Northern England: A long Weekend in Chester

As soon as you turn into the busy Eastgate Street, your gaze is pulled upwards. A gold-decorated clock sits enthroned on a brick bridge above the passers-by. The Eastgate Clock, erected for Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee and the most photographed clock in Britain after Big Ben, is so famous that the Huxley's café has even had it printed on their ice cream cones. The sales assistant has just placed a salted caramel scoop into one of them.

It's actually far too cold for ice cream on this day, but the sales window with the green frame in the city wall was too picturesque to ignore. With creamy caramel ice cream in hand, the view from the bridge wanders over the medieval half-timbered houses with their "rows", the covered shopping galleries on the second floor.

In August, Chester, half an hour south of Liverpool , was voted the most beautiful city in the world. No other city, not even Venice, is more oriented towards the golden ratio.

But Chester is not just beautiful to look at. It smells of warm scones, freshly brewed flat white and - especially in Watergate Street, number 70 - fried butter and rosemary. The restaurant inside, "Upstairs at the Grill" is located - true to its name - on the upper floor. In the dimly lit dining room, the fire flickers in the open fireplace and the "Breakfast at Tiffany's" aperitif is as bright and mysterious as Audrey Hepburn in the classic movie. The deep-fried haggis balls surprise with their crispy coating, and the rocket salad with caramelized walnuts impresses with its well-balanced lemon-mustard dressing. Here comes the main attraction: crispy fried, deep pink on the inside, the Delmonico steak cut into wide strips. Smoky from the charcoal grill without being overpowering, tender as butter on the inside without being greasy. Perhaps the best steak in the world.

You don't quite want to give up the evening afterwards. The "Vin Santo" bar is located in the rustic underground cellar vault. And here the Jansz Premium Rosé from Tasmania tastes so intensely of strawberries with fresh brioche that you realize: even the underground enjoyment in Chester is at the highest level.

The light of colorful stained glass windows commonly evokes associations with sweet incense, long pews and gleaming golden altars. But when you enter the high hall with its stained glass in the cloisters of Chester Cathedral, the smell of roasting aromas fills your nose. Tables with plates run parallel to the length of the room, and Jamie Eley foams milk for the next cappuccino on the back wall. Welcome to "Café 1092", says the restaurant manager with a grin, "the oldest dining room in the city."

The Benedictine monks of the monastery gathered here as early as the 13th century, six times a day. "Back then, however, the focus was not on enjoyment," says Eley. "There was mainly water and bread." Fortunately, that has changed. Today, guests can choose between warm apple pie, juicy carrot-orange cake or buttery cappuccino tart. The savory bestseller: Welsh Rarebit, a refined cheese toastie and a tradition from the neighboring country, which is only half an hour's walk from Chester.

The "Café 1092" (paying homage to the year the cathedral was founded) is not the only culinary insider tip in an unusual location. As we get further and further away from the city center on our way to dinner, we regularly consult Google Maps. Is this really the right way? But the red location pin rests confidently in the quiet suburb of Hoole.

On Charles Street, the eye is drawn to a sign in front of the walnut brown façade of number 11. "Chef Luke is back" is written in white chalk on a black slate next to an impressive portrait of the chef. "Luke," explains restaurant manager Hattie Logan as she pours a glass of Grüner Veltliner from the Kremstal, "was already head chef when we opened 15 years ago." He then opened the branch in Liverpool and did his own thing for a few years. "And now he's back again." Chester doesn't want to miss out on this. Shortly after 6 p.m., every one of the small wooden tables in the "Sticky Walnut" filled. And the gnocchi taste so charmingly of potato dough that they can only be home-made, served with mild goat's cheese and chanterelles as well as oven-warm sourdough bread. The tender trout fillet is served with a peppery watercress sauce and the profiteroles are enthroned on a wonderfully tart chocolate sauce with ice cream - celebrating the restaurant's name - made from fine walnuts.

The evening ends as unusually as it began. Back in the city center, the "Nightcap" heads up a narrow staircase and through an inconspicuous grey and white door to Chester's most famous speakeasy bar: "Prohibition". In the velvety ambience of the 1920s, the "Black Forest" is the Black Forest gateau in liquid form - heavenly refined and almost forbidden good.

The surface of the River Dee is as smooth as glass on a Sunday morning. The program includes a city tour with a countess - although this does not mean a real noblewoman. River Countess Jackie Leech is the name of the cozy excursion boat whose engine the captain is now starting. As Jackie (a tribute to the lady who saved the town's swan population) chugs upriver, we pass Chester's only floating beer garden , The Boathouse, the eager rowers of one of the country's oldest rowing clubs and a black cormorant flapping its wings wildly - a sign, the boatman explains, that the bird has just made a catch.

Seagulls swoop in the wind above us, the air smells as clear as it only does on a cold day, and the commentator draws our attention to the vast park to our right. Like so much else here, this land is owned by Lord Grosvenor, after whom several of the city's hotel residences are named. His official title of Duke of Westminster gives an idea of the city in which Lord Grosvenor still plays a major role; he is the largest landowner not only in Chester, but also in London.

The afternoon has an aristocratic air. Winter Sundays in England are for drinking tea like no other. When it's cold outside and the wind is knocking on the windows, few things are as comforting as a big-bellied jug with the tangy scent of bergamot wafting out of it. In England, tea is not just a hot drink, but a promising luxury.

In the dining room of Rowton Hall, a few minutes' drive from Chester, Amy carefully places the three-tiered etagere and the Earl Grey tea on the round wooden table in front of the high window. Even with a treat like afternoon tea, the British love of order shines through. So you have to start with the delicate finger sandwiches: creamy egg spread, cheddar with spicy onion chutney and, as always, the favorite, Scottish salmon with chives and the refreshing cucumbers. The second course is reserved for scones. The fist-sized yeast pastry, which should never be cut, is correctly served with strawberry jam and clotted cream. The crowning glory: chocolate cubes with cherry stones and a creamy lemon dome.

And so this Sunday ends as it began, in memory of an inspiring aristocrat, for it is thanks to the growling stomach of Anna Russell, Duchess of Bedford, that we can feast on this afternoon snack.