Food: Rick’s place

I am in Padstein. It used to be a fishing village, just north of Newquay. It was Padstow then. But then came Rick Stein.

Padstein has the smell of a theme park. This is a village made over by one man; it belongs to him. In my hand I have a map of every Rick Stein outlet in town, numbered for ease of access — four restaurants, five hotels, a cookery school, a cottage, a pub, a gift shop, a patisserie, a delicatessen. People queue to buy Rick Stein chutney, drink Rick Stein-endorsed wine, eat Rick Stein chips or sleep on Rick Stein pillows. He is expanding into Falmouth, opening a bookshop. Perhaps he will write all the books. Who knows?

He actually lives in Australia, which makes me wonder how much he likes the town he created. Perhaps, like God, he made a universe so perfect he could not bear to watch others live in it. But as I explore Padstein, I do not feel more than three inches from the centre of his brain, which never stops. I feel I am behind his eyes. Does he talk to the fish? What deal has he struck with them?

His original restaurant, the Seafood Restaurant (established 1975) faces the car park, which is useful, but not pretty. This is one thing Stein could not change, although I suspect he would like to dig it up in the night and sign his name on the rubble. Inside is a wall covered with his many awards and another with his many books. Promotional material for his other ventures is everywhere, in tidy piles. He is the control freak’s control freak.

It is very clean — white walls, wood floors, a central bar with a pig’s leg sitting on it.