Talk to Me filmmaker-brothers, Michael and Danny Philippou go head-to-head to see who can cast

In his small flat in Moscow, Igor was putting purple eyeliner and fake lashes on fellow drag queen Saffron, but their sessions trying out make-up...

The Real Housewives of New York have given so much to the world: Dorinda Medley’s “Not well, bitch” catch phrase; Ramona Singer yelling “Elegance and class! Where did it all go?” while dressed in Holly Golightly-ready pearls and a little black dress; Bethenny Frankel, to name a few. So, when the new cast of the franchise — now entering its 14th season — was announced back in 2022, it promised to deliver fresh air to a show plagued by 2000s socialites, near-royalty members, and the occasional Candace Bushnell appearance.

In Cartmel, a picture-postcard Cumbrian village on the cusp of the Lake District, chefs in their whites are scurrying across the cobbled streets like an army of well-dressed worker ants. Some are heaving wheelbarrows stacked with mounds of freshly picked vegetables, still earthy from the farm; others are dashing from one building to another, precariously balancing enormous stacks of clean pans. They all have one thing in common: they work for Simon Rogan. If they’re the workers, he’s the queen. This well-rehearsed choreography is a typical sight every morning in Cartmel, where the Michelin-starred chef – one of only eight to own a three-starred restaurant in the UK – set up shop 20 years ago. After a decade of working at various levels in restaurants around the country (including a placement under Marco Pierre White and two years at the three-star Lucas Carton in Paris), Rogan was keen to open his own restaurant. Priced out of Hampshire and Sussex, he looked further afield and found a rundown 800-year-old former smithy in Cartmel available to rent. “I didn’t come here for anything as glamorous as the area or the scenery or the people,” he tells me, having just taken me on a tour of said area to meet said people. “It was just for this building. I was desperate for my own restaurant. I felt like I had never really achieved the things that I’d wanted to working for other people. I wanted to make my own mistakes and be in control of our own destiny. I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s true.” He made an offer on his way back from his first visit to the area, and L’Enclume was born. “Once you realise where you are, you think: s***, this is beautiful,” he adds, laughing. Over the next two decades, the ambitious chef transformed the Cumbrian village into a culinary destination unlike anywhere else in the UK. It’s now home to not only L’Enclume – awarded the environmental green star in 2021 and the coveted third star in last year’s Michelin Guide – but also the one-starred neighbourhood eatery Rogan & Co, and Aulis, L’Enclume’s six-seater chef’s table behind the main restaurant. He also put his name to Henrock, a more informal and relaxed offering just a half hour’s drive away at Linthwaite House, overlooking Lake Windermere. The engine behind this mini empire, and the reason I’m here, is Our Farm, a 12-acre plot in Cartmel that supplies the majority of the restaurants’ ingredients. A sustainable, closed-loop growing operation had always been “at the back of his mind”, Rogan says. He was inspired by his father, a fruit and vegetable salesman who would bring home a box of the day’s best produce, teaching him the importance of using every part of the ingredient. When they arrived in Cartmel to get started, though, “the standard of produce”, Rogan says “was absolutely rubbish. The reason we got into farming was my frustration at the ability to buy a perfect radish, which is the easiest thing in the world to grow.” They rented a small plot close to the restaurant, and filled in the gaps with local suppliers. But, back in 2002, it was too expensive to buy organic. “Things were triple the price they are now,” Rogan tells me, taking a sip of his beetroot juice at the Aulis counter. “So we bought little bits and pieces here and there alongside the normal suppliers. Then we had the opportunity to take over the farm. That’s when we thought: ‘Right, let’s start growing radishes.’” What started as a little garden has become something bigger than he could ever have anticipated. A restaurant growing its own produce is not a groundbreaking concept, but a kitchen garden this is not. You won’t find pristine beds and trimmed rose bushes and arty ornaments. But you will find a patchwork of muddy fields growing hardy vegetables, the topsoil painstakingly “fluffed” by hand; a regiment of polytunnels housing the more finicky plants, delicate micro herbs and other culinary experiments (I try something that tastes like pickled onion Monster Munch); and enormous hand-rotated compost bins that process all the food waste from the restaurants into mulch for the farm. All this is surrounded by hedgerows that have been carefully curated to attract birds and other wildlife to act as natural pesticides. None of this would be possible without head farmer John Rowland. Regenerative agriculture might be his trade, but birds are his true passion. During a tour of the farm, he lists off the species he’s seen circling overhead, drawn by the blackthorn, hawthorn, rowan and birch trees he’s been planting on the borders. “We cater for the birds more than the people,” he tells me, in a Welsh accent so bucolic I wonder whether he’s been shipped in specifically for the tour. “Everything on the farm has a use, and not only in a culinary way. The seeds and the berries attract the birds onto the farm. The birds are my pest control, so the more I can attract to the farm, the more pest control I have, and that is fantastic for birdlife. In Britain, we’ve lost 84 per cent of our bird species, but this area is really rich because of these techniques.” While he might prefer looking upwards, it’s what’s beneath our feet that Rowland is really focused on. “The life is in the soil,” he says, grabbing a great fistful of the stuff. “You have hundreds of types of fungus right here. We don’t want to disturb that biome in the ground so rather than rotavating the soil [breaking up the earth with a machine ready for planting] and destroying the millions of organisms that live in it, we build a six-inch layer of compost on top and