"You're only supposed to blow the bloody doors off!"
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I must have heard Michael Caine's laconic one-liner from The Italian Job repeated at least 50 times over the past five years. For that I have to thank Steve Coogan and Rob Bryden, whose famous mimicking contest in their road movie The Trip is ringing in my ears as my wife and I leave Manchester.
The premise of their jaunt was irresistible. Coogan played a divorced comedian and actor who was invited by The Observer newspaper to go and review half a dozen of England's best regional restaurants in the Lake District and Yorkshire Dales, and rang up his mate Bryden, a happily married comedian, to keep him company.
The film gained cult status for its razor-sharp repartee, hilarious impersonations, mouth-watering meals and gorgeous scenery. We have set out to emulate their adventures in food and friendship by eating at each of the six inns and restaurants they "reviewed". It's a tough assignment and the travel editor was uncompromising. "These guys were actors playing journalists. You're real journalists. Don't hold back. I want the truth."
Here goes.
DAY ONE
Our trip starts badly when my wife succumbs to pressure from the rental car salesman to upgrade to a large sedan from the small hatchback I had arranged. It's too big, adds 50 per cent to the price, and we don't know how to operate the GPS. Out on the motorway, I ask her to find the Derby Arms on the satnav. "Which one?" she replies, tearfully. "There are six of them. Michael, what are we going to do?"
I'm thinking divorce. In desperation, we ring the inn and they guide us, by voice, to our accommodation. We both brighten. It's charming and cosy, nestled on the roadside and enveloped by soft, green pasture. After a leisurely stroll through the fields, we head for our first meal, the Inn at Whitewell. The road is partly closed due to a landslip after heavy rains, which would have been of little interest to us except for the fact that our outsized rental car barely squeezes into the anorexic roads we now tootle along. Secretly, I love the feeling of being enclosed by hedges and tell my anxious navigator to sit back and enjoy the claustrophobia.
The inn appears around a corner, like an apparition from The Vicar of Dibley. It stands regally in the middle of nowhere, abutted by a modest church and cemetery, with a river full of trout gurgling out the back and lush fields as far as the eye can see. And it's sunny, too. In Yorkshire. Inside, the pub feels like a Brueghel painting – a hearty buzz of families, oldies, kids, and dogs everywhere. We count four at one stage.
There is no time for Caine impersonations because we're trumped by some genuine drama: two large, shaggy mutts have taken an instant dislike to each other and a fierce dogfight erupts in the centre of the dining room. The owners separate, but don't remove them, we tuck into a delicious steak and duck, followed by a raspberry creme brulee that has my wife drooling. Out we go for a short walk in the twilight, half-expecting Dawn French to pop out. This is heaven.
At this point in the original, Coogan ducks back inside and takes the striking Polish waitress back up to his room, announcing the next morning to Bryden that "an historic accord was reached". Hang on. My wife is Polish, and beautiful, and … happily, life again imitates art.
DAY TWO
Next day we're off to Cartmel, a postage stamp town at the foot of the Lake District, which has two claims to fame. It invented sticky toffee pudding 25 years ago and is home to L'Enclume, a tres haut cuisine restaurant that boasts a 17-course dinner menu at astronomical prices that has earned it the mantle of England's best restaurant for several years. We opt for the six-course lunch, and are joined for this leg of our trip by Australian friends based in London.
There seems to be a waiter for almost every guest, and they take the whole experience seriously. Our menu is delivered in a wax-sealed envelope. Every course is created from local produce, and deconstructed into scientific parcels. They range from a mouthful to modest in size, capped with a reasonably large main of guinea hen ragout of heart, kidney and liver, finished off with two small desserts, then a tiny chocolate cornetto. The meal is undeniably a work of art, my palette stimulated but my stomach not quite satisfied.
To top it off, the weather has reverted to type. It's rainy and cold all day. Did Steve and Rob have to endure this, or did they just wait for the producer to find a sunny day to film and eat? Back in our bed and breakfast in nearby Grange-over-Sands (only actors can afford to stay at L'Enclume), our hosts wax lyrical about the Lake District and give us tips about how to avoid the tourist traps tomorrow.
