Tillingham

First things first: the wine. It’s what draws so many to Tillingham. It is what draws me in, the natural-wine-quaffing millennial in search of skin contact. Not only with Mrs Smith, who I’ve been working too hard to spend much time with lately, but skin-contact wine: where grape skins are included in fermentation, a process called maceration that creates distinctive flavours, tannins and texture. In plainer terms: those cloudy, amber or pink wines with a bit of sediment, the kind some people (never me, of course) can be overheard ordering with the request, 'I’d like to try something funky'. (Tillingham, I should assure, makes more conventional wines, too.) 

After arriving down winding Sussex lanes in late August, Mrs Smith and I stroll the grounds of this 13th-century farmstead, reborn as a vineyard in 2017, thanks to winemaker Ben Walgate. Since then, 40,000 vines and 21 grape varieties have been planted across 70 acres. We reach the viewing platform, a short walk into the fields where the sausage, read: wine, is made. From here, you can take in the environment that makes for such delicious grapes: a vista of the East Sussex hills, home to a handful of other English winemakers, making the most of the south-facing slopes. 

Later, on the 90-minute wine tour (daily at 2pm and 4 pm, with private options, too), we learn how Tillingham farms biodynamically: sheep graze in winter, cover crops encourage biodiversity, and mechanisation is avoided to protect the soil’s microbiome. These are low-intervention wines, meaning Tillingham avoids pesticides and chemicals on the vines, instead spraying the leaves with natural quartz to reflect sunlight. The inland winds from the nearby coast, we are told, are a natural protectant, preventing disease on the vines and fighting away frost. 

Once harvested, the winemakers let nature do its thing as much as possible, using the natural yeast from the skins for the fermentation of the grapes. This happens on site — on the busy wine tour, we’re shown the oak barrels, cement tanks and Georgian qvevri to prove it, learning how these various vessels aerate the wine differently, resulting in Tillingham’s experimental grape blends: a series of more than half a dozen homegrown wines, from pét-nat to a chilled red. 

Back at the bar, we start with Col '23 Pink, a hazy, mid-weight fizz touched with rhubarb and raspberry. Summer in a glass. Then over to the Dutch Barn housing a laidback, wood-fired pizza restaurant, where we try last year’s Endgrain, a citrus-bright, elderflower-noted white, a perfect partner to the radicchio salad with blue cheese and walnuts. Later, over a game of Scrabble, we finish the night with R, a juicy, chilled red that goes down almost like Ribena.

After Mrs Smith beats me, both at Scrabble and drinking, we retire to our room. There are four accommodation options here, including the bell tents (May to September), set slightly away from the main building, for a more rustic glamping experience. We booked a Feature Double Room in the former hop barn due to the sizeable outdoor area, where we light the fire pit with the wood and firelights conveniently provided, set down our glasses of wine on the table by the fire (they really thought of everything), and wrap ourselves in the blankets as we stargaze. By this point, we haven’t looked at our phones in hours, and it’s easy to resist the temptation of pulling out the astronomy app. Instead, we conjecture about the constellations as the logs burn.

The view is so expansive and the room feels so private that we decide to leave the curtains open. Morning light spills across the vineyards and onto the bed, waking me at sunrise without the usual grumpiness. It’s good to join the smug elite of the early riser for a change, because we have big plans for the day: a walk along the beach at the nearby Rye Harbour Nature Reserve, a rugged wetland leading down to the sea. Those seeking out a sandier stretch and an ice-cream may prefer Camber Sands, also just 20 minutes away. Further east is Dungeness, a pebble beach set against a moody and industrial landscape, and home to artist Derek Jarman’s famed house and gardens, Prospect Cottage. 

Perhaps next time — because by afternoon, we’re drawn back to Tillingham: a long bath, a visit to the goats we admired on arrival, and dinner at Upstairs at Tillingham, its Michelin Green Star restaurant. The menu celebrates locally sourced ingredients, from the garden, nearby farms and Rye Harbour (though the lobster hails from Cornwall). Small plates, like trout tiradito with yuzu, hogget croquettes, or goat’s cheese with charred peach, come with suggested wine pairings. I chose the lamb main, then the chocolate crémeux with sea salt, which finally defeats me.

Dinner sums up what seems to be Tillingham’s magic: warm, knowledgeable service, rustic-elegant interiors by local Rye designers McCully & Crane, and a commitment to sustainability. This doesn’t feel like a vineyard imposed on the landscape, but one in step with it. I’ve consumed more than my fair share of spectacular wine and food on this trip, but am mildly comforted as I pass the goats on our way back to the car — as goats are wont to do, they are still munching, and I feel mildly absolved of my indulgence.