aerate it with a fork. Once you’ve done that, each year you just top it off with an inch, and that’s regenerative farming,” he says matter-of-factly, clapping the dirt from his hands. Well, that’s the gist anyway, and while it’s perhaps a little more complicated than that, Rowland struggles to understand why more people aren’t farming in this way. “We’re the most nature-depleted country in the world. We’ve lost our wildflower meadows, we’ve lost our insect population, we’ve lost our wild songbird population. They’ve taken the hedgerows away to make the fields bigger. All the natural food in our countryside is being lost to intensive farming.” Regenerative techniques like those Rowland is putting into practice on Our Farm would go some way to reclaiming it, he says, but “it’s a shame that they don’t realise that”. He pauses for a moment, then corrects himself: “Well, it’s not that they don’t realise it. They know. It’s just that they want intensive farming because it makes them money and it’s wrong because we are killing everything.” How this translates to the table at L’Enclume is manifold. Every dish on the menu begins life on the farm, where Rowland will flag what’s in season and at its best, or suggest something new he’s been experimenting with. Or it might start as an ingredient foraged from the countryside or sourced from a local supplier. The idea is then tweaked in the development kitchen at Aulis, before it finally makes its way to the pass at L’Enclume. This results in a transient snapshot of Cumbrian cuisine that changes every time you dine, and a menu quite unlike anything else I’ve come across. When I visit in February, Boltardy beetroot – a variety chosen for its resistance to erratic weather – shines in a bitesize tart with smoked pike-perch fished locally, and perilla, a Southeast Asian herb cultivated on the farm that adds notes of mint and licorice. Elsewhere, there’s lovage and rose hip and lemon thyme, all foraged; there’s Cornish cod and Mylor prawns and potted shrimp and Maldon oysters; sweetcorn and champagne rhubarb from the farm that were fermented after they were harvested last summer so they could be used year-round; and an enormous selection of British cheeses, including Tunworth, which is frozen and crumbled in a palate-perplexing, salty-sweet dessert. It happens to be my favourite dish. Managing a farm-to-fork operation this complex, not to mention the empire, is no mean feat. “I could pretty confidently be a tax exile given how little I am in the UK at the moment,” he jokes. When we chatted in February, the team was preparing to revive their pre-Covid plan for a five-week residency in Sydney, which concluded this month. The punchline, of course, is the delay meant Aussies were given a taste of not a two-star L’Enclume, but all four stars. Given Australia is yet to receive a Michelin Guide and is not particularly well known for its agricultural sustainability, it was an interesting move, but one there is clearly appetite for. Despite the $420-a-head price tag, it was sold out, serving more than 4,000 diners. While the food at L’Enclume, at home and abroad, is clearly special, it’s the people that set it apart from other restaurants in this league. Their hospitality, affability and, perhaps most noticeably, northern accents, are not typically what you find at this price bracket (£250 a head for the tasting menu, plus £100-£290 for a pairing). Stuffiness is neither present nor tolerated. Many of the staff have been with Rogan since the beginning, switched between the restaurants, or left for pastures new only to return. “We get a lot of people coming back – only the ones we want, anyway,” he says slyly. There’s certainly been a few famous quarrels. The “Rogan alumni” is a term thrown around a lot during my visit, and includes Mark Birchall, who was executive chef at L’Enclume during its two-star era before setting up a curiously similar “restaurant with rooms”, Moor Hall, in Lancashire, which also boasts two stars and a further green. Then there’s Dan Cox, who cut his teeth at Rogan’s now-closed Fera in Claridges as well as L’Enclume, and helped him set up Our Farm in the early days. He’s now down in Cornwall, running the farm-to-table Crocadon. But, generally, people are drawn back to L’Enclume for the variety it has to offer. “Look around the country,” says Rogan, “and [other restaurants] haven’t got any staff because they can’t offer as many career progression opportunities for people. I suppose that makes them lucky. “It’s about not spreading yourself too thin. We’re only able to do these things because these guys are really, really hungry.” Acknowledging that hunger, he established the Simon Rogan Academy in 2021 to “nurture aspiring chefs”. It includes paid work across the Cartmel restaurants, and culminates in a week-long placement at his restaurant Roganic in Hong Kong. In the beginning, “we thought that maybe if we had just a third of them left at the end of the quarter, it’d be brilliant,” Rogan tells me. “But almost all of them stayed on! And now they all want jobs” – he comically rolls his eyes – “but really it’s great.” As I drift between the farm and the Cartmel restaurants, everyone hard at work but always smiling, it strikes me that L’Enclume isn’t just a restaurant; it’s a story. And its influence is immense. “Sustainability”, “farm-to-table” and “regenerative agriculture” were mere whisperings 20 years ago. Now they’re affixed to almost every new menu, and you could say they were born here. The people I’ve met could well be the next batch of Rogan alumni, attracting Michelin’s attention with their own restaurants in years to come. If it takes 20 years to craft a legacy like this, then I’ll make sure I come back in 2043. For more information about L’Enclume, visit www.lenclume.co.uk and for more information about Simon Rogan and his other restaurants visit www.simonrogan.co.uk Read More Why I won’t be doing Veganuary this year – or ever again Marina O’Loughlin is wrong – there’s joy in solo dining Michel Roux Jr announces closure of renowned restaurant Le Gavroche to have ‘better work/life balance’ The true story – and murky history – of Portuguese piri piri oil 30-minute summer recipes for all the family to enjoy What to cook this week: Tomato tart, sweetcorn pasta and other summery suppers

