Nidd Hall

Mmmm….fancy.

I had no idea Nidd Hall existed.  Well, that’s not entirely true, I knew it existed but not as a hotel/restaurant/spa arrangement.  I’ve driven past the imposing gates several times and assumed it was simply a large, private house, it’s only recently I have learned otherwise.

Driving though those aforementioned gates, along the expansive private road, you eventually reach a barrier displaying the sign “No Children”, before jauntily adding “Just big kids”.  The barrier raises and I’m given to wonder what exactly I’m entering; some strange commune of the elderly?  A geriatric Stepford-esque utopia?  The set of Cocoon?  The first sight that hits you is the huge, beautiful stately hall itself.  There are signs for “The West Car Park” (I never discovered if there was parking in the North, South or East) and a road which winds past the hall before reaching a fork, right takes you further past the hall, left takes you to the Church where there is more parking labelled “Church Only”.  As they are the closest spaces to the entrace and it’s 6.30pm I take a chance and park there, I’m sorry, I hope I’m not going to hell.  On the walk to the reception we pass a parking space which states “Reserved For Wallis Simpson”, I’m inclined to think that if she’s not here now she’s unlikely to make it ever, however the other spaces bear similar legends so I suspect they may be assigned to specific suites.

Inside the building is immaculate…yet strange.  A huge, white marble foyer houses signs to The Spa and The Restaurant, to the sides I can see huge ornate drawing rooms, the whole thing smells a bit like a Travelodge, in a good way: clean, oh so very clean.  I have no idea where we’re meant to be going so I ask at reception and a delightfully enthusiastic lady jumps up and escorts us through an archway, she tells us there’s a bar to the right if we want “pre-dinner drinkypoos” (her exact words), or The Terrace Restaurant is to the left.  We head for The Terrace, past a gift shop, then overshoot our destination and end up in a tea room.  WHAT IS THIS PLACE?! No children, barriers to the outside world, spas, gift shops, restaurants, tearooms, churches, I feel I have wandered off the map and into a hidden world.  Eventually I see a smartly dressed man carrying a tray of Champagne glasses, “we have reservations” I blurt and it’s true: I do, indeed, have reservations.  The Smart Man, strongly reminiscent of Gus Fring from Breaking Bad leads us into a huge, square ballroom, intricate friezes, ornate marble fireplaces and gigantic oil paint portraits of faces from the past.    The other tables are occupied by….”mature” people in grey slacks and Pringle jumpers past whom we are whisked on our way to being seated by the window.  I look out onto the terrace and the last, purple light of the evening picks out the misty Yorkshire countryside, I suspect that during the day this may be one of the most beautiful places to eat in the country.

Gus returns with our menus and a wine list and asks if we would like water.  We say we would not and he seems genuinely taken aback by this, “Not even tap water?” he asks, we reaffirm our stance.  The menu is succinct and perfect, a few well chosen dishes of which I could quite easily order any.  Shortly afterwards we are given two glasses of fizz, part of the deal we’re here on and Gus whispers “I don’t mean to labour the point, but are you sure you wouldn’t like water?”, again we state that we’re fine, his question is in no way imposing, his smile is effervescent and it’s clear he genuinely wants to make our stay as pleasant as possible.  In fact this is true of all the staff, for despite the imposing surroundings which could so easily result in stuffiness the service is absolutely impeccable all night, smiles and just the right balance of formality and fun.

For starters I opt for “Crab Toasty” and my partner for the leek and potato soup with crème fraiche.  I don’t really  understand the point of soup when eating out, if you don’t have something to chew I feel short changed.  For mains we both choose a fillet steak.  My crab toastie arrives and looks so pretty it should be hanging on the wall next to the three giant portraits.  There are two little bruschetta of crab meat, perfectly seasoned and avoiding the fishy “crab paste” pitfall, however accompanying it is without doubt the most beautiful looking salad I have ever seen: ribbons of carrot, fennel, beetroot and dozens of leaves with a beetroot dressing, it tastes even better than it looks and, though it is ridiculous to be so enthusiastic about the garnish from a starter, it’s absolutely bloody fantastic.  My partner is equally as enthusiastic about her soup which also manages to be pretty as a picture.

Having mopped up the every ounce of flavour I can from the plate with the generous amount of parmesan topped bread we were provided with, it’s not long to wait to the main course.  I have a quandary with steaks, I always order them rarer than I’d generally like as I find they are often slightly over cooked, trusting in the surroundings I have tonight ordered my steak medium. I also, generally, avoid fillet as I find it lacks flavour.   When it arrives I would say it is possibly slightly on the “well done” side of medium and I regret not going for rare, but don’t for a minute think this was overcooked.  This was a rare example of a steak which eats as well as a TV chef would describe: there is a light crust on the outside with a soft, velvety core.  It packs a tremendous whack of flavour and is so tender I could simply rest my knife on the top of it and let gravity do the donkey work.  It’s joined on the plate by two cooked tomatoes which are wonderfully sweet and jammy and half of a field mushroom which is so large it may have once actually contained a field, plus chunky, crispy chips all drizzled with the cooking juices from the pan.  It is superb.

The desert menu is a choice of all things good: mandarin cheesecake, vanilla rice pudding, “deconstructed” lemon tart or a selection of cheeses however we both opt for the chocolate fondant with chocolate parfait and the very vaguely defined “pistachio”.  We are advised there will be a wait of 12 minutes for this dish, not eleven, not thirteen, twelve.  Twelve shall be the number of minutes required to cook this specific item.  When precisely twelve minutes have passed we are presented with another work of art on a plate; a fondant which has been baked in a mould shaped like a plant pot and then rolled in coconut, two triangles of parfait, some tiny black cherries and a small, edible flower.  It is beautiful.  It is also, as you may have noticed, slightly lacking on the pistachio front.  I suspect the role of the pistachio has, for this performance, gone to the understudy of coconut, which is a bit of a shame as I do love that little green nut, however the rest of the dish is so damn good that I learn to live with it.  The parfait is incredible, silky, cold and rich, the fondant is slightly more bitter and the cherries provide a much needed burst of acidity in contrast to the rest of the rich, unctuous cocoa.

This isn’t somewhere I would ever have considered eating normally, however given that we got this on a deal (Groupon) it was well worth a visit.  The two glasses of wine we had cost less than you would pay in some pubs and the surroundings were an event in themselves.  The staff are utterly superb, and if you want to feel like the Lord of the Manor for an evening then you’d be hard pushed to find somewhere better in the area.