The shiny new resort hotel Rockliffe Hall is at Hurworth-on-Tees, just outside Darlington, a part of the country whose beauty is underrated, except by people who live there. If the place were a television series, it would be by John Mortimer. The estate was bought in the mid-19th century by Alfred Backhouse, a Quaker banker of the philanthropic type, who hired the architect Alfred Waterhouse (of Natural History Museum fame) to turn it into what posh people call "a stately". It's an imposing piece of Victorian Gothic. But Backhouse and his wife, Rachel – a Barclay (ie, another posh Quaker banker) – had no children, and the house passed out of the family. It was subsequently owned by a Victorian colonel who used it as a sporting estate; the Order of St John, who turned it into a TB hospital; and, since 1996, the chairman of Middlesbrough football club. The huge main building of the club's training ground looms over the estate like a metaphor for the over-importance of football in Britain today. Mortimer could have got a 14-part series out of that.
There's a spa and a golf course, for those who like that kind of thing, but the best reason for going to Rockliffe Hall is Kenny Atkinson, whose name is over the main restaurant, the Orangery. Atkinson is a local lad made very good: he left school at 16 with no qualifications, discovered cooking by working with his uncle, grafted his way up through the trade, moved to the Scilly Isles and won the islands' first Michelin star at St Martin's hotel, returned to the north-east at Seaham Hall in Durham, and then to Rockliffe Hall when it opened a year ago. In 2009, he was Caterer And Hotelkeeper's chef of the year, thanks in large part to his role on TV's Great British Menu, where he devised the winning starter, a beef salad with pickled carrots and mushroom, smoked marrowbone beignets and horseradish. Even reading that, you can tell he's a real talent, using clever technique to cook things people actually want to eat.
The setting is fancy. Other bits of the complex have a faintly corporate air, but the Orangery is a gorgeous, high-glass Victorian structure like an overgrown conservatory. There is a geordie dress code: no shirts allowed. (Just kidding, geordies. On the contrary, they insist on shirts.) The plush carpet seems out of place, as does the pianist. I know these spaces, with their potential for deathly hush, make restaurateurs and hoteliers anxious, but having someone tinkle Killing Me Softly and Stairway To Heaven honestly doesn't help.
Besides, this food doesn't need distractions or help. Atkinson is the real thing. The midweek market menu – £35 for three courses with various Michelin-mandated extra mouthfuls – was so good we didn't succumb to the temptations of the £45 for three courses à la carte or the £60 tasting menu. Those prices may seem high for the north-east, but for cooking at this level they are good value. There wasn't a false note. Even the amuse-bouches were good, and they're usually a waste of everyone's time. Smoked eel with beet jelly and a bacon twist was one; white onion velouté with truffle oil and trompettes – a beautifully autumnal taste on a bitterly wintry day – the other.
Best dish: Whitby turbot with a curry sauce, surf clams and a few cubes of celeriac to add a perfectly judged note of bitterness. Also very good: pork cheeks, cooked so that they weren't just tender but melting, in a sauce with something like star anise and cinnamon – something good, anyway. Venison loin had perfect texture and a very interesting cabbage remoulade on the side.
Atkinson is big on local produce, and it shows in the all-British, heavily northern cheeseboard, which was served with truffled saffron honey, a (delicious) new one on me. I made various unsuccessful attempts to get a fork into my wife's caramelised banana with chocolate fondant, so can report only that it was a great hit.
Atkinson's food would probably feel more fun in a less formal setting, and he could take the super-friendly staff with him, but this is by far the best destination restaurant this area has ever had. Go while there's still a chance of snow: with any luck, you might get stuck there.
