EX5 continued - Bentley Media

REINVENTION THROUGH
EVOLUTION
Chasing the sunset continued
History books will recall the GT as the car
that saved Walter Owen’s quintessentially
British car maker. Identifying an orphan
market sector, Volkswagen refurbished the
Crewe factory at a cost of £500 million,
reworked the bespoke production lines
and set the world alight with the £110,000
two-door coupé. Pre-launch publicity used
William Blake’s famous 1794 verse, The Tyger:
‘Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright, In the forests
of the night…’
Design head, Dirk van Braeckel’s fearfully
symmetrical work on the GT’s coachwork
was an instant hit and the order books were
full before the car officially went on sale.
It established the old marque as a major
player in the luxury market and spawned
convertible, saloon and sports versions,
which combined, took Bentley production
from 1,000 cars a year in 2002 to an
unprecedented 10,000 plus in 2007.
The car I’m driving is the second generation
GT, launched last year with a brand-new
bodyshell, different enough to mark it out
but similar enough not to alienate the
existing owners. The uprated engine produces
567 horsepower and almost as much in
pounds feet of torque; in the words of a
previous Bentley owner, “it’s sufficient.”
How sufficient? The top speed is 198mph, it
gets from 0 to 60mph in 4.4 seconds and
the combined economy works out at 17.1mpg.
The Bentley’s wipers swish away and big tyres splash through small lakes. Snug in the gorgeous
cabin, there’s a chance to appreciate Crewe’s craft skills. The combination of leather-swathed
dashboard, complex wood-veneered facia and those Eric Gill mechanical typefaces on the
instrument dials is delightful and lasting. You’d never tire of sitting in this car. And, with this
new model, there is now a general entertainment and sat-nav system worthy of a Bentley.
Through the gloomy sea fog, it negotiates me round the tortuous tree-lined back roads with
ease – the Scots call days like these ‘drek and drear’.
Back at last at the Scarlet we’re barely in time for supper. No sunset, no green flash and the
view from the spacious dining room is of majestically pregnant clouds. While the Bedruthan
Steps has a family hotel, the Scarlet is for adults.
“That adult-only thing? Just what’s really going on there?” asks one local when I tell him
where we’re headed. Not a lot is the answer, but the car park filled with expensive German
machinery might point to a clientele that is ever so slightly pleased with itself. No reception
desk, just a welcoming host, although as daughter Scarlett points out, “those sub-Star Trek
uniforms are plain weird.”
While the endless floor levels on the cliff-side hotel give the impression of being in a
hotel designed by M.C. Escher, there’s also a home-from-home cool about the place. Charming
details such as hand-made lamp shades and sparse wood furniture are comfortable as well
as modern. The dining area is well thought out, with good acoustics so you are not part of your
neighbours’ conversations.
And the fish… While I’ve posed no danger to Cornwall’s gilled inhabitants on this trip,
Scarlett’s sea bass is succulent and delicious, with a rich ratatouille that highlights the fish’s
flavours. The last time I ate sea bream in Cornwall, it was at a rival restaurant and this underrated
and delicate fish was murdered on a bed of noxious vegetables. The Scarlet’s chefs turn in
a pan-fried fillet so perfect it restores my faith in cheffery and all its nonsensical foibles. To think
I almost passed up this dish because I didn’t like the sound of an apple accompaniment; who’d
have thought that combo would work so well?
What’s more, the following morning the Scarlet passes the fiercest test yet devised of a
kitchen, the perfect boiled egg – try it some time – with chunky soldiers of The Chough bakery’s
best sourdough bread. Perfick.
And what would you know? The day we have to leave the Duchy, the weather clears and
presents us with a cerulean blue sky filled with Toy Story clouds. We dawdle back across the
Tamar thinking of green flashes unseen, fish uncaught and big waves unridden.
We’ll be back, but then Cornwall gets to you like that
Andrew English is a freelance writer based in
the UK, specialising in automotive and travel
journalism and writing for The Daily Telegraph
newspaper and a number of magazines in
England, Europe and America.
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