The Shore, Penzance, Restaurant Review: Fresh Seafood, Exciting Small Plates, and Barefoot Chef

HHave you ever gone to dinner and the chef greets you at the door? And then shows you your table and your discussions. Then the same chef comes out of the kitchen to tell you what you eat and where it comes from? What about all of this being barefoot too? I thought so. Me neither, until now.

Bruce Rennie at The shore at Penzance is all of those things. And he’s the pot washer. He also takes care of some dishes, but this is mostly done by the one member of the service staff. The night rests only on this double act. And they’re awesome at it.

His enthusiasm for where the food comes from is second to none. Cooking with and involving the guest and ensuring ultimate freshness at all levels is his ultimate goal. In doing so, he’s like a kid in a candy store standing at one end of the restaurant, barely able to breathe through his exact explanations.

The night I went there, at the beginning of June, it was the third night that the team reopened. But would you know? Not at all. The service is smooth, like a well-oiled machine that hasn’t forgotten its work in the past year, despite barely opening.

The number of tables has been halved to just six; that night it was all couples and a table of four. To make things easier, the menu is set, although not a tasting menu, Bruce is quick to explain when you arrive: “Think of it instead of a few tasty little bits and then three courses.” . That’s, in all fairness, a much better way to look at it. Most of us are bored of tasting menus and have preconceived ideas about anything labeled as such. But here Bruce has brought the concept up to date and added his own very personal touch.

The decor is hushed to say the least. There is a slight nautical-beach feeling from the dark blue, gray, and white tones to the minimal art on the wall: a painting of an octopus and a sculpture of a school of fish. But we are not here for the interiors. We are there for the food, which sings.

There are undeniable threads of Japanese influence everywhere, from raw lobster and fermentation to miso, but it’s still wholeheartedly Cornish with a total obsession with fresh ingredients. Gurnard is so fresh, Bruce tells us, that it didn’t even hit the market until it was caught. Of course, it cost more, but it was worth it, he adds.

We start with the “tasty Bruce bunsâ€. He claims to be one of the first to bake, in an almost childish way, more endearing than arrogant, but, like all of us, he’s bored of it now. So like all good innovators, he moved on. The result is perfectly shaped, evenly browned buns; creamy buns served with whipped butter – a dream. I eagerly ask if there’s more butter, but Bruce only cooks what he needs – wise, I guess.

Raw lobster is the first time I’ve eaten it this way. Just before serving, it is refined with lime and chilli. It’s amazing and tangy. A classic Asian dressing still lets the flavors of lobster shine through. The poached oyster is dressed in fermented red beans, an innovative way to serve seashells far from the classic shallots or lemons. Bruce’s path is intense and fluid. Then there’s this very fresh gurnard – which has been transformed into, essentially, a chic fish finger. I was slightly surprised at her choice of batter, something that just came out of the sea, but it’s still so light with a hint of curry mayonnaise. A simple, but brilliant take that ends the “small bites†section of the menu. Already, I could eat them all again.

Then the Cornish king crab is served in two ways: on the one hand in a slightly spicy broth, on the other hand in the shell as a salad with spring vegetables. Both worthy, I thought I preferred the salad for its lightness.

Those who hate small plates would love the hake, the meatiest of all dishes, which looked like a main course. The generous piece of crumbled white meat, gathered in a butter sauce infused with miso, with fillet, potatoes and zucchini. It’s quite salty, but summery and satisfying.

Next to the salt, comes the sweetness in the form of a strawberry pie with vanilla cream and basil sorbet. Without the basil sorbet, it might seem a little less impressive than the rest of the menu.

There is a suggestion of wine theft, but the wine list alone is so up my street and full of fruity, fresh whites – clearly chosen to bring out the best in the fish – that I make my own wine theft from small glasses, choosing a French Picpoul de Pinet, a Hungarian Furmint and an Australian Viognier. Each was as expected, bold and punchy, and paired well. You never know what you’re missing out on, but I was happy with my selection.

The set menu is £ 69 per person – the optional wine theft is £ 45, or four or five small glasses (as I chose) is around £ 30. Before going to a restaurant, you pay in full for the food, which should be more regularly demanded and more widely accepted by diners as well. If someone doesn’t show up, the product is not used and is probably wasted. It is not a profitable way to run a business.

As Bruce does all the dishes himself, nothing is too low for him. It is grounded, but always dreams big with the flavor combinations, cooking styles and presentation, while locality and freshness are everything at the heart. He believes he will keep reservations at their current size, which once again shows his absolute infatuation with what he does – delivering incredible quality food to customers, which clearly matters more than profit. This is not only quite unheard of, but quite admirable as well.

For Bruce, in his own words, it’s all about bare feet, keeping a clear mind, and spreading love. And who can dispute this attitude?