Their mouths sag when we tell them we're staying at the town of Windermere, which is tourist central. And we have the same reaction when we check into our hotel, the Windermere Hydro, which looks like it was last renovated before the war. We have balconies overlooking the water but the railings are badly rusted and the floor tiles are broken in several places. It's quite dangerous. Still, the lake lives up to its reputation. The green hills and quaint towns nestled around its shores are delightful to walk and drive around.
DAY THREE
Our lunch destination today is Holbeck Ghyll, a luxury retreat about 10 minutes' drive from Windermere (there is a helipad for those who can afford it). This boutique hotel at least gives us the option of two courses instead of the six at L'Enclume. While that establishment was spare and squeezed into a cobblestone street, today we are in a richly decorated Victorian parlour, sitting atop a majestic hill, with gorgeous views of the valley and lake. With the added bonus of warm sunshine, our hearts and stomachs lift. As Coogan crowed when he saw the view: "You can't paint that!"
Like yesterday, the food is deconstructed. I enjoy my starter of Goosnargh (local) chicken leg terrine with a beetroot sorbet. The main course of ox cheek with suet crust, onion, horseradish emulsion and braising juices, is large and hearty, and by consensus, the standout. The desserts are pleasant, though not memorable. Again, we leave content without being absolutely full. We're starting to realise that beautiful food is not enough in itself. It also needs to fill you up. Undaunted, we decide to take a walk through the hills and soon find ourselves in fields of sheep. The views down to the lake are intoxicating. This is my Sound of Music moment, when Julie Andrews runs joyously through the Austrian Alps, arms outstretched. Alas, in our case, the hills are alive with the sound of three large bulls who impede our passage through the gates to the next field.
It's a gate too far; we choose self-preservation – there are still three meals to be eaten – and turn back. However, we find glorious consolation at the Belsfield, a five-star grand hotel in Windermere where we sit and sip drinks while the sun sets over the lake below. Our friends have brought up the television version of The Trip and we sit down to get the lie of the land.
DAY FOUR
After a morning jaunt up to Keswick an hour northwards, we stop off at the Lodore Falls Hotel on the shores of Lake Derwent, a lookout point recommended by our hosts from Grange, who met there and fell in love 30 years ago. It was, indeed, enchanting but we couldn't stay long. We were bound for Hipping Hall, with a GPS that sent us constantly in the wrong direction, prompting our friends to step in with their mobile phones. At one point there were three sets of directions coming at me and I circled a roundabout four times until we could settle the matter.
Hipping Hall is so discreetly located, the entrance tucked off a main provincial road, that we drive right past. Once inside, the tension of our drive recedes as we are led into a tastefully restored 15th-century banquet hall with oak beams rescued from old ships. This place feels just right, comfortable without being serious, and we proceed to enjoy the highlight of our three meals together – fluffy breads and generous starters followed by sea bass or lamb, and desserts to match, all of them creative but not precious. Add petits fours and coffee in the lounge afterwards and it was just about a perfect meal.
You know when your wives approve because they dive into a whirl of selfies to capture the moment for their Facebook friends. When Steve and Rob visited, they had two sexy young women in tow. We had beautiful wives. They channelled Sean Connery, we bathed in the irresistible Scottish brogue of our charming waitress from Inverness. They stayed in the luxury cabins adjoining the restaurant, we drove back to the faded Hydro. It was as if we needed to experience the theatre of L'Enclume and formality of Holbeck Ghyll to appreciate just how lovely Hipping Hall really is.
DAY FIVE
Last night on the video, Rob was asking Steve what he would say at Rob's funeral. We are also contemplating death on the road to Hetton, home of The Angel Inn, fumbling along a hedged lane barely wide enough for a Mini, let alone our jumbo rental. I am reduced to honking my horn for the last two kilometres to warn oncoming speedsters. It's pointless. They race around blind corners like Italians, screeching on the brakes without a care in the world. It's too much for my wife, who forbids me to drive on any more roads like this one.
