Discovering Culinary Paradise in England’s Lake District

Today, Cartmel is a picture-perfect village with its narrow lanes lined by historic white buildings featuring pastel shutters, the gentle flow of the River Eea weaving through, two inviting pubs, a quaint village shop with a tinkling bell, and the majestic 12th-century priory that served as the town's foundation. With around 300 residents, you can stroll across Cartmel in under five minutes before immersing yourself in the expansive Lake District, where livestock farms abound. Toss a stone and you'll land in a lush field scattered with playful lambs. Even in February, when gray skies cloak the vibrant fields and a drizzle lingers, Cartmel remains undeniably charming. However, when chef Simon Rogan first set foot in Cartmel 21 years ago, his impression was quite different.

“It was,” he recalls, “incredibly bleak.”

Back then, Rogan—having honed his skills at the one-Michelin-star Lucas Carton in Paris and the boutique Gordleton Mill in Hampshire—was eager to launch a restaurant that reflected his vision: one that served elevated yet comforting dishes, celebrating the nation's local produce. He wouldn’t have even considered Cartmel, then a countryside area ravaged by foot-and-mouth disease, if not for a suggestion from a contact who mentioned an ancient blacksmith’s shop that might pique Rogan’s interest.

Intrigued by the 13th-century workshop beside the River Eea, Rogan and his wife were so captivated that they made an offer on the property during their drive back to London. “We had to sell our home, a car, a stereo, our cat, and take out a small bank loan, but it became ours,” Rogan reflects.

Over the past two decades, Rogan has played a pivotal role in Cartmel’s transformation, attracting visitors from around the globe after launching L’Enclume, which in 2022 became the first restaurant in northern England to earn three Michelin stars—ever. (It maintained its three stars in 2023.) His portfolio also includes Rogan & Co. (casual, all-day dining), Aulis (an intimate six-seat chef’s table next to L’Enclume), and Henrock (set in the beautiful Linthwaite House hotel), along with locations in London and Hong Kong. Despite his travels around the world, it’s the place he once deemed “depressing as hell” that he can’t imagine leaving behind.

In September 2002, Rogan and his wife, Penny, opened L’Enclume, which translates to “anvil” in French, reflecting the building’s past as a blacksmith’s workshop. In the beginning, operations were modest: Rogan managed the kitchen while Penny greeted guests and oversaw the dining area, which featured just five tables. He recalls nights filled with anxiety about whether they would have any patrons; fortunately, they also functioned as a kind of bed-and-breakfast, offering seven rooms for overnight stays. However, Rogan understood that L’Enclume's success hinged on its cuisine, not its accommodations.

He didn’t have to wait long for recognition. By 2005, his fine dining establishment earned its first Michelin star, celebrated for its focus on seasonal ingredients and farm-to-table practices—a familiar landscape for Rogan, who grew up in Southampton, assisting his father with their fruit and vegetable stall. In 2013, L’Enclume was awarded its second star. Reflecting on the eight years between his first and second stars, Rogan admits he sought inspiration abroad—from renowned establishments like El Bulli in Spain and Narisawa in Japan. “I became fascinated with the idea of surprising diners with theatrical presentations, unique ingredients, and unexpected flavor combinations,” he shares. “Eventually, I grew weary of that approach and realized, This isn’t me. A few close friends advised me to return to my strengths: connecting my restaurant to its environment and the natural bounty of this country.”

Rogan took this advice to heart, and within a week, he eliminated all “foreign” ingredients—anything that couldn’t be grown in England. (Lemons were particularly challenging to part with, but he eventually discovered other sources of acidity, like crafting vinaigrette from elderflower.) A significant aspect of his success has been the establishment of his aptly named Our Farm, which has evolved over the past decade from a barren field to a flourishing 12-acre operation. Today, it operates off-grid and is self-sufficient, supplying 84 percent of L’Enclume’s menu. This commitment to sustainability played a major role in L’Enclume earning a Green Michelin star in 2023, awarded to “restaurants leading the charge in sustainable practices,” focusing on partnerships with sustainable producers, minimizing waste, and eliminating non-recyclable materials.

