The Alderley Restaurant not reviewed

This is not a reee-view. This is not a reee-view. This is not a reee-view.

I feel like singing this in the same way that John Lydon, aka Johnny Rotten, did with '(This is Not a) Love Song' for Public Image Ltd. For younger readers this happened so long ago (1983) it actually predates amoebic life crawling out of the primeval soup and declaring 'Punk is Dead.'

But since Emma Unsworth pioneered on Confidential this Monday (click here) the audio-sensory food review I feel that my tale needs a soundtrack. So if you want a musical accompaniment, here's the Youtube link to the tune (click here), it probably goes better with the veal than with the marmalade and toast.

The reason why this isn't a review, is because the meal was hosted by the boss of JW Lees brewery, William Lees-Jones, and thus I didn't pay tuppance. JW Lees Ltd own the Alderley Edge Hotel.

But I still want to write about the occasion because it was a magnificent meal, patronage or not. And another thing: it was clear to me that the kitchen wasn't putting on a special performance just for William and his guests, for one simple reason. They are too good for that. This showed in the casual confidence of the Rochdalian head chef, Chris Holland. It was clear that this was how he always cooked. He has that attitude of take it or leave it, judge me as you see fit, of the complete professional.

The quality of the Alderley had been confirmed by coincidence on the day I arrived, with the award of a third AA rosette.

So what did the three of us have?

Starters: 'fritters of truffle cheese, home-smoked Cheshire ham, whisky and orange jelly, textures of onion' (£10.45); 'Gressingham duck 'three ways', beetroot canelloni, foie gras ice cream' (£10.75 – this has already been praised in last week's Dish of the Week feature); 'roasted hand-dived scallops, textures of celeriac, Granny Smith apple and sour jus' (£10.95).

Mains: 'English rose veal with truffle crust, sauteed wild mushrooms and Jerusalem artichokes puree' (£23.50) and a pair of 'roasted seabass, spiced monkfish 'hotpot' with cumin crusted young carrots'.

Note that people. Young carrots, not jaded old buggers. Holland loves getting the right ingredients and then deconstructing them. In fact talking to him after the meal he admits to continually thinking about food and how to meld, mix and bring out the best from it. He admits it drives his other half mad; him thinking about food when he should be thinking about other things.

For the customer though his obsession works a treat. All his food was beautifully presented and tasted superb. The veal dish was a cracker, in turn sweet and sour, textured and smooth: it was a beautifully contained and controlled riot of flavour that never strayed into violence. Another glory had been the fritters to start.

I can't pass the word fritter without diving in. It has a sort of honest charm, like faggot or haggis. These fritters broke to reveal a soft, pungent package of truffle cheese, but the delight here was the whisky and orange jelly, an inspired idea which brought out the best in the fine smoked ham.

The jelly also pointed to the most enjoyable dessert I've had in several years. This was the 'marmalade on toast' or rather clementine marmalade compote, glazed brioche and buttered toast ice cream (£8.25).

I could quickly tell that this had taken a few weeks to prepare and had involved experimenting with toasted bread infused with milk and cream in a vacuum container. I could easily spot that to get the best, sweetest, but tight brioche base around, that the latter had been encased in caramel and had toast flavoured custard injected into it. I could do all this so quickly because I asked sous chef and pastry boss in the kitchen, Scott Surtees, how he'd done it. Honestly folks try and get your mitts on this dish, it's a real orginal, and the ice cream does taste of buttered toast.

I was blown away by my trip to the Alderley. The restaurant lies inside the Alderley Edge Hotel, which means you could take the train to the namesake village below and then stay over. This is an old school small hotel with an atmosphere of gentility and easy comfort, a tribute to the manager Ahmet Kurcer. You expect the Colonel from Fawlty Towers to be slumped on a sofa with a gin in hand.

But don't worry about the hapless management of Basil Fawlty, this place is a model of its kind. Especially the food which is original, exciting and inspired by home-grown talent – chef Chris Holland has been at the restaurant for 12 years and his team has all been developed in-house.

So while this is not a review dear reader, it is a love song to fine dining.