The Old Moat House Kidwelly/Cydweli: restaurant review

On February 9, 2025 by The Plate Licked Clean

The Old Moathouse in Kidwelly is one of the oldest surviving houses within the medieval walled town. It could, with a little license, be described as standing in the shadow of the Castle: it certainly has enviable views of those 13th century walls.

That Castle was, famously, the setting for the opening scene of Monty Python and The Holy Grail- yes, that sight gag- and in less savvy hands than those of husband and wife team Hamish and Leanne Burns, The Moathouse could be some tourist-trap themed hellhole.

Picture it: a menu full of ‘Black Knight Burgers’, underpowered curries served with ‘Arth-and-Arth’, and pasta calling itself ‘Knights Who Say Lingui-NI!’.

You can just see it, can’t you? The children’s activity mats asking them to guess how many times a second a swallow needs to beat its wings to maintain air-speed velocity: your server (in reality, several absolutely charming ladies) abusing you in the French style. A place where hope- and good taste- go to die.

Happily, we leave The Old Moathouse without being called ’empty headed animal food trough wipers.’ Or without anyone farting in our general direction, come to think of it.

Even better, what we find here eventually sends us away happy. In this high-ceilinged annexe, good things happen.

Anywhere which plays peak period Stones and Leonard Cohen is going to make me happy. And, as a bonus, it’s at a hospitably non-intrusive volume, rather than something from a barn dance-cum-all night rave at Yeovil Aerodrome hosted by Jet from Gladiators.

This is somewhere with a strong sense of itself as Welsh- it’s there on the chalkboard and bar, busy with Welsh brewers (Bluestone, Grey Trees, Tenby Brewing, Geipel, Dark Element, Crafty Devil). It’s there in the supplier list, with some names like Narberth’s Ultracomida, Selwyn’s Seafood- veterans of over 50 years- and renowned butchers Carmarthen’s Rogers & Son.

An occasional additional bonus is people dropping off deer they’ve shot, or fish they’ve caught nearby. The raw materials may pride themselves on Welsh tradition but they are filtered through a more eclectic global frame of reference. The menu typically centres on a choice between small plates (platiau bychan) and daily specials (platiau y dydd). A strong showing for local sourcing hints strongly at a love of Spain in particular- vermut, Gordal olives, padrón peppers, croquetas- but there are also postcards from North Africa, Greece, Japan.

But today is Sunday, and that means roasts. Three meats, a mushroom bourguignon, and a pie of the week. Words which, somehow, always feel they deserve capitalisation. So: Pie of the Week.

A dense tangle of ox cheek ‘marmalade’- something I’d probably call unctuous if I didn’t own a dictionary- started as a gift from a farmer lacking kitchen inspiration. Now the beef has been worked into something compelling, rich and thick and darkly sticky after a long, lingering braise in the good stuff.

I’m told it’s around four days’ work. A couple to braise the meat in pints of red wine with garlic, herbs, peppercorns and carrots; another day to pick it and reduce the liquid, then overnight to set. Once finished, it goes into the pan for the final reduction before serving to get the consistency just right, being careful not to let the sugars burn. Some tart pickles to punch through all that heft, and it’s done. It’s impressive stuff and proves naggingly memorable in the days and weeks which follow.

There’s little that says ‘Wales’ more than cockles on a menu. An essential order. At this time of year they may not be quite at their plump, summery height from the estuary nearby, but they still shine. Given a dredge through seasoned flour, rather than the heavier and more predictable batter, this is a stout portion, served with a perky, garlicky mayonnaise. It’s the sort of thing which makes you sigh and sit back contentedly. (That, and feeling grateful you’re with someone who lets you polish off what they can’t finish.)

There’s plenty here to lift dishes into something distinctive. Leeks unabashedly awash with double cream, or a cauliflower cheese which is thick, tangy-rich and the antidote to every watery, insipid disappointment you’ve endured. Roast potatoes which pass the ‘tap test’ with aplomb. The red cabbage, perhaps, aromatic with cinnamon, star anise and fennel, lightly tart with a splash of red wine vinegar.

Pork ticks all your Sunday pork belly boxes and then some, and even as I pass up the chance to misuse ‘unctuous’ twice in the same review I’ll tell you about a plate-straddling and very welcome baton of well-seasoned crackling.

The entire menu is a well-written thing, with nothing in the way of flowery embellishment (There’s a skill to this, one you perhaps only fully appreciate when you read a bad one. I’ll decide whether my meal is ‘succulent‘, ‘mouth-watering‘ or ‘cooked to perfection‘, ta.)

‘Charred’ lamb draws the eye: it turns out to be slices from a whole leg which has been butterflied, brushed with olive oil and started over leaping flames before being finished in the oven and well-rested before carving. Why over-elaborate when you have meat this good to start with?

The mention of ‘Llwynfron’ is less obvious, to me at least, but it turns out to be significant: it’s the name of Hamish’s sister’s farm near Llanddeusant, where she raises native Welsh mountain breeds in the Black Mountains. They graze all summer up on the hills, in the traditional way, and it has become a mainstay of the menu. Well, it would, wouldn’t it?

Cuts will vary with availability- this week leg, previously shoulder- and this is notably sweet, tender meat from small yet hardy lambs, with the current batch the ‘Badger Face’ breed. (I feel some affinity: both B and my daughter, independently of each other, have given me that nickname. I think it’s the winter streaking my beard, rather than the prodigious density of my skull. That, or my propensity for spreading bovine tuberculosis.)

The clincher is a gamey little faggot from the offal. Livery, rich and earthy, this is the Welsh staple done admirably well in the time-honoured way: just a little mace, nutmeg, sage and thyme, here cooked in a bone stock. You know that person who has never tried faggots, or says they don’t like the idea? Bring them here.

Gravy. Slow gravy. The old-fashioned stuff. and that’s no bad thing: gravy which has known bones and a homemade demi-glace at its base (don’t downplay this, fewer and fewer kitchens are making their own stocks these days, even at the ‘starry’ end). This is no one-size-fits-all gravy, either: each meat gets its own, each rich with its roasting juices.

This feels like a roast from someone for whom this ritual matters. Later, it is no surprise to hear that Hamish has clear- and dear- memories of childhood Sundays around the table, that sense of plenty and togetherness in a large family gathering, as his grandmother and mother loaded the table.

It feels like he’s trying to do those memories of the Sunday ritual justice, rather than knock just out a ‘will this do?’ version to fill tables.

There’s no rum and raisin available so I console myself with vanilla ice cream soused with a generous pour of molasses-scented Pedro Ximénez. Very good it is too, with the density of proper old school ice cream. They’re probably missing a trick here by omitting coconut flavour, although I suppose it saves front of house having to listen to yet another wag asking them where they got them, or for the migratory patterns of African swallows.

Sunday lunch at The Old Moathouse feels like it is made to make you full and happy, and possibly in need of a quick nap on a Sunday afternoon. A wholly satisfying meal, but The Old Moathouse does more than ‘just’ deliver that. Throughout, there’s a sense of things done right. Of knowing you’re in good hands. Of confident cooking, of time taken, and details honed. That’s worth taking your time to savour, no?

Castle St, Kidwelly SA17 5AX

https://theoldmoathouse.com/

Thursday – 4pm to 10pm (Kitchen 5pm to 9pm)

Friday & Saturday – 4pm to 11pm (Kitchen 5pm to 9pm)

Sunday – 12pm to 7pm (Kitchen 12pm to 4pm)

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