Let's not start this post with a paragraph about how unlikely it is that any modern British independent restaurant, never mind one as stunningly realised as Where The Light Gets In, should have surfaced in Stockport. If the past few years have taught us anything, it's that good food can happen anywhere, from the Faroe islands to Folkstone, from Southend to Land's End, and feigning aloof "surprise" when somewhere in Not London somehow gets their act together enough to run a decent restaurant is not only patronising but completely unmerited by virtue of the facts. Most of the best meals I've eaten over the last twelve months have been in Yorkshire, Lancashire and Cornwall; the British food renaissance has reached all parts of the UK, not just the bits with access to the tube.
Indeed, it's not only unremarkable that Where The Light Gets In should set up shop in Stockport but, once you settle into the dining room perched above the magnificent red-brick industrial landscape of this northern town, it feels almost inevitable that someone would want to run a restaurant here. It's the perfect eating space - bright, airy and spacious thanks to soaring high ceilings and well-spaced tables, and with views over the warehouse rooftops towards the Robinsons brewery. The kitchens are just an extension of the dining space, with gleaming stainless steel stations manned by serene, youthful chefs (including owner Sam Buckley), and service managed by elfin Emma Underwood, formerly of Burnt Truffle in Heswall. The whole operation hums with joy and energy. You're ready to have the time of your life before you even take your first bite.
It helps, then, that the food is a parade of colour, flavour and invention that more than lives up to the promise of the surroundings. Even the nibbles that come with your first drink display a determination to impress - home made potato chips, greaseless and warm, are presented with an assortment of flavoured powders with interesting names like 'Lava' and 'Cod sack'. Cod sack, by the way, is literally that - the membrane that surrounds cod's roe, dried and powdered, and packing an incredibly intense punch of seafood flavour. WTLGI are determined, as far as possible, to be a "waste free" restaurant - vegetables are used in their entirety, and elements from the same animal crop up in various forms in different courses. It's a philosophy that a cynic may say benefits their bottom line just as much as it helps the survival of the planet, but is nevertheless very impressive.
First of the twelve or so elements of the tasting menu (there's no choice, and they've only recently started doing a pescatarian option) is a crab "taco" made with cabbage leaves. It's a good idea, but one that works or otherwise based on the quality of the main ingredient, and fortunately the crab here - stunning quality, with chunks of rich white meat seasoned with some kind of clever dried herb - was something approaching perfect. In fact, I can't remember when I've eaten better crab anywhere.
Next, a radish - a giant, bright red spherical radish looking like Rudolph the Reindeer's nose, in a bed of cod's roe. The radish itself was plump and gently peppery, with a great crunch, and had clearly had been plucked out of the ground only in the very recent past. But the cod's roe was extraordinary - silky smooth and spiked with I think what they said was "rhubarb vinegar", which provided a delicate, sweet, floral note. All the infusions and vinegars used at WTLGI can be seen on shelves at the back of the kitchen area, quietly fermenting away, a rainbow of kilner jars.
Kolhrabi ate as good as it looked, and as you can see, it looked very good indeed. Five neat balls of kohlrabi, each gently pickled I think, sat in a clear consommé of what we were told was "apple and whey", and topped with wisps of fennel. Despite being an entirely vegan dish (as far as I can tell)*
[see edit], it was richly flavoured and deeply rewarding, a perfect balancing act of sweet/pickle/vegetal that I never wanted to end.
At the risk of sounding like a bit of a pleb, I do usually prefer my langoustines to be cooked. There's something about the gelatinous, spongy texture of raw langoustine (and prawn, for that matter, and don't get me started on scallops) that I find slightly offputting, and even Simon Rogan, via a dish at Fera a couple of years back, couldn't convince me they're better raw than otherwise.
That said, if WTLGI are determined to serve raw langoustine, and that's entirely their prerogative, you can probably do so no better than like this, pressed into a ceviche-style flat disc and scattered with powdered rose, plum and lavender. It also probably helps that the langoustine itself was extremely good quality, sweet and fresh.
I think it was about this time the bread arrived, and it turns out that, not content with being annoyingly brilliant at everything else, someone in the WTLGI kitchen is some kind of baker genius as well. Because they've managed to make a loaf with a perfect moist, bouncy crumb and a delicate, dark crust like the finest French pastry. I'm well aware I've already exceeded my quota of superlatives in this post but just like the crab taco, and the radish and the kohlrabi and everything else, I doubt the sourdough could be improved upon at all - it was a supreme version of its kind.
