Pitch to pitcher
- 7 hours ago
- 5 min read
Words by Jamie Crocker
Fore Street’s new oasis offers a refreshing blend of wine, food and non-conformist personality.
Mention Newport to most people in this land, and they’ll invariably stall, pretend to look thoughtful and then reply with, ‘It’s that town in Wales, isn’t it? On the south coast?’ or ‘It’s that service station on the M1 – Newport Pagnall.’ Even a search on Google Maps suggests the Isle of Wight. However, there are a few enlightened souls out there who will smile and offer a nuanced and altogether more elaborate response shaded in reverie. For them, it is the small settlement in Essex that straddles the B1383; a collection of half-timbered dwellings that collectively are summed up by that trite phrase – ‘a quintessential English village’. It is just that, though. And, as is common in this part of the world, dotted around are other similar villages and hamlets that can also lay claim to this rustic conceit; one of which is Clavering. Here, at the Cricketers public house, a young lad learnt his craft before ‘nakedly’ exploding onto our screens in 1999 as the 23-year-old sous chef from London’s River Café. As with most exponents of a given craft, he’d put in the long hours in his parents’ kitchen, feeding his passion, mixing it with attendance at Newport Free Grammar School just down the road.
So, it’s exactly here, in Newport, that our story really begins. It makes you wonder if something is going on inside those wattle & daub cottages and public houses that makes for culinary excellence. It’s where the enigmatic Rupert Cooper, proprietor of the Philleigh Way Cookery School and owner of Cooper’s Wine Bar in Redruth, hails from.
Built like a man-mountain, his unexpectedly seraphic features and taciturn manner give little hint that he is both a regular with the Cornish Pirates and a master of finely honed, delicate dishes. Like Mr Oliver, Rupert built his craft in the domestic kitchen, again putting in the hours until he felt confident enough to make a living from the bounty hefted from land and sea. As he says, “I love food and everything that comes with it, talking about it, eating it and cooking it.”
One evening in late March, I made my way to the venue for his latest venture – an enterprise that, at first glance, feels like a bold exercise in hope over adversity. The first of its kind in this corner of Cornwall, it has, however, since opening in early December, already begun to justify Rupert’s instinct.
Cooper’s Wine Bar sits anachronistically on Fore Street in Redruth, as though parachuted in from somewhere else. When I arrived early on a Thursday evening, it was already beginning to fill with expectant customers; a clear sign that it is answering a long-standing gap between the traditional pub and the hotel dining room.
The atmosphere was instantly recognisable as a space that lacked the intimidation of a gritty pub, where you must navigate a gauntlet of hardcore regulars to get in, or an haute cuisine restaurant that would be better suited to somewhere in Oxfordshire. Here, I was greeted by an eclectic mix of decor – lit candles in de rigueur wine bottles, an upturned barrel serving as a table, chairs that looked as if they had been liberated from a French bistro and, as mysterious as the man himself, a rampant (in the heraldic sense) taxidermized fox, gazing out of the window; all fuelling the idea that the normal rules don’t apply here. Within this mise-en-scène and against the warmth of cardinal-coloured walls, the culinary spectacle was getting ready to take shape. It was ‘Origin Night’, a monthly dining event that consists of an array of small plates arriving from the kitchen following a brief introduction from the big man himself. On this occasion, the journey carried those gathered, on a small cultural exploration of Lebanon, told through its food.
I really did try to engage Rupert in conversation at this point, but he was a man on a mission, mixing drinks at the bar whilst popping back to the kitchen to keep everything on song in the oven and on the hot plate. He managed to make it look energetic and effortless at the same time without breaking a sweat, but then seasoned professionals have a habit of fooling the seated observer. I got the odd passing sentence, but I felt like a bit of a gate crasher, which I was really, one aware of his position as interviewer rather than part of the unfolding scene. So, I retreated, relaxed, detached and watched the event evolve from a safe distance at the back of the room.
Above: Baklava
Tucked in my corner, next to the serving counter, I became mesmerised by the cool efficiency with which Rupert went about lining up the first dishes of the evening – it generated the same feeling that watching a well drilled rugby team does, when passing the ball along the line. Nothing was fumbled, nothing was dropped. This opening mezze consisted of a trio of Lebanese-inspired dips served with warm flatbreads for scooping. Each brought its own character: one smooth and earthy, another bright with citrus and a gentle hit of garlic, the third carrying a slow-building warmth of spice. These three dishes formed the ideal launch pad for engagement, their tactile nature demanding a visceral, and vocal response. The simple act of scooping, rather than introducing any awkwardness, quickly worked its magic, dispelling any lingering sense of being judged for the mildly radical act of setting aside knives and forks. I’m sure some of the diners felt almost exotic. Paired with a bottle of Muscar Jeune, an unoaked, vibrantly fruity wine, made from young vines in the Bekaa Valley in Lebanon, or a Cuvée Pierre Brun from the country’s oldest winery, the evening dived into a distinctly near eastern embrace.
“This is so good,” said Martin. I’d already gone through the usual pleasantries with him and his wife Rita, so it wasn’t surprising to hear him confirm a mutually acknowledged truth about the starter. Residents of Redruth, they’d walked down to Cooper’s having become loyal frequenters after the first ‘Origin Night’ back in December. “We often come down at lunchtime too, it’s so welcoming and informal. There aren’t any of the traditional modes of behaviour that you must adopt here, unlike a pub or restaurant. It’s relaxed and Rupert’s food is great. You leave feeling satisfied rather than stuffed.”
As one of Rupert’s two young helpers cleared the plates, attention turned to the main event: a choice between steamed catch of the day – pollock, gently confit with a bright lemon dressing – or smoked Baharat lamb shoulder with chermoula relish, bulgur wheat and pickled chillies, finished with mint yoghurt. Under the warm glow of the overhead lights, both dishes looked irresistibly inviting; to choose one felt almost like a slight to the other. In the end, the three of us were drawn, unanimously, to the lamb.
It arrived mounted upon its throne of bulgur wheat exhibiting all the tenderness of a benign Emir, a subtle smokiness carrying the desert warmth of the baharat without overpowering it. Each forkful broke away with ease, the richness of the meat lifted by the brightness of the chermoula and the occasional sharpness of the pickled chillies. The bulgur added a pleasing nuttiness and texture, while the mint yoghurt brought everything back into balance, cooling and softening each bite. If you closed your eyes you could almost imagine yourself beside the eastern Mediterranean.
Finally, the evening wouldn’t have been complete without an Ottoman inspired baklava, served with egg and nutmeg custard and poached rhubarb. Again, the considered combination worked well, finishing off what had been a delightful evening.
In Rupert’s hands, this wine bar, this oasis of unconscious unconventionality has brought to Redruth a cultural twist that it’s been needing for a while. Making my goodbyes to Martin and Rita I made a promise that we’d meet again, here, at Cooper’s Wine Bar. I meant it. See you there too?
