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OpinionsNoteGoogle194.5

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I love newquey Town center not too big. And lots of shops all around the beach and harbour my favorite pleace in Cornwall

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lee potter . 2022-08-07

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Great Central town for exploring Cornish coast. Has everything you need in regards to eating, drinking and shopping

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Peter Gray . 2022-07-08

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It's ok but could do with a spruce up and making the empty shops look better

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Bev Kingdom . 2021-05-27

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Good place for group activities

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Emily Newman . 2019-02-28

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Great building for groups etc to meet up!! General public can also hire this building/room, for anything they like it, charity coffee morning, jumble sale, kids parties, etc, etc. Simple but perfect central location, cheap to hire, and has everything you'd require!!😊

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Sharlene Smith . 2017-05-20

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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.

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