Gilly's Cafe in Cornwall, Isles of Scilly

This is a little gem by the boating lake in Newquay

The Tolcarne Inn is a pub in Newlyn, Cornwall, just outside of Penzance. I happened to be on my way to watch a film about an Irish architect, when I stopped in the Tolcarne Inn for lunch. Suspicious of gastro pubs, ranging from uppity to down-facing. Ladies were pleasant, very quiet clientele, like a village pub. I sat by the window with my book about the cognitive decline of Joe Biden, but when the food came, I forgot about Uncle Joe entirely. I ordered turbot with hollandaise sauce and asparagus, a side of boiled “Cornish dailies” and a white Americano. A warning about “small plates”. Quite, quite. You could have lost the fish in the wash, the two asparagus were stolen from a fisher-maid’s garden, the hollaindaise failed to mask the paltry dimensions. The bowl of potatoes, lathered in butter and dill, was substantial, boasting my fish like a thin man wearing large clothes. (£25 for the lot. Suspicious? I thought so too.) After the first mouthful, I was shocked. I chewed slowly, methodically, the flavours informing my tongue. The turbot was cooked with rock salt; the flesh keeps shape, easy to pull apart. The hollandaise has none of that wiry flavour; it’s smooth, not unlike a Bailey’s. Asparagus are tender, simple. Boiled “Cornish dailies” - new potatoes - are tender too. Dill and butter not overpowering. When you are filled with shock during a meal, this usually comes from the waitress dropping your plate, or some punter attacking the bar, but rarely the food. My modest meal shocked me. I forgot about Joe Biden, remembering my youth. Perfect fresh fish - prepared differently in Bermuda, but the same sensation. The outside world vanishes. Flawless food. Tourists ambling in and out of the pub, acting like the Inn was just another watering hole. No, no, no. My little turbot and asparagus and potatoes forced me back into the shell of my youth, I thought about people thinking about youth; what form it took, and so on. Walker is in shock, on the verge of tears. Now, at this point, you reach out and touch your partner’s hand, but I was alone. So the waitress came over and asked, “Is your food alright?” Because I’m thinking about time and space, prompted by the excellent food, I look up slowly, like a post-operative patient jigged back to life. “It’s flawless,” I said. “Suspiciously flawless,” I added. She smiles, walks away. Meanwhile another customer - frothy, biscuit-shirted - has the audacity to say their beer is “a bit frothy” when archangels and medcine men craft in the kitchen like so many Cornish saints. A chef peers out of the kitchen, catching my eye. A smug smile on his face. “Yes, you are God,” I want to say; I want to sing this from Newlyn to Planet Neptune.

Had a lovely Sunday lunch here. I had roast lamb and my wife had roast beef, very very tasty. For dessert I opted for the superb bread and butter pudding with clotted cream whilst my wife savoured the " St. Buryan Mess" which was delicious. The staff were lovely and our three dogs were welcome. All in all super pub food in a great location.

Popped in here for a cream tea, deliciously warm scones with jam and clotted cream, a real treat. Very reasonably priced. The staff were lovely, very friendly, would definitely recommend.

Not a farm shop more a slightly up market roadside cafe