Nearly half a century after my first encounter with fine dining, I found myself returning to the place where it began: The Star Castle Hotel Restaurant. My first visit was with my parents to celebrate my father’s 40th birthday. I am now 15 years older than he was then.
Sadly my memories and those of countless others since, were dampened by the lack of attention to detail and old school approaches to the new champions of culinary dining experiences.
An impromptu work break exploring the range of wonderful food producers and gourmet experience providers had brought me to the Isles of Scilly and nostalgia — or perhaps curiosity — persuaded me to see whether the islands ‘star’ restaurant’s long-held reputation still held true. For decades it has been spoken of as one of the islands’ finest dining rooms, though often with the caveat that it remains resolutely “old school”.
Its setting certainly plays its part. The restaurant sits within the Garrison walls high above St Mary’s harbour. As dusk fell, I climbed the hill, enjoying the last few rays as the sun set over the Atlantic’s horizon, on what was to be my last evening of a very enjoyable and inspiring visit. I followed the narrow stone corridor to the heavy wooden entrance door, shrugged off coat and scarf — March in the Atlantic islands can still feel decidedly wintry — and stepped inside.
Arriving slightly early, I was shown into the linen-draped dining room before enquiring about the Dungeon Bar, an atmospheric relic frequently mentioned by returning guests. I was duly shown down the spiral stone steps, in to what was once a prison for unruly sailors before they were deported back to the mainland. Downstairs, in the low-ceilinged stone room, two bottles of Scilly Spirit Gin caught my eye behind the bar. Earlier in the week I had spent a fascinating couple of hours with distillery owner Arthur “Art” Miller discussing the nuances of his spirits, and later at SC Dogs Distillery on St Martin’s with owner and distiller Andrew Walder, so my intrigue was well and truly whetted.
When I asked the barman which Scilly Spirit Gin flavour notes he preferred and recommended for a classic G&T, he began reading the labels aloud to me before conceding he didn’t know the difference. “I’m a rum man,” he said.
“What local rums do you stock?” I asked.
“Captain Morgan!” 🙄
On islands that now host multiple small-scale spirit producers, it felt a curiously missed opportunity to champion what is being made just beyond the restaurant’s walls. My chosen aperitif, which was infact, on his recommendation, a Rum Old Fashioned, took some time – then I discovered it had been left on the bar top, just a few feet away from where I was sitting. I don’t recall it being self service!
The wine list itself available on being seated in the restaurant, however, was thoughtfully constructed and sensibly priced, and a glass of French provence rosé arrived without fuss. Sadly the English or even the Scilly’s own wines were not available by the glass, despite there being an ownership link of the two businesses. Though it was very early in the tourist season so perhaps they ahd not quite got their ducks (or grapes) in a row.
The evening’s menu followed a reassuringly concise formula: three starters, five mains, including a vegetarian option. My gluten-free request was acknowledged without difficulty although I had mentioned it on booking but the restaurant were unaware. I ordered cod to start, followed by fish pie, and added the optional velouté.
The cod dish was neatly plated, though the accompanying langoustine had the slightly waterlogged texture of something recently thawed, which I’m sure it wasn’t due to the restaurant’s location and focus on local fish and the the owners’ much coveted license to fish the increasingly prevalent blue fin tuna in the local seas, sadly not on tonight’s menu. An otherwise promising king oyster (half) mushroom proved unexpectedly tough appearing only cooked on one side, something I mentioned when the plate was cleared, but which drew no response then or later.
The velouté appeared as a generously filled bowl that leaned more towards hearty soup than delicate interlude. At a neighbouring table, a diner described the initial bread offering as an “off-cut morsel” before begging for more with shared humour.
The fish pie, meanwhile, looked more functional than refined: topped with a roughly dispensed potato purée that suggested haste rather than craft. The flavours were agreeable enough, though largely unmemorable and somewhat assertive with the salt – often I find an indication of a lack of kitchen confidence – maybe pre-tourist season nerves.
Dessert combinations sounded imaginative but faintly eccentric, and I passed. Not before briefly being presented with my neighbour’s pudding in error, which was swiftly retrieved and returned to its rightful owner. His verdict a few minutes later to his fellow diner: “crumble Too sweet… and overall a bit odd.”
No doubt the Star Castle remains a favourite among its loyal clientele in their retirement. Yet sitting in the linen-draped dining room, I found myself reflecting that my own relationship with traditional French-style fine dining may have quietly evolved.
These days I’m drawn more towards confident British cooking: fresh local ingredients, lightly handled, with the producers who supply them given their due pride of place both on the plate and in the glass.
In an era when hospitality faces spiralling costs and increasing pressure on consumers’ contactless spending, the smallest details — knowledge, pride in provenance, attentiveness to the guest — can make the greatest difference.
And they rarely cost anything at all other than a little commitment to suppliers and a little informed training.
Note: My visit was unannounced, pre-tourist season, April 2026. Hopefully by the time you arrive, their focuses and island priorities will be aligned.
Follow my personal gourmet experiences and observations on instagram here
