The Telegraph ‘Wild? More like Lush’: William Sitwell reviews Wild, Berkhamsted

This farm-driven Hertfordshire spot might be scrubbed and polished but that’s precisely the point. There’s plenty of punch in the cooking

Wild it isn’t. But that wouldn’t be very Berkhamsted. The Hertfordshire town is all tennis courts and Gail’s, bowls and Waitrose. Anywhere else and so-called canal-side culture would promise a mugging; in Berkhamsted it’s a stroll across a meadow and a glass of rosé. The wildest thing that ever happened in Berko, as they call it, was a recent wallaby on the loose. So Wild, which is more “Lush”, fits right in.

The only front access is a long wheelchair ramp for your granny-mobile – they know their market – and inside it’s clean, veritably scrubbed and polished. There’s a glorious essence of summer scent in the loos, even, where deodorants are offered, I assume to ensure one’s personal hygiene doesn’t cause an atmospheric imbalance. The panelled walls of the dining room are off-white (is that Porcelain Mist, Temperance or Ivory Drift, perhaps?), the tables are machined oak and the floors are neatly tiled. There’s a large bar in the middle.

The menu is driven by an associated farm in nearby Radlett, which also sells produce locally, hence the likes of mushroom, cucumber, leeks and cabbage popping up on the menu. However, professional irritant that I am, my eye was drawn more to the pig’s head, venison tartare, potted shrimp and dark chocolate – very obviously non-Wild-farm produce.

We started with crispy pig’s head, an idea that scared my squeamish pal Livvi so I was able to guzzle a delightful square of the stuff in its entirety. A wonderful thing it was: a bit of crunch, soft, slow-cooked meat and a dollop of piccalilli enlivened with passion fruit. It’s the ice-breaking canapé of 2026 that should be on the menu of every Berko drinks party. It came on a plate with venison tartare which was rendered so soft that, served on a hash brown three times its volume, any flavour of deer was subsumed.

A starter of mushroom parfait was similarly frothed to a weightless cloud, with shavings of light mushroom just weighty enough to tie it down. It was graceful and subtle and, like the agnolotti that followed – tender pasta parcels in a light Winchester cheese sauce accompanied with shavings this time of cauliflower – showed considerable technical skills. We had carrots next, whole ones roasted and served under a sprinkle of nuts and a little too cooked, becoming food for the toothless (did I say they know their market?).

Then celeriac, which came as chunks as well as waves of leaves, with a celeriac sauce. The server had raved about this and we submitted. Quite why I’d momentarily forgotten my aversion to celeriac I don’t know. Maybe it’s the politeness of the place. When a nice person in Berkhamsted suggests you have the celeriac, it seems rude to decline. But, frankly, I’d reached peak vegetable by this point, and peak politesse. I needed meat and flavour and noise.