fingers to scoop up every last trace and decided why the hell not. Still licking the tips of our fingers, the bowls were whisked away with a flourish, replaced just a few minutes later with course number two: "Local grains, cultured miso butter".
As it happens, grains is just a fancy word for saying bread. It was Charlie the chef's turn to give us a rundown of this dish, which he did so earnestly in his thick Liverpudlian accent. There were many grains he mentioned, including Hen Gymro - a particular wheat from south west Wales that clung on in cultivation into the 1920s but then disappeared until now. The cultured butter - made from soured cream and yoghurt - was intensely sweet-sour with a luxurious texture that spread onto the bread unctuously. The bread itself smelt like brewing day on a cold winter's morning in Cardiff.
Luckily, the bread remained for the remainder of the meal which provided useful "mopping" of the myriad of butters and sauces yet to come. No need to get the fingers out again. And so to "Scallop, sea herbs and burnt butter".
The scallops - hand dived the waitress told us - were plump and soft and cooked to just translucent. It was incredible to think this was possible over just hot charcoal. They were so perfectly sweet that I was reluctant to douse them in the wonderfully umami sauce they came bathed in - something about soy, mirin, rice wine all finished off with chef's burnt butter. Whatever it was, I left it until last and when nobody was looking, discreetly tipped the excessively large bowl and spooned the stuff straight into my mouth.
Already, it was clear to see that local produce and provenance was inherently built into the menu and Nathan's style of cooking. But there was definitely a recurring theme with hints of Asia popping up nearly every course - soy, miso, yuzu - it added a certain zing to make all the plates sing.
Scallop gave way to "Crab, kohlrabi and caviar", which was like eating a tiny portion of the sea, so wonderfully delicate and fresh.
And keeping with the fish side of things, that turbot we'd watched Charlie prod a thousand times was finally delivered with cockles and broccoli, slicked with a dill oil. The turbot backstory was something worth listening to - matured over six days in Himalayan salt to really bring out the flavour and give it that firm texture, the waitress assured us. Whatever, it was bloody delicious, so much so, I barely noticed the little florets of broccoli. I did notice the sliver of crispy fish skin though, which was basically fish crackling and brought to us separately proudly upright in a notch cut into a pebble.
Just as I was starting to feel a little full, the smell of lamb wafted past us as we watched chef Kuba take the most delicate portions of lamb I've ever seen off the coals.
I should be singing about the juicy saddle of Welsh lamb or the tiniest bit of charred chop, but the star on this plate was definitely the black garlic ketchup. Honestly, this stuff was addictive and if they sold it in bottles, I'd snaffle a few on the way out. Alas, they did not but luckily there was still some bread on the table - our plates were mopped so clean I suspect they didn't even need to put them through the dishwasher.
By now, I was full. Pleasantly full, maybe even just a bit over full. Plus, I'd been sat at the table for nearly two hours. That myth that fine dining is tiny food for astronomical prices is unfounded - so far we'd been treated to proper portions of proper food cooked flawlessly and with an obvious respect for the raw ingredients. Even so, I was beginning to feel like I'd had enough and could do with a decent walk. But then came the deceptively simply named "Yuzu".
The smallest ever casings containing an intense citrus hit of yuzu were brought to us alongside a vessel full of sliced oranges and limes. As the waitress poured boiling water over the fruit, out poured citrussy vapours that swirled around the yuzu morsels and danced on our senses. It was pure theatre but brought some fun back into the experience, especially when we bit into the pillowy soft marshmallow-like meringue which topped the yuzu curd. Slightly burnt on top - like marshmallow over a wood campfire - it was like lemon meringue pie and camping adventures all rolled into one.
No sooner had we swallowed them, came "Sour cream, grains and chocolate". It was a reappearance of the Hen Gymro, but this time the individual grains were toasted so it tasted not unlike sugar puffs and gave the dish a wonderful crunch next to the silken cream. Then came "Rhubarb, granola, cream cheese".
The rhubarb - forced from Yorkshire - was unanimously voted our dish of the day. Not only was it art on a plate - the vibrant pinks sitting prettily on maple oats - it was like eating the most intensely sweet-yet-tart rhubarb imaginable. Like the chef had distilled the flavour to almost sherbet-like intensity in the jam-like compote, a teeth-achingly cold sorbet and tiny chopped cubes of raw fruit. The cream cheese lent the dish a rhubarb and custard vibe, but it was the most sophisticated dessert I think I've ever eaten.
By now, I was eating out of gluttony, not because I was hungry. The food was turning out more substantial than the plates it came on. There was just one more course left to go: "Chocolate, burnt butter". Part of me was hoping it was going to be tiny. I wasn't sure how I was going to fit any more into my gently distending belly and I was debating whether I could get away with letting out a button or two on my skirt.
It was with some relief I saw that burnt butter was effectively fudge - a golden, chewy cube topped with a flake of sea salt. It was sat next to a globe of chocolate ganache which was intensely chocolatey without being sweet at all. Coffee was offered, which I reluctantly refused - there was simply no room left.
I should add that we also chose not to go for the additional cheese course, which was slotted in after the lamb and came with an extra £12 charge. Nor did we go for the matched wines which would've added another £65 to the bill. The question is, I suppose, is it ever okay to spend £110 on just one lunch?
And I have to say, yes it is. Not every day, obviously. But when food has never been more readily available than it is nowadays, we've got used to that instant satisfaction where more is seen as better. Life is busy and living is expensive but slowing down to spend three hours savouring every last morsel on a plate, watching a talented chef like Nathan at his craft and eating food so tenderly prepared and cooked is a real privilege.
To feel like the centre of the room for an afternoon, where everything is designed and created purely for your enjoyment, is an experience that is unrivalled I think, when it comes to eating. Yes, it's indulgent, yes it's probably something that is excessive, but food shouldn't be taken for granted. To give some of Wales' finest produce the utmost respect, like Nathan and his chefs at SY23, is perhaps the most noblest of things we can do in a world where everything is taken for granted.
It was a real treat to be cooked for like that and worth every pound. And mum had a great day out so turns out I'm not such a bad daughter after all.
