Cathy Butler, proprietor of At the Chapel.
When I arrive at the restrained cool of At the Chapel, Bruton, Cathy Butler, the owner of the restaurant, hotel, bakery and bar is sitting at a corner table scrutinising macaroons with her new pastry chef.
'Come and sit next to me,' she says with a warm smile, patting the chair to her right. ‘Try one,’ she offers me the plate. She has penetrating, sparkly eyes. I bite into the macaroon; it combines the intensity of flavour with a lightness of touch that characterises everything in At The Chapel.
A couple of black clad waitresses come by to talk to the boss. They acknowledge me and then listen intently to Cathy before hurrying off to run the evening service, which is just moving through the gears. She is the queen of her domain, smoothly running the complicated undertaking that is a successful eatery.
I love a well-run dining room. Around us, the diners are just getting comfortable, taking their first sip of wine and checking out the menu. The hubbub of conversation is gently rising. On the walls there is some cutting edge contemporary art. Bruton has a reputation for art. A lot of people go up the road to Hauser and Wirth for a squint at the latest stuff from New York. My advice is, if you really want to see a decent bit of art in Bruton, go to At the Chapel and simply stand and watch a busy service in full swing.
'Come and sit next to me,' she says with a warm smile, patting the chair to her right. ‘Try one,’ she offers me the plate. She has penetrating, sparkly eyes. I bite into the macaroon; it combines the intensity of flavour with a lightness of touch that characterises everything in At The Chapel.
A couple of black clad waitresses come by to talk to the boss. They acknowledge me and then listen intently to Cathy before hurrying off to run the evening service, which is just moving through the gears. She is the queen of her domain, smoothly running the complicated undertaking that is a successful eatery.
I love a well-run dining room. Around us, the diners are just getting comfortable, taking their first sip of wine and checking out the menu. The hubbub of conversation is gently rising. On the walls there is some cutting edge contemporary art. Bruton has a reputation for art. A lot of people go up the road to Hauser and Wirth for a squint at the latest stuff from New York. My advice is, if you really want to see a decent bit of art in Bruton, go to At the Chapel and simply stand and watch a busy service in full swing.
Other kinds of art can also be found at the restaurant.
Just study the staff gliding between the tables, attentive but not in-securely inquiring if everything is all right every two minutes, the chefs working at the open steel kitchen, the impeccably designed dining room, the sublime baking kiln visible from the foyer, and the new staircase that winds up into the gallery and down to the bar and the terrace. The artistry, co-ordination, creativity, beauty, sensuality and value for money beggars anything you will see in the gallery up the road.
If the art in Hauser and Wirth were food it would be dry toast with a squirt of vinegar and cost seven hundred quid for a starter. If the food from the Chapel were art it would be a Fragonard of lovely sexy chubby women lying on plumped up cushions with angels fluttering over them.
I am writing this while eating a croissant from the bakery at the Chapel. It’s light and flaky and buttery and sweet, not rubbery and bitter like the ones in the plastic packaging of the supermarket. It came in a white paper bag direct from the oven. Excuse me while I take a break to savour another mouthful, then blow the curved glazed crumbs off my keyboard. Mmm. That is so good. I shouldn’t write with my mouth full but I had to tell you how good that was. This scintillating croissant is one of the many beautiful things created by Cathy Butler.
I get down to business as I sense how busy Cathy is, and ask her about her childhood. She was born in the 60s in Liverpool; her mum ran a veg stall, and her dad was a ‘politically active’ docker. I vouch the name Margaret Thatcher was not held in high esteem in the Butler household. She was bright, and went to college to read law. There Cathy had a life-changing experience: a fellow student had a father who owned a restaurant in Corsica, and Cathy went out there for the summer.
‘It was a deeply rustic family restaurant,’ she says, her eyes almost misting over. ‘Our clients were mainly locals, pig farmers and bandits. And there I discovered a way of life.’
If the art in Hauser and Wirth were food it would be dry toast with a squirt of vinegar and cost seven hundred quid for a starter. If the food from the Chapel were art it would be a Fragonard of lovely sexy chubby women lying on plumped up cushions with angels fluttering over them.
I am writing this while eating a croissant from the bakery at the Chapel. It’s light and flaky and buttery and sweet, not rubbery and bitter like the ones in the plastic packaging of the supermarket. It came in a white paper bag direct from the oven. Excuse me while I take a break to savour another mouthful, then blow the curved glazed crumbs off my keyboard. Mmm. That is so good. I shouldn’t write with my mouth full but I had to tell you how good that was. This scintillating croissant is one of the many beautiful things created by Cathy Butler.
I get down to business as I sense how busy Cathy is, and ask her about her childhood. She was born in the 60s in Liverpool; her mum ran a veg stall, and her dad was a ‘politically active’ docker. I vouch the name Margaret Thatcher was not held in high esteem in the Butler household. She was bright, and went to college to read law. There Cathy had a life-changing experience: a fellow student had a father who owned a restaurant in Corsica, and Cathy went out there for the summer.
