Thursday, 14 August 2014

Clam linguine At The Chapel & inspirational women

Mum & Kate, Bruton During my first month in Somerset at a new job, in a new place, living by myself for the first time (with no wifi to boot), I admit that blogging hasn't been quite at the forefront of my mind. However, motivated by the desire not to let my new and exciting job at the recently opened Hauser & Wirth gallery in Bruton take over my life and a visit by two of my favourite and most inspiration women in my life has prompted me to climb back into the proverbial saddle. These two particular women are, of course, my mother, Frances Marr, Clam linguine, At The Chapel about whom I have previously written in relation to the fantastically beautiful ceramics she produces, and my would-be godmother, Kate Osborne, watercolour artist extraordinaire. They made the trek down to my temporary new home and, after visiting the gallery we wandered down into the centre of Bruton to have lunch at At The Chapel, location of many an indulgent lunch, some of which I have written about. After the hubbub of the restaurant at the gallery, the Roth Bar and Grill, At The Chapel seemed relatively peaceful, full of small groups enjoying the early afternoon sun flooding through the large windows, an architectural reminder of it's previous life as a place of worship. Wanting something light but comforting I opted for the South Coast clam linguine with chilli, tomato, parsley which caught my eye as it floated past on the arm of a black-clad waitress, destined for another belly. True to my expectations, it was a generous portion of clams mixed into the linguine with the richness of the tomato coating the pasta given a slight edge by the chilli, barely there but indispensable to the balance of the dish. Other than the ham hock salad which was rather more of the baby gem and radish that the ham hock and egg, my linguine and mum's plump mackerel fillets hit the spot. May there be many more such meals at this lovely restaurant, now conveniently, and rather unfortunately for my pocket, just on my doorstep.
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