Swinton Park, Masham, near Ripon (From Darlington and Stockton Times)

Swinton Park, Masham, near Ripon

11:42am Friday 5th March 2010

• Print
• Email
• Share
• Comments(0)

Great food, shame about the service.

DINING out can make you feel younger. And here’s how ... Sweeping up the curved drive to the portico in front of the towering turret of stunning Swinton Park, I admit I probably was a bit over-excited.

After all, I’d long looked forward to a chance to visit this multi-starred hotel.

Distracted by the spectacle, I misread the signs at the last moment and ended up driving right under the portico, like a Georgian dandy wishing to alight from his carriage sheltered from the elements.

The nice man at the door was tact personified as we wound down the window and asked where to park for the bar. I felt about 15.

The years fell away further after I said we had a “reservation”

(as opposed to a booking), prompting staff at reception to scour the guest list.

“Actually, we’re just here for a meal in the bar,” I corrected sheepishly, now feeling about 12.

A young waiter rescued the situation and offering to lead the way down an immense hallway to the bar, with its elaborate frescoes and dizzyingly high glazed ceiling.

Our mission, which we gladly accepted, had been to try out Swinton’s Castle menu, which promises “a less formal choice of ‘brasserie’ style food”, in the bar.

The menu is also available to sample in the sumptuous Samuel’s restaurant, among other areas of this 30-bedroom hotel.

But, as it turned out, we might as well have been eating leftovers in the servants’ scullery circa 1884, such was the bafflingly bad service we received.

But more of that later. First, some credit where it’s due.

It was not hard to believe that the food we enjoyed came from the same highly-regarded and celebrated kitchen that has helped earn Samuel’s so many accolades.

Starters, stylishly served on substantial slates more commonly seen on a Welsh cottage roof, were pretty much perfect.

My smoked estate wood pigeon, celeriac remoulade and beetroot dressing (£8.50) had gorgeously smoky pieces of meat, although we’re talking chunks of beetroot rather than a dressing.

Anna’s platter of cured fish, herb salad and sauce gribeche – a mayonnaisestyle egg sauce (£7.25) – provided a generous portion of herring and salmon.

For our main courses, we chose Black Sheep beer battered haddock with thick chips (£14.25) and egg noodles, chicken, soy, chilli and coriander (£8.95).

My fish and chips were a mixed success: the fluffy flaked fish and perfectly cooked and absolutely vast.

The chips were identikit-cut big fellas, stacked Jenga-like in an immaculate pile. They were also awful: made, I suspect, from tatties with too high a sugar content, they had browned before they were properly cooked. Little ramekins of tartar sauce and mushy peas completed the line-up.

My wife’s bowl of beautifully flavoured noodles looked quite modest at first glance, but proved almost bottomless, with masses of juicy chicken.

I’d haddock up to here (indicates just below chin) and Anna was truly noodled after that lot, so only the pressures of research urged us on to sample a pud. The banana and peanut butter glory (£6.50) was a lovely combination of flavours and textures.

Top marks.

Apart from those chips then, a very good meal. So what went wrong?

It was clearly a busy night in the restaurant, with at least five immaculately turned-out and pleasant-looking staff bustling efficiently to and fro during the course of the evening. Our table was just feet from the bar – why then were we apparently invisible?

On arrival, our coats were only taken when I accepted my wife’s, mock waiter-like.

We were not offered any drinks, but had to order them with our choices from the menu.

And those menus... Unbelievably, they remained on the table throughout - with one staff member even easing them along the table to make way for our main courses.

Glasses also remained uncleared.

A smiling waitress asked us if we wanted to see the dessert menu, but we’d only just finished our starters, and – an all-too-common one this – no-one bothered to offer us coffees or more drinks at the end of the meal.

By then really wanting to get out of the place, I sat with my credit card on the bill platter for ages while Anna visited the (immaculate) bathroom.

Only when I asked if I could pay did someone bother to tell me there was no chip and pin machine in the bar and we’d need to pay in reception.

We retrieved our own coats from the fantastic safe that doubles as a cloakroom, and made our disappointed way to settle up back where we started. The receptionist looked genuinely concerned when I expressed our dissatisfaction in response to her “was everything alright?”

The bill, with a glass of Kiwi Sauvignon blanc, a fizzy water and a £9 G&T, was £62.95.

If I’d been the chef who’d prepared that meal, I’d be affronted that a bottle of tonic and a squirt of Gordon’s cost more than all but one of my dishes – and a seventh of the entire bill.

I concede that, in other circumstances, I’d have complained far sooner about most of the gripes outlined above – an establishment’s mettle, after all, is quite often measured in how well they put things right.

Our experience was so short of that enjoyed by friends and fellow reviewers. Could food and beverage manager Christophe Stocker explain why?

Speaking after our visit, he was unreservedly apologetic.

“We are very proud of what we do – we have very strong standards and what you have described is certainly not acceptable, I will take action.”

• Print
• Email
• Share
• Comments(0)