The Atlantic Inn, St Mary's in Cornwall, Isles of Scilly

Had the most amazing meal here!!! Service, food, views, atmosphere and cleanliness were outstanding. We live 200 miles away and will be back 💕

Just had a battered sausage & chips which was cooked fresh. It was delicious & a great portion size too. I had my 6 year old with me who said he was cold & one of the guys working there heard this & came out & plugged in a portable heater for him which was a really nice touch. Thanks I will be back & I highly recommend here👍

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.

I've stayed several times at this hotel. The views are fantastic, service is good too. There's an indoor pool.

Vile customer service. Rude server.