If I was to read in 'Restaurant' magazine that the Dandelion Cafe at Lulworth Cove had been awarded four Michelin stars together with the coveted title of Best Restaurant in the World, it is highly possible that shortly thereafter I would find myself driving a rainbow cheesecake through a field of robotic turnips, yodelling the Benny Hill theme tune at roller-skating aardvarks the colour of ketchup, and playing the spoons. Sadly however, unless the scientists at CERN smash some hadrons together and discover a squillion new dimensions in space and time, neither of these scenarios is all that likely. Despite this, the Dandelion is still rather good.
It was a Tuesday in July and about half-twelve on a disappointingly-typical English summer's day. The sea was calm and flat like a truck-flattened badger painted a pretty blue, but the air was thick with drizzle that lashed against our faces like an army of angry feathers. There was barely a breeze, and up above the sky resembled an artist's palette of every shade of grey. Seagulls shrieked and the waves lapped gently against the shingle of the shore.
As we stood at the water's edge appreciating the sight and sounds and smells of the sea, so I then heard what I thought was a rumble of thunder. Only it wasn't. It was my tummy demanding I fill it very quickly indeed. It was time for lunch.
Since my friend and I were by the sea that day, so we decided to eat fish. We wandered into a pub with a blackboard promoting a sprat, waited at the bar for someone to be of service, and walked out after ten minutes because no one was. Moments later we entered the Dandelion Cafe and after deciding against dining on the patio outside because we weren't dolphins, settled at a table near a window with a very pleasant view and ordered coffee to drive away the summer's chill.
Being ignored by the invisible barman was a considerable stroke of luck, for had this not been the case I would probably have soon been chomping on a simple sandwich, rather than enjoying a thoroughly pleasant fish that I gobbled down with an enthusiasm similar to that of a dog with a bowl of choc-drops.
Decor-wise, the Dandelion is not the most striking of places. It is arguably unremarkable and as interesting as the price of buttons. It is clean and perfectly civilised however, yet, somewhat inexplicably, reminded me of both a motorway service station and a pasty shop. I half expected the staff to be unhelpful and a bit rubbish, but fortunately they weren't either of those things.
The service was, in fact, rather good, the single exception being the failure to provide a couple of glasses of water because our waiter forgot. The coffee was some of the best I have ever had the pleasure to sip, but the food? That was very special indeed.
Did you know there is a type of fish found in the southwest Pacific Ocean known as the Toadstool Groper? Neither did I, but I ordered its cousin from the Specials menu: the sea bass, while my friend opted for a thoroughly unfishy, hot and spicy pizza. As soon as the food arrived my mind immediately began to whir and buzz and crunch and ping.
One word I can use to describe my sea bass is simply, 'awesome'. I devoured it like a lion would a gnu, and thought of little else other than it could have been prepared by nothing less than a band of magic fish pixies. I tried my friend's pizza too, and suggested that it must surely have been prepared by a troop of happy-go-lucky pizza goblins in one of the more upmarket suburbs of Hell. My friend agreed that it was excellent, but stopped short of siding with my assessment of its preparation, responding instead with a withering look and questioning whether I was mad.
While the Dandelion Cafe did not overwhelm us at first, the service was good, and the coffee and our lunches were simply stunning. I must thank both the magic fish pixies and the happy-go-lucky pizza goblins for that. read more