The storied Moulin Rouge cabaret in Paris said Tuesday that it had dropped a long-running snake act under pressure...

iPads dominate the US tablet market for good reason. Apple has a great set of

Hong Kong’s restaurants are reshaping their supply chains after the government banned seafood from parts of Japan, bringing

Max Verstappen accused Red Bull team-mate Sergio Perez of pushing him off the road before going on to win Formula One’s sprint race in Austria. Perez had to settle for second behind Verstappen with Carlos Sainz third for Ferrari. Lando Norris started third but finished only ninth following a poor opening lap, while George Russell and Lewis Hamilton crossed the line in eighth and 10th respectively on an underwhelming day for Mercedes. In damp conditions at the Red Bull Ring, pole-sitter Verstappen fell behind Perez as they blasted away from their marks. Verstappen moved to his right on the run down to the opening corner, but Perez squeezed his way past to take the lead. However, the Mexican ran wide on the exit of the first bend allowing Verstappen the opportunity of a slingshot back past on the straight. Verstappen drew alongside his team-mate but ran out of room, briefly dropping two wheels on the grass. “He pushed me off, man,” yelled Verstappen over the radio. “What the f***.” On the long drag to the third bend, Verstappen still managed to maintain some momentum, launching an aggressive move down the inside of Perez at Turn 3. Verstappen made the pass stick, running on deep into the corner, but Perez felt aggrieved by the move. “What is wrong with Max, man,” he said. From there, Verstappen raced off into the distance, taking the chequered flag 21 sec clear of Perez. Despite his commanding win, Verstappen, who extended his championship lead from 69 to 70 points, took aim at his team-mate again. “That first corner was not really nice,” he said on his way back to the pits. “It could have been a big shunt. We need to have a chat about that. For me it was not OK.” Russell was the first driver to gamble for dry rubber in the changeable conditions. The British driver pulled in on lap 15 and was soon the speediest man on track. Half of the 20-strong field took on slicks, too, but such was the advantage of the leading pack, that they were able to finish the race on the intermediate tyres. However, Russell managed to fight his way back from last after his pit stop to take the final point. Lance Stroll held off Aston Martin team-mate Fernando Alonso to finish fourth with Haas’ Nico Hulkenberg sixth.

