Knepp Wilding Kitchen, Worthing: ‘Feels as relaxed as the cows in the fields’

Every relationship has its defining moment. In mine, it was the day we walked into a field of bullocks. Freddie and I were in the Lake District on a preprandial stroll. The footpath led us through said field, where the inhabitants were palpably furious about our invasion and they cantered , as one, towards us. I legged it, bellowing “Fuck! Fuck! Run, Fred!” until we had clambered over the stone wall, at which point I was immediately looking forward to supper again. Fred had stayed calm in the field, jogging mutely beside me until, on the other side of the wall, he went white. Supper – at Simon Rogan’s L’Enclume, no less – was overshadowed by cow talk. He slept badly, and to this day, his nightmares have a bovine complexion.

The experience taught me as much about how differently we respond to danger as it did about Fred’s feelings about cows. Which is why I am not surprised by his reaction when we find ourselves walking through grazing land at Knepp, a 3,500-acre estate in West Sussex – once a conventional farm and now a rewilding project, allowing nature (and, yes, free-roaming livestock) to lead.

“Oh dear,” he says, squelching along a footpath decorated with hoofprints. “It looks like there are some cows here.” I realise that, in the maelstrom of a typical morning in our neurodiverse household, I’d told him very little about where we were going, except that he was driving in exchange for a Very Nice Lunch courtesy of me.

I explain that the Knepp estate – which includes a farm and butchery, cabins and glamping, British seasonal “safaris” and, of course, a restaurant – is the brainchild of rewilding power couple Charlie Burrell and the perfectly named environmentalist Isabella Tree. Rewilding, I tell him, means letting the whole ecosystem shape the land, rather than any one species, although I admit there are quite a few cows here. I also tell Fred that Knepp is a reference point for regenerative farms across the UK, in fact I spoke to a farmer in Wales just the other day who had sought out the same breed of cattle for his land.

“What breed is that, then?” he asks. “Longhorn,” I reply. “Long. Horn? They sound threatening.”

I tell him Longhorns are known for their hardiness to the elements, and for encouraging biodiversity. Their horns are designed to pull down tree fodder, which they then stamp into the soil – disturbances that allow other kinds of creature to come in. Fred picks up a piece of flint and pockets it, not once taking his eyes off the tranquil cud-chewers in the distance. I have to squint to see them, but their body language gives bathrobe philosophy. I don’t think any of this is making Fred feel much better, and decide it is time for lunch.

Housed in a large barn on the edge of the estate, Knepp Wilding Kitchen feels as relaxed as the cows in the fields surrounding it, an intentionally inclusive space decorated with posies of dried winter foliage and fairy lights. By virtue of its connection to the estate, and the fact that they have former head chef of Petersham Nurseries Alex Dome heading up the kitchen, it is special. You can, and indeed we have, come here for a big feed and local sparkling wine from Wiston. But it’s also a place to gather for coffee in wet anoraks with muddy lurchers, or for a heaving bowl of “proper chips & aioli” (£6) after visiting Knepp Castle’s celebrated walled garden, or to breastfeed over lunch – as two people are. It is busy on a Monday lunchtime in January. The acoustics are good enough that I could bring my deaf parents, but not so good that I couldn’t bring my loud children. Glassware is robust, cutlery is upcycled and there is a pervasive feeling that no one thing here is precious. It’s an ecosystem, after all.

The menu is littered with references to Knepp’s own market garden and butchery. Freddie suggests a vegetable-forward beginning – I later realise he was (plant-based) buttering me up – and we kick off with a radiant little dish of pickles that includes swede, cauliflower and lemon from Todolí Citrus Fundatío, a Spanish biodiversity project. We scoop up cannellini bean dip with grilled flatbread and demolish an arrangement of carrots cooked in orange and cinnamon, tahini, herbs and cashew nut dukkah. This incidentally vegan fare is my favourite sort of food: high on flavour, low on suffering and crying out for good bread. Happily, the sides include “scarpetta bread – for mopping up!”

Knowing that Knepp is proud of its meat, which also includes Tamworth pork and venison, Freddie makes a case for his ordering the aged ribeye on the bone. I’m not thrilled about it, especially having seen the Longhorns for myself – I am reminded of Fred’s uncle who named his sheep Tottenham and Tory to make their inevitable demise feel easier for him – but I will say that, as a meat-free eater, I would much rather he ate beef that had lived here than almost anywhere else. In any case, we save the existential debate about meat-eating for another time and I order the tortelli pasta with greens and sheep’s ricotta. Six chunky parcels arrive, swimming in brown butter alongside hazelnuts. Two parcels and quite a lot of chips in, I realise our side of baked cardoon with béchamel and pangrattato was totally unnecessary, if irresistible.

Meanwhile, gasping as he finishes 650g of “amazing” steak, Freddie concedes to my ordering the steamed Sussex pond pudding, bursting with Todolí lemon curd on a slick of vanilla custard for a fitting finish. When in Sussex, etc. We waddle out, considerably less mobile than when we entered. Freddie chucks his pocketed flint on the car park gravel. I’m not sure someone’s brain can be rewilded, but I’m hopeful today’s serene Longhorns have gone some way to overcome his cow-shaped fear.

Knepp Wilding Kitchen, Worthing Road, Dial Post, Horsham RH13 8NQ (01403 470 690; knepp.co.uk/ wilding-kitchen). Starters from £10, mains from £18, wines from £30