Cook House is more than just the name of a restaurant or a book. It embodies the idea of being in my kitchen, cooking for people, feeding people and the conviviality of the table.
Today I have a beautiful restaurant where I cook every day, housed in two black shipping containers. It has won awards and gained national recognition. It has my collection of food postcards on the walls, shades of pale blue on the furniture and walls, herbs growing in the sunny garden, strings of little lights, a lovely atmosphere, shelves lined with pickles, ferments and home-made vinegars, and a little pot-bellied wood burner for winter. It’s exactly what I wanted it to be.
The neon ‘Service’ sign flickers on each morning and customers start to arrive. The menu is on the wall on a little chalkboard – usually about six savoury dishes and a couple of puddings – that changes all the time. Working this way has allowed me to cook, test and refine hundreds of recipes over the past few years.
The containers have an open-plan layout centred around a small kitchen. Diners can chat to me as I cook, ask how to make things and where to source ingredients. They can sit in the garden where I grow herbs and vegetables, or come along to meet guest chefs and eat their food. They can meet new people at a long-table supper club or event, even if they feel a bit apprehensive on arrival. They can come to a demonstration by my butcher or just stop for a coffee. I’m trying to develop a way of engaging with place and food that goes further than just relaxed dining.
We cook at Cook House six days a week, but also travel around the region hosting dinners and events in beautiful spots in Northumberland – from castles to islands, beaches to breweries. A sense of place and a nod to the location is hugely important to my menus: enhancing the beauty and joy of these experiences with the food.
My food is led by the seasons, what the local producers and farms have to offer and what nature is currently offering in the fields and woods. I focus on taste, texture and colour and a process of serving food that is ethical and good for you but not faddy or limited by theme or cuisine. As well as my desire to never put anything in the bin (it can always be turned into something), my cooking is also informed by the limitations of my tiny ‘domestic’ kitchen. I have achieved what I have so far with the most limited budget of equipment and smallest of spaces, which just goes to show that anyone could do this…