The Vineyard at Stockcross, Near Newbury, Berkshire (01635 528 770)
Meal for two, including wine and service, £90 TO £250
If the Vineyard at Stockcross in Berkshire didn't exist it would have to be invented, probably by the producer of Footballers Wives looking for somewhere to send Chardonnay and the girls for a knees-up. Outside, gas-powered flames gutter on a bubbling water feature, even though it is daytime. And raining. Pretty boys wait in the cold with umbrellas to protect new arrivals from the damp and inside everything is varnish and shag pile. It is a shrunken version of the Bluewater shopping centre, only with gutter to gutter carpeting. It is class, as imagined by a stupidly wealthy person with no taste. It is the kind of place where the menus carry messages from the chef which read: 'My defiant passion for food harmonises the synergy between foods and the marriage of flavours, which has allowed me to create something quite unique.' Nope, I haven't got a clue either.
You get the picture; there are a lot of things about the Vineyard which are spectacularly silly. The food, however, is not one of them. Chef John Campbell may be prone to airy gnomic sentences on paper, but on the plate almost everything makes sense. It already has one Michelin star and, last January, was one of only two places in Britain to be picked out by the tyre company as well-on-the-way to its second. So I do not apologise if this review has a little more of the gastronomic trainspotter about it than usual. The cooking deserves to be taken seriously.
Campbell has long been intrigued by the molecular gastronomy agenda set by Heston Blumenthal at the Fat Duck, but here he uses it more in the preparation of dishes than in the plating of self-consciously provocative flavour partnerships. As I was alone I made the ultimate sacrifice and ordered the tasting menu. So, just the 10 courses then.
The standard was set by the opener: a tiny bowl of skilfully executed wild mushroom risotto. On top of that was a thin disc of cep jelly made with agar (which stays set at higher temperatures than jellies made with animal gelatines). On top of this was a cep foam and with it a teaspoon of finely diced cep and truffle. This was one dense, luxurious forest flavour delivered in multiple textures.
A fat scallop came with a horseradish foam and a shard of crisp chicken skin, which brought out the meaty tones of the shellfish. With this was a lightly acidulated cauliflower puree which gave the dish brightness. Campbell has a gentle touch with these vinegar notes which, used carefully, as here, can really lift a dish. It was there in a tiny bowl of creamy cassoulet that accompanied tender slices of rosy squab and in a plate of John Dory and its sauce of clams and tomatoes. Going the other way, a minute piece of braised veal was accompanied by soft pieces of date spiked with cumin, and a carrot puree, to point up the sweetness of the meat.
The same precision was obvious in the pudding courses. For example, mandarin came as a minute baba with a scattering of sherbet, as a jelly with spacedust whose crack and pop emphasised the fruit's sourness, and as a bowl of an iced cream that was pure foam at the top. All three tasted more of mandarin than mandarin itself. Only one dish didn't work - a tranche of seared foie gras which lacked texture. The accompanying mound of cold banana mousse didn't help, either. But this is a small quibble. The cooking here is very good indeed.
Unfortunately, however, the service, while friendly, was also amateurish. My waiter clearly didn't know the dishes. He pointed to dates and told me they were figs. He pointed to the veal and told me it was a sweetbread. He told me Roquefort was a goat's cheese, which it isn't. When you are spending this much on a meal - and the tasting menu costs £75 a head - you have the right to expect the waiters to know their stuff.
In some ways, that £75 can be seen as good value; after all, with 10 courses, each one comes in at just £7.50, though I understand many of you might wish to punch me for saying that. There are, however, cheaper options. Three courses is £60 and there's a lunch menu at £28. But beware the wine list, which is Vogue magazine thick. Some of the mark-ups are stupid. My usual benchmark, a 1997 Chateau Musar which costs around £15 retail, turns up here at £115. Then again, the famed Cloudy Bay Sauvignon Blanc is only double retail. My advice is to turn to the back, where there are two dozen wines for under £20.
And while you're drinking, try to ignore the sound system which plays roaring symphonies by Tchaikovsky or, when you reach the pudding courses, the ethereal sound of a church choir. As with so much at the Vineyard, the unnecessary piped music seems to have been programmed by somebody who has had a major taste bypass. All I can say is, thank god for the food.
