Where the light gets in, stockport on allthatshecraves

Where The Light Gets In, Stockport

It’s taken me a long time to write this post. Partly because I ran out of synonyms for ‘incredible’ but also because I was concerned that I wouldn’t do it justice. So, I’ve listed a raft of published reviews from critics who do this for a living at the bottom in fear that I didn’t (do it justice).

Simply put, Where The Light Gets In, does everything so right. 

Sam Buckley (previously L’Enclume) and his chefs prepare, cook and serve some of the best food we’ve ever eaten, the space is simple but beautifully, quietly, put together, the staff are warm, passionate and knowledgeable, the utensils and crockery have a tactility that intensifies the pleasure of each dish, and even the hand wash makes me pant and sigh.

I’m enamoured.

At £75 each for dinner, plus £45 for the wine pairing, it’s a privilege to be able to afford to eat here. Some people go on benders; we go out to eat.   

WTLGI is in Stockport of which a lot of people have made a big deal. We got on the train in Manchester, a mere twelve minutes from Stockport, and a brisk ten minute walk later we were there. Ok, so there was a steep hill (Rostron Brow) and a moment of uncertainty when we thought we’d arrived at the entrance of an abandoned crack den, but we only had to look up to see the light streaming, a friendly face and a hand waving to know we’d made it. It’s Buckley’s neck of the woods, and besides, it’s how all great adventures begin, isn’t it?

There’s an unexpected quietness as you step straight into the dining room, as the staff converse, intimately, with diners, and each other, in hushed tones. The space, the top floor of a converted coffee warehouse, looks out at Stockport and Robinson’s brewery, and feels like a New York come Scandi loft conversion with its exposed brick and white paint, while a fleet of Ercol chairs sail on a sea of polished floorboards. The space is divided in to three areas: lounge, dining, and, at the far end is the very open kitchen that, incredibly, is seen and not heard.

Tables of two are turned to face the kitchen to watch the chefs work, like theatre. There’s heads over pots and whispering to each other, they pick out jars from the open shelves, smell and taste the contents, move to other jars, whisper a bit more. The intimacy here between chef, plate and diner is exciting. There are moments that remind us of our dinner at Matur og Drykkur in Reykjavik. There’s a similarity in the sense of a pride of home, Buckley is after all from Stockport, a strong sense of ethics, and they both use the best of local produce available. They both have a way with caramelised whey, too. A sweet tart here and Icelandic twisted doughnuts at Matur og Drykkur. 

Altogether, we dine on twelve courses including snacks and sweets plus an optional cheese course that we can’t miss that comes with honeycomb carved in front of us, that Buckley tells us he’s traded with the beekeeper for a can of beer that day. 

The menu changes almost daily, and we’re served a new dish that Buckley asks us how we prefer it presented ‘this way, or this?’ as he places it in front of us. There’s raw langoustine with (look away now if you’re squeamish) head juices and brains, plum and lavender. Sweet, creamy, and hedonistic it’s one of my favourite dishes of the night.

We eat fresh crab tacos with our hands, and drink pork broth infused with fresh fennel that’s both deep and refreshing, and the liquor from a bowl of mussels that is somehow better, richer, more buttery and like the sea, than the mussels themselves.

For days after, I talk about the harmonious marriage between beetroot and toasted hazelnut and without any idea of how I’ll recreate it, I add it to our menu (with lamb chops) the following week.

Then there’s the desserts. Oh, the desserts. We have peaches two ways: first the skin with a peach cream and then the flesh with frozen yoghurt. Every part of the peach is used and the kernel is a delicious reminder of the familial bond between peach and almond.

When it’s all over, Buckley sees us out and we walk back to the station under the stars.

Where The Light Gets in
7 Rostron Brow, Stockport, SK1 1JY

Those links to the professional reviews, I promised:

Marina O’Loughlin writing for The Guardian
Robert Chalmers writing for GQ
Lucy Lovell writing for Manchester Evening News

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