Old Town Hall House, Cley-Next-The-Sea, Norfolk: hotel review

So is it “Clay”? Or “Clee”, to rhyme with key? On the edge of the village of Cley-Next-The-Sea, the pottery Made in Cley suggested the first pronunciation. But it turned out both were wrong: locals say “Cly”. The other part of its name is problematic, too: with the water nearly a mile away, “Cly” hasn’t been “next the sea” for centuries.

But it is next to a stunning wetland reserve and backed by undulating woods and fields (Noel Coward’s “Very flat, Norfolk” is also inaccurate), and such charms have long attracted second-home buyers, and London escapees such as James and Jennie Walker, who moved here last year with their young family.

They bought an existing B&B, put their own stamp on it and opened last October. So far, so well-trodden. But the Walkers had a secret weapon when it came to standing out on this honeypot coast. Friendly and unassuming James just happens to be a top chef, having worked at the three-Michelin-starred Lucas Carton in Paris, and the Ritz and Le Pont de la Tour in London. And he pours all that expertise into Friday-night supper clubs, at which guests staying in the three B&B rooms, made up to 10 by eager locals, gather at a long table for a high-end treat.

We arrived in the early evening, glad of Jennie’s directions – “in between the George Pub and the pottery, opposite the old-fashioned, red phone box”. The bedrooms, on the first floor, are in a style I couldn’t immediately define: light walls and carpets, brass bedsteads and pops of colour from throws and naive art cushions. We later learned that Jennie is Swedish and then I got it: airy spaces, clean lines – the Scandi touch. Downstairs has a similar feel, with well-chosen antiques and artworks in pale spaces. Jennie says this wild, marshy area reminds her of coastal Sweden.

The Spoonbill room is the largest, with full bathroom, but its rows of Velux windows are not great for enjoying the views. We picked the smallest, Sandpiper, for the chance to watch the sun set over the marsh and Blakeney church. Kestrel, next door, has more space, nearly as good a view, and a cushioned window seat from which to admire it.

Snug Sandpiper had no wardrobe (not a problem during a short stay, and there were hooks on the door), but the bed was great, the shower powerful and the toiletries White Company. There was a teasmade for hot drinks, and buttery homemade biscuits (in case we wanted to spoil our appetites).

At 8pm, everyone gathered in the guest sitting room, with its log fire and shelves of James’s cookery books, for canapés and drinks (you bring your own wine: the place isn’t licensed yet). Our fellow guests included a farmer, interior designer, an artist and a pharmacist. The talk turned to Norfolk pronunciations: to “Cly”, Letheringsett (“Larnset”) and Stiffkey, which some swear is pronounced “Stucky”.

James showed off a little with tiny canapés of arancini, leek and gruyère tartlets and foie gras with quince. Other courses were simpler, leaving the flavours to do the impressing: a salade landaise with duck gizzards and quail’s eggs, and delicate paupiettes of Dover sole with champagne sauce. The cheese course was Perroche, a fresh goat’s cheese from Neal’s Yard and, for me, the only duff note; something pungent after all that subtlety would have hit the spot. Dessert was rhubarb Eton mess, with the mess, and some of the rhubarb, taken away. A fragile cricket ball of palest pink meringue came apart to reveal cream and cubes of intense rhubarb jelly. It was a masterpiece.

My only reservation was that I’m not convinced cooking of this quality is best enjoyed while keeping up dinner party chat with eight charming people you’ve only just met. Part of me would have liked to dine à deux with my husband, so we could concentrate on the food, savouring and swooning to our hearts’ content.

Next morning, however, we enjoyed – alone – breakfasts sourced and cooked with the same skill and care as supper. There wasn’t a cloud in the big Norfolk skey and we felt very liffkey.

• Accommodation was provided by The Old Town Hall House (01263 741439,oldtownhallhouse.com). Doubles from £100 B&B; supper £30 a head

Ask a local

Sarah Whittley, co-owner, Pinkfoot art gallery, Cley-Next-The-Sea

Eat
Six minutes by car from Cley, or a one-hour walk along the coastal path, is TheMorston Anchor, which serves fantastic food. It has a modern bistro on one side, and on the other a traditional old pub with open fires and wet, panting dogs. Next door is Morston Hall, run by Galton and Tracey Blackiston. It has a Michelin star and the same sort of set-up as James’s supper club: one set menu and you all eat at the same time.

• Drink
On Cley village green is the Three Swallows, one of the only un-gastroed pubs left in the area. It’s a real locals’ spot serving old-school pub grub, and great for a drink after a long walk.

• Walk
Take the Glandford Road from Cley and park just before the ford. Behind you, to the left of the bridge, is a beautiful footpath along the banks of the river Glaven,eventually leading to the Natural Surroundings wildlife centre – which has a lovely cafe. Another of my favourite walks is to Blakeney Point from Cley Beach. When the tide is out and the sun is shining, it feels like the Caribbean with the vast stretches of sand - and no one out there!