Harbour Head, Porthleven, Cornwall (01326 562 407). Meal for two, including wine and service, £90
To travel by land and sea between this week's restaurant and the one I reviewed a few weeks ago on the Isle of Lewis would require a journey of 810 miles. I am stone-cold certain that this is the greatest distance between two restaurants within the British Isles reviewed by a UK restaurant critic within one calendar month. I deserve a medal. Or a nice meal out. Oh hang on. I've already had one of those.
The point is that I've been travelling a lot recently (thank you, Channel 4, for dispatching me across the country in the service of consumer journalism; Wednesdays, 8pm. Don't miss it.) Britain being quite a big place – around 810 miles from tip to toe, as you asked – one would expect variety. But these two experiences told exactly the same story. In Stornoway I mocked my own assumptions about a Scottish island restaurant, the way I imagined it would be all unfussy fish dishes and horny-handed serving wenches, and instead got a modern urban bistro. Down in Porthleven, at that place where Cornwall runs into the sea, I again expected the fishing-village shtick: food that went from surf to plate with little interference.
Kota does have its rustic edge. It occupies an old building, down by the water's edge, full of rough brick and old wood and the imagined echo of sea shanties. Plus the menu does make a virtue of seafood. But after that, you can throw the (fake) rule book aside. There is an awful lot happening on the plates here. Ingredients from a lot more than 810 miles away are chucked at the dishes, culinary traditions co-opted with enthusiasm. There is a kitchen here which has yet to meet an ingredient it doesn't like, and for the most part it works.
I say that as someone who starts to twitch at the term "fusion cooking"; who once declared that fusion cooking was fine, as long as it was done by Peter Gordon. Were I to come across some of Kota's dishes in a London restaurant, I might sneer on a point of principle, because I'm a horrible person – but I found them here, in a gnarly old building at the skinniest end of Cornwall, served by sweet, enthusiastic waiters.
Sure, some dishes missed the mark. The tian of white crabmeat and the scoop of tomato sorbet in a bowl of gazpacho were beyond reproach; the gazpacho was just too well-mannered, its fingernails too clean. A good one should be so spiky with garlic that you abandon all hope of snogging anyone for at least a few days. Then again, the broth in a bowl of local mussels flavoured with chorizo, orange, chilli and coriander more than made up for it. And you just know that I wouldn't kick a plate of seared scallops and pork belly out of bed. Even the added flourishes – cider apple purée, soy and ginger – didn't irritate.
Monkfish turned up with a big, umami-rich mix of girolles, pancetta, peas and a balsamic emulsion; the salad of spiced green papaya and mango with shrimps sounded like it would overwhelm the dainty sea bass fillets, but they held their own. The only failure was a duck spring roll. The meat had been interred in heavy pastry rather than encased. Still, the duck breast with it was beautifully rendered and roasted, and the parsnip mash a sweet and sticky condiment.
The only true failure of the night was an overset pannacotta, overlaid with a layer of chocolate mousse so heavy it had its own gravitational pull. No such problems with a rhubarb and ginger baked cheesecake or even, damn it, with a lemon and cardamom crème brûlée. I have called for chefs to have their feet nailed to the floor for flavouring crème brûlées. The dish ain't broke. Here, with a lightness of touch, they managed to fix it.
Kota isn't cheap, but then cooking like this costs. It is, however, energetic, accomplished and in places very tasty. Yes, it's literally a long way from almost anywhere, but it's worth the journey. Even if that journey is 810 miles.
Email Jay at jay.rayner@observer.co.uk or visit theguardian.com/profile/jayrayner for all his reviews in one place