I nod absently, my eyes transfixed by the sight in front of us. Hetton is less a village than a street, and the pub sits on the edge, a few tables under an awning blinking at us in the midday sun. We smile at the thick northern accents, farmers with sheepdogs on tractors driving down the road and tattooed youngsters ambling past on horseback. Armed with a cider, we choose a French fish soup followed by confit duck with chorizo, and pan-roasted salmon; each dish is sublime. All those years I have dreamt about pulling up at a roadside restaurant, in a tiny town, and stumbling into a slice of heaven … and now it's happened. When we go inside to pay, they offer us a guide with local walks and we wander off into tunnels of low-hanging trees and lush laneways, content with the world. Our friends, who returned to London earlier this morning, definitely went back a day too soon.
DAY SIX
We rise early, eager to leave what has been the low point of our accommodation: a bed and breakfast with a fully carpeted bathroom that stinks of damp from water leaking out of the shower. At breakfast the milk has turned, my cereal tastes sour. We head off to our sixth and final food destination, the Yorke Arms, a glorious old inn nestled at a junction on the road, all covered in leaves and vines. Our meals are miraculous. My main course – saddle of venison, oxtail, with beetroot, custard and gnocchi – is exquisite, and filling. The dessert (80 per cent chocolate, basil and apple) looks like a painting and tastes like heaven. I am gushing with gratitude to our Argentine waitress (she came here to learn English), who smiles knowingly. Truly, a memorable meal to end our journey.
Well, not quite the end. My wife has been dreaming about raspberry brulee all week and insists we return to Whitewell for our last night. Who am I to deny her one last taste of heaven? The sun is out on a warm evening, the locals are making merry and all is right with the world. At the end of their trip, Steve went home to an empty apartment and Rob to the bosom of his family. Me? I'd be happy to stay right here, get up tomorrow and keep driving.
WHILE YOU ARE THERE CHECK OUT ...
MALHAM COVE
Malham Cove is a huge curving amphitheatre-shaped cliff formation of limestone rock, about 80 metres high. You can walk around the base or walk up to the top, then adjourn to the nearby village of Malham for a drink or meal in one of the cosy pubs along the road.
SCAR HOUSE RESERVOIR
This dam, a short drive from the town of Nidderdale, rises to 55 metres above the river and is almost 600 metres long. It makes a lovely excursion on your way around the Dales. If the weather is warm enough, you can hire a kayak in Nidderdale and go for a paddle around the tranquil waters.
THE COLDSTONES QUARRY
This remarkable open cut mine is invisible from the road. Perched on Greenhow Hill above Pateley Bridge, lies the relic of the old Coldstone Quarry, now enhanced by a striking sculpture which includes viewing platforms over the vast quarry below, and surrounding countryside. From here you can see how the landscape has been shaped by centuries of agriculture, quarrying and mining.
BOLTON ABBEY
The ruins of this 12th-century Augustinian monastery are striking and the surrounding estate includes a broad range of walking routes and a variety of family-friendly attractions.
THE TOLKIEN TRAIL
This nine-kilometre, five-hour walk takes you in the footsteps of author J. R. R. Tolkien who regularly stayed at Stonyhurst College in the scenic Ribble Valley near Clitheroe. This walk explores the richly beautiful surrounding that inspired Tolkien. Several names of places in The Lord of the Rings are based on, and sound similar to, those found locally.
THE BELSFIELD
Originally built in the 19th century for a baroness, this grand old building has been refurbished by the Laura Ashley hotel chain into a luxurious landmark, commanding beautiful views over Lake Windermere. Sit on the lawn in the afternoon, with a drink and light meal, and watch the sun set.
EATING THERE
The inns tend to have an a la carte menu, which requires a booking, and a bar menu, which doesn't. Both have lunch and dinner options. The restaurants book out months ahead so reservations are essential.
GETTING THERE
You can fly to London or even better, directly to Manchester. All major airlines fly daily to both cities from Sydney and Melbourne.
STAYING THERE
Each of the restaurants we visited is attached to accommodation, ranging from simple rooms to luxury cabins and suites. Prices are available on the websites. We stayed at inns and guesthouses nearby. These included: The Derby Arms in Longridge (starting at $136, including breakfast) or the Assheton Arms in Downham ($176, including breakfast). seafoodpubcompany.com
Windermere: The Belsfield Hotel ($270); lauraashleyhotels.com/thebelsfield
Michael Visontay travelled at his own expense.