‘It was a deeply rustic family restaurant,’ she says, her eyes almost misting over. ‘Our clients were mainly locals, pig farmers and bandits. And there I discovered a way of life.’
‘I was always looking for people who cared. Hospitality literally means kindness to guests.'
The first time a Brit makes contact with the Mediterranean summer is usually unforgettable. The heat of the day, the chirruping of the cicadas, the endless sunshine, the warm stone under bare feet, and of course the dappled table loaded with lovely food and wine.
'We would always be open and we would have good coffee, bread and wine.' ‘Family life was get up and wash the terrace,' Cathy remembers. 'Do lunch. Go to the beach. Come back, do dinner, and we would all eat and do it all again the next day.’ It beat Thatcherite Britain. ‘I never went back to college’.
Events brought her back to the UK where she ended up working for the Hard Rock café. ‘I became one of the staff trainers. Made loads of money though my parents never stopped asking when I was going to get a proper job.’
Under Robert Earle she was part of the team that expanded the Planet Hollywood franchise from 4 to 65 restaurants.
‘I was in charge of staff,’ Cathy tells me. ‘I was always looking for people who cared. Hospitality literally means kindness to guests. You can’t teach people to be nice. I learnt that it wasn’t the customer that was never wrong, it was the team. And I looked after them. Nobody gets good results with fear.’
Then one day she sold her shares and walked away from a corporate career.
‘I followed my heart, not my head.’
With her partner Ahmed Sidki, a talented designer and lover of exquisite detail, she discovered Bruton. ‘We had no intention of coming here, and no intention of starting a business, but again I went with my heart – it hadn’t let me down before – and we bought the building that is now the restaurant.’
‘Why did you want to go back into restaurants?’ I ask.
‘I remember one weekend driving and walking for an hour to a pub in Somerset and getting there at five past two and being told with some glee by the publican that the kitchen had shut at two. So I decided to open At The Chapel to do something properly: we would always be open. There would be no rules, and we would have good coffee, bread and wine.’
The rest is local history. At The Chapel is absolutely the preeminent restaurant in Somerset and sets standards that every other place in the county should aspire to. In service, food, design and vibe. One of the many things I love about the place is that there is something really good to eat or drink for every budget, and locals can and do wander in just for a pint at the bar, while the Bruton swells eat three course dinners and drink 100 quid Burgundy at an adjacent table. There is a persuasive argument that the hub that Cathy has created at The Chapel is a significant factor in the arty renaissance of Bruton, further endearing the place to me.
Events brought her back to the UK where she ended up working for the Hard Rock café. ‘I became one of the staff trainers. Made loads of money though my parents never stopped asking when I was going to get a proper job.’
Under Robert Earle she was part of the team that expanded the Planet Hollywood franchise from 4 to 65 restaurants.
‘I was in charge of staff,’ Cathy tells me. ‘I was always looking for people who cared. Hospitality literally means kindness to guests. You can’t teach people to be nice. I learnt that it wasn’t the customer that was never wrong, it was the team. And I looked after them. Nobody gets good results with fear.’
Then one day she sold her shares and walked away from a corporate career.
‘I followed my heart, not my head.’
With her partner Ahmed Sidki, a talented designer and lover of exquisite detail, she discovered Bruton. ‘We had no intention of coming here, and no intention of starting a business, but again I went with my heart – it hadn’t let me down before – and we bought the building that is now the restaurant.’
‘Why did you want to go back into restaurants?’ I ask.
‘I remember one weekend driving and walking for an hour to a pub in Somerset and getting there at five past two and being told with some glee by the publican that the kitchen had shut at two. So I decided to open At The Chapel to do something properly: we would always be open. There would be no rules, and we would have good coffee, bread and wine.’
The rest is local history. At The Chapel is absolutely the preeminent restaurant in Somerset and sets standards that every other place in the county should aspire to. In service, food, design and vibe. One of the many things I love about the place is that there is something really good to eat or drink for every budget, and locals can and do wander in just for a pint at the bar, while the Bruton swells eat three course dinners and drink 100 quid Burgundy at an adjacent table. There is a persuasive argument that the hub that Cathy has created at The Chapel is a significant factor in the arty renaissance of Bruton, further endearing the place to me.
The terrace At The Chapel
‘Bruton has been happening since 1200s,’ Cathy enthuses. ‘It was the main stopping off point between London and Ireland. Plus it’s built on an intersection of ley lines,’ she adds breathlessly.
‘Had you ever heard of ley lines before moving to Somerset’ I ask.
‘No,’ she laughs, ‘of course not. But I have now! We are also over a spring and a well, which were always gossiping points in a community. You can see the well downstairs in the bar. So in a way I am just carrying on the tradition.’
When I bid Cathy goodbye and leave the hum of the restaurant, I drop by at the bakery and pick up the now, sadly, consumed, croissant. As I admire the burning embers in the beautifully curved baking oven I realise I am looking at yet another work of art from the oeuvre of Cathy Butler and her team: the real artists of Bruton.
For further information about At The Chapel's bakery, wine shop, cafe, bar and restaurant, click here
Words: Guy Kennaway
Images: Dimitris Koutroumpas
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