On the day of my visit—a chilly February morning—the farm lies quiet and dormant, though life is stirring. Head farmer John Rowland, who has worked with Rogan for three years, enthusiastically shares the farm’s projects as we navigate through the mud and explore the greenhouses: 14 varieties of microgreens, peach trees, greyhound cabbage, gooseberries, black currants, red currants, lovage, nasturtium, oxalis, spinach, leeks, onions, broad beans, Chinese artichokes, shiso, nine types of kale, and mulberry trees. The farm is home to three active beehives. Rowland champions regenerative farming, which avoids pesticides and minimizes soil disturbance and waste; he mentions they use 200 tons of chicken and horse manure as fertilizer and pauses to show off one of their nine food composters. “This is how farming should be,” he declares. “It’s biointensive and biodynamic.”

In Rowland’s three years, the farm has expanded from two to four acres. He already has plans for further growth, guiding me to the property’s edge (woodland and rocky terrain) to show where he envisions raising pigs, and explaining how he’s planted roses to serve as a natural wind barrier for future crops. This summer, Our Farm's head chef Liam Fitzpatrick hopes to transform part of the farm into a six-seat dining area, sourcing everything from within the property, a vision inspired by his previous roles as head chef at Rogan & Co. and line cook at L’Enclume.

Rowland adds, “I’ve worked with many chefs, and they often have a garden the size of a postage stamp. But Simon is the only one truly utilizing most of what’s grown. It’s wonderful to witness.”

Even though produce makes up the bulk of the meal at L’Enclume, it is far from a light affair. On the evening I dine within the 12th-century structure, I feel like a heavyweight, aware of what’s to come but uncertain of the specifics. Inside the stone edifice with its whitewashed walls and low-beamed ceilings, a subtle buzz of anticipation fills the air. Before each of us at the table lies a plain gray envelope, sealed with wax—the menu. Should I peek at what I’m about to eat?

We discuss our options. Some prefer the element of surprise, while others, myself included, opt for a quick glance to gauge pacing and preparation. I break the seal on the envelope, and my stomach tightens and expands simultaneously: Tonight, we are set to enjoy 14 courses—at least, those are the ones listed.

Soon, the first dish arrives: a delicate fuchsia cup crafted from beetroot and rose, topped with smoked pike perch. One down, 13 to go. The subsequent plates are a symphony of flavors, where seemingly disparate ingredients harmonize beautifully. Most components are puffed and pureed into unrecognizable forms. A small stone cup presents what appears to be crème brûlée, but instead contains a seaweed custard drizzled with a syrup made from bone broth and marrow.

Another dish—reminiscent of the Oreo Dippin’ Dots my sister enjoyed at the mall—features small spheres of frozen Tunworth cheese blended with malt crumbs and accented by preserved quince jelly. I attempt to identify the flavors, but ultimately consult the menu, pondering the rich, dark oil draping over cubes of minced deer (made from coal) and what’s in the squash sauce delicately spooned over my grilled scallop (elderflower).

The desserts are equally enigmatic and delightful: pouches of sweet cream topped with black currant and vanilla crumble, geranium ice cream, and mint candies brushed, coated, and chilled to mimic stones. By the time I push my chair back and prepare to leave, it’s nearly 1 a.m. after five and a half hours of indulgence.

The next morning, still feeling full, I set out to explore the picturesque village, which has become familiar during my two-day stay. I stroll along the stone wall by the priory and pass the village shop, where sticky toffee pudding was reportedly invented in 1984. Horses neigh in nearby fields as I smile and wave at two women enjoying the sun with their dog. I walk by L’Enclume and notice the lights on, staff transporting tubs of produce in preparation for the evening service, recalling something Rogan told me during our last conversation: “We’ve accomplished everything I aimed for, but there’s always room to improve this restaurant.”