sō-lō, Aughton, Merseyside

We like to think of this as more than just a food blog. You, our readers, have become so much more than that. Confidant(e)s, friends and, on occasion, students. Today, therefore, I'd like to impart an important life lesson. If, when in Liverpool, you decide to visit Tim Allen's sō-lō (which I would strongly encourage) it's perhaps best to avoid Grand National weekend. Although the address is given as Aughton, you are aiming for Town Green station, about 20 minutes from Liverpool Central Station. That's the same line that goes to the race course.

On the big day there is one train every seven minutes to the races at Aintree. Ormskirk trains, which we need to take, are rescheduled. That's fine. We are entertained by the disco at the station causing mass gyration among the scantily clad race goers. Considering the chaos, the station staff are incredibly good natured and cheerful. I dread to think what it would be like in Edinburgh. At 1130 we see our train scheduled for 1147, take our lives in our hands and descend to the platform. Every 2 minutes the scheduled departure time goes back by 3. Never mind, half an hour later we're on board. Aintree arrives: the racegoers descend; and so, by order of the guard, do we. No idea why. The empty train departs - in the direction of Ormskirk.

Some time later our train appears. We're in the final furlong until someone announces, this train will not be stopping at Town Green. Much consternation - then someone has a change of heart and we find ourselves at the edge of a leafy village, then into the calm space of what was obviously once a village pub.

What to do when stressed? Order a glass of champagne (well three actually, as I'm here with H and HC). The world is a better place. Although there's a Michelin star, there has been no over zealous designer at work. It's just ... comfy. Like your front room, but nicer.

I had heard of chef Tim Allen - The Flitch of Bacon, Essex, The Great British Menu and much much more. This is his first solo venture, hence the name. Despite the accent over the letter o,  there's no Norse connection. Opening in November 2021, he got his first star in 2023. Over the years he's made a habit of collecting them.

Ah, but we're signed up for the tasting menu. Oh, and H has booked the wine flight. In advance I say to L, condescendingly, ah they've never tried this before. They'll learn, assuming always that the chat doesn't drive them round the twist.

In Liverpool you will find shops selling all manner of accessories. After this I must go and find one which sells donkeys' ears. All of my prejudices about this style of dining and wine flights were stripped from me and consigned to the dustbin of bigotry. We just had a ball.

The amuses-bouche set the tone. There was a stunning miso custard with two types of mini mushroom, one lot sautéed, the other crispy. The other stunner was a crab tart topped with a rose of tiny asparagus slices and a blob of caviar. This kitchen means business.  We wolfed down the bread, an unusual sugar loaf shaped affair sticky with malt and with an addictive salty topping.

To the carte. Loch Duart Organic Salmon, it said. Can you find it? Well, it was definitely there, in tartare fashion, hidden by little discs of rhubarb and radish. And there was a binding of dill, and some dill oil, and something citrussy to set it all off. The first wow of the day. Stop, I thought to myself. This is like a marathon runner aiming to do the first mile in four minutes. He'll never last the pace.

Salt baked celeriac you may have eaten before, but never like this. The sweetness was off set by lacto truffle buttermilk (so much better than it sounds), malted cream and topped with a birds nest of crispy celeriac.

The fish dish sounds almost mundane by comparison. (It wasn't.) Cod with smoked perch roe surrounded by an expansive mussel foam was evidence that chef wasn't slowing down any time soon. At this stage I probably should tell you about Connor the wine man. I think he sensed my suspicions and my misgivings. The former because I have been seriously ripped off with wine flights in the past. Wines abut three months old chosen simply for their obscure origins (and cheapness). On one occasion I was given a glass of tea, FFS. And the misgivings are because of the often intrusive talk.

Well the lovely waiting staff, Ruby, Molly and Magali did us the credit of assuming we could read the menu. As a result there was little fuss with the food, giving Connor a little more scope. Simply put, I have to take back everything I've previously written about wine flights. Conor was knowledgeable and eloquent, and his choice of pairing wines was as superb as the food itself. A dry Tokaj which tasted like a good Burgundy; a Riesling, whose fruity notes and bone dry finish went perfectly with the celeriac; and a white from Galicia, unlike anything I've ever tasted. Tried on its own, it had an odd saline flavour, but you could tell it would be perfect with the cod. It was. There was more wine later, but I've bored you enough on that.

Now a combo of loin of hogget and glazed shoulder (in the form of a lego brick) may not be the most original dish going but who cares? We're here for flavour. And for a glorious stem of the first Wye Valley asparagus I've had this season.

Being on a roll we called for the cheese (available for a £15 supplement). There were about 11 on the board, chosen by Magali from Brittany. All English with one exception, a truffled pecorino from Italy. This lady is no chauvinist. On to puds. Two, of course - that's what you get on tasting menus. Artichoke for dessert? Whit? The topping was some artichoke crisps, lightly dusted with icing sugar. Underneath I'm not sure. There was rhubarb with an almost vinegary tang, there were some crunchy bits and there was some stoor (dust) which I think was walnut. It's tricky going out with grown up children. A couple of decades ago I'd have given them a row for using their finger to get the last out of the dish. Think I managed when they weren't looking.

To finish, a real palate cleanser of grapefruit, and yuzu granita and some lurid shards of lime meringue. Oh my, at the finish line of this article, I'm spent. I'm spent? I went to chat to Tim at the pass. By this time it's half past four and evening service begins at six. The man looked pretty weary but, sensibly they open only four days a week. I hope a good night's sleep awaits.

Wandering back to the station in the Merseyside sunshine, we were all purring gently. This is the easiest summary I have ever had to write. Quite simply, food does not get better than this. Only the third perfect score in the history of Tom Eats!