These mussels, vibrantly coloured and so much more intensely flavoured than your average bivalve, were apparently hand-picked in Cornwall. Which makes sense, as most of the country's best ingredients come from down that way. They came in a fermented peach, horserading and hawthorn flower broth which had that same umami richness of the kohlrabi but with an added note of countryside hedgerows. Joyful.
While it's true to say that I and lovage don't always get on (they had a particular fondness for it at Noma I seem to recall; it even found its way into the desserts), here the trademark metallic tang was tempered by a judicious use of foraged wild herbs (thyme and marjoram) - and the "no waste" philosophy meant all of the plant was used, from the leaves and flowers to the thicker stalks which had a bit of a celery crunch. Presumably another vegan dish, this was every bit as satisfying and richly textured as the kohlrabi - you felt healthier with every mouthful.
But while their way with vegetables is deeply impressive, WTLGI know what they're doing with a bit of pig, too. Homemade charcuterie - cured belly I think - was salty and soft with a good hit of pork flavour. And a separate cup of pork broth was bewilderingly intense - an almost overwhelmingly farmy aroma but with a smooth, rich taste of excellent pork. I don't know whether it was just that I was enjoying myself so much but all of the ingredients at WTLGI, everything from the foraged vegetables to the meat and seafood, seemed just that bit more vibrant and intensely flavoured than anything else I'd ever eaten of that kind. It was a masterclass in sourcing.
And so it was with the pigeon, which somehow conspired to be more powerfully "pigeon-y" than any other of the same species I can remember eating in the past. Neatly separated into claw and breast fillets, it tasted of summer flowers and wild meadows, and of a healthy, happy life - until recently, at any rate. I knawed at that leg bone until it was completely clean.
Desserts began with a dish made from dried, candied peach skins and a cream made with peach stone kernels. Clever, wasteless stuff but crucially it also tasted great - these were, needless to say, excellent peaches.
The rest of the peach turned up in the next course, simply presented with some good, chunky frozen yoghurt. In the bottom of the bowl was a lovely peach "soup" of some kind, clear and clean tasting with a gentle sweetness. And I know I keep mentioning the waste-less thing, but I'm sure that the success of WTLGI is literally because of their attitude to making the most of every ingredient, not despite it. While the same raw ingredients crop up in various dishes (apple in the crab taco and the kohlrabi, peach in the mussels and desserts), nothing feels repetitive or samey; their myriad of techniques and skills ensures that every dish dazzles in a different way to the last. It really is marvellously exciting stuff.
But, sadly, so sadly, we were nearly done. Fermented berry and buttermilk tart was a pretty little thing, a delicate base containing a layer of soft buttermilk cream and topped with gently fizzy berries. It was a final hurrah from a pastry section proving they could turn their hand to classical patisserie techniques when required.
Petits fours were miniature treacle tarts - warm, comforting - and clever little sugar losenges that exploded into a hit of Buckfast (of all things) in the mouth.
When a restaurant you have little hope for turns out to be good, there's a tendency to exaggerate the positives and gloss over the negatives. I've been guilty of this in the past on this blog, perhaps being kind to anywhere I was expecting to not be great and that turned out to not be dreadful. That's human nature, I suppose.
But when a restaurant you expect to be brilliant, thanks to the pedigree of the people involved, turns out to be
even better than that, well, clearly something very special is going on. Where The Light Gets In is, using any conceivable measure, a triumph - a perfect marriage of meticulous sourcing, stunning technique and glittering service that holds you rapt from the moment you step into that gallery-like dining room and for many days after you leave. The waste-less philosophy, which could so easily be a gimmick, or a muzzle on a creative kitchen team, is in fact the ideal way to make the very most of the very best ingredients, and - thrillingly - a guarantee that hardly any two meals will ever be the same. The idea that this relatively new restaurant can only grow and improve from here is exhilarating; just imagine where they'll be years from now.
So I won't waste any more of your time writing about it when you could be up in that lovely room in Stockport enjoying it. Already a towering achievement, its reputation will only grow from here; if you have the means, you should do everything in your power to get yourself a table. Whatever the weather in this notoriously inclement part of the country, the future is bright, and the sun will always be shining, for Where The Light Gets In.
10/10
EDIT: As has been pointed out, whey isn't vegan. My mistake.