Embedded SIM, or eSIM, is a technology that has been available on mobile phones for

A woman who turned to roleplaying with hyper-realistic dolls “to help (her) cope” with the death of her first baby – and continues to do so with her husband and two rainbow babies – has said her husband’s parents disapproved of the hobby and fired him from the family business as a result. Christina Keeler, 38, a stay-at-home mum and YouTuber, from Wyalusing, Pennsylvania, USA, fell pregnant with her first “miracle” baby in 2015, despite having endometriosis and being told she would not be able to conceive in her 20s. She suffered a miscarriage, but after watching a documentary about so-called reborn dolls, she had a “lightbulb moment” and realised getting a hyper-realistic doll would be the “perfect solution”. Christina’s husband Bill, 43, was “hesitant” at first but became supportive after he saw how much it “helped (her) grief”. The couple went on to have two “miracle” daughters, Grace, six, and Joy, four, who now help feed, change and dress the family’s five reborn dolls – which cost between £1,560 and £3,899 each – in their “nursery” complete with “a crib and a wardrobe”. The family often take the dolls out in public, and have shared their journey on YouTube – where Christina documents people’s reactions to her dolls and birthing videos. Some silicone dolls come in a fake womb which allows a Caesarean section to be performed at home. But Bill’s family were “disgusted” with the hobby, to the point where they gave him a choice to stop having the dolls or leave the family business. He refused to shut down the YouTube channel and did not want Christina to give up her hobby, so he was fired. She fell pregnant with her first baby in 2015, a year after her mother died of cancer. The couple were “elated” about the pregnancy because Christina had been told in her twenties that she would not be able to conceive because she has endometriosis, but she miscarried at eight weeks. Christina told PA Real Life: “When we lost the baby it was so devastating, I remember lying in the hospital bed after they had taken the baby out of my belly, and screaming for my mum and wept wanting to cuddle my baby.” She “really struggled” with the grief of losing her mother and her baby so close together. She explained: “This feeling of sorrow just never went away, it was so painful that I never talked about it again.” Despite having her two “miracle” children Grace and Joy, Christina still longed to hold her first baby, and after watching a documentary about reborn dolls, she wanted to get one to see if it would help her grief. She said: “I felt so blessed to have two healthy girls, but that feeling of missing the first baby never quite went away. “When my youngest was around two years old, my husband and I came across a documentary about reborn dolls. “And he was like, ‘That’s really weird’, and I played it off that I thought the same, but actually I really wanted one to help me cope and I thought it would be the perfect solution.” After persuading her husband, Christina ordered her first lifelike doll, Hannah, costing her around £155. She said: “I told my husband and he was not on board at all, he was hesitant, but after explaining my reasoning, he was much more understanding and more accepting.” When the doll arrived, Christina instantly felt like it helped with her mourning. She said: “It helped me therapeutically because for the first time ever when I got my first reborn doll, I was able to talk about the loss of our baby. “And since then I have healed tremendously from that loss because I’m able to talk about it and share my story and help others – it helped my grief, for sure.” Christina now has a collection of five dolls called Carter, Cadence, Quinn, Isabella and Sammy, which she loves to dress, cuddle and feed. She takes the dolls out in public and people often mistake them for real babies. She said: “We have a nursery for them with a crib and a wardrobe. I check on them throughout the day, and on other days, especially when the girls want to get involved, I pick out an outfit for them, bring them to breakfast, get them to feed them a bottle, change them. “If we’re running errands we often take them out with us and put them in a car seat and stroller.” Christina and her family have been sharing their experiences on YouTube, where they are known as The Reborn Family. She said: “I make videos about people’s reactions to my dolls, as well as vlogs and birthing videos – I have some silicone reborn dolls which come in a womb and you perform a C-section on it at home, to give birth to the baby.” Despite her immediate family being supportive of the hobby, Christina admits not everyone in her wider family understands. She said: “My husband’s family were, and still are, disapproving of the reborns, even though they can see how much they helped me. They were disgusted. “We moved from California to Pennsylvania because my husband was next in line to take over the family business because they were about to retire, and they asked if we would like to do so and we agreed. “When they were on vacation they came across our YouTube channel, and they called us up and they were mortified and so embarrassed, and said we were ruining the family name.” When Bill’s parents came home, they gave him an ultimatum to stop having the dolls. Christina explained: “Bill said that he was not going to quit his job, and didn’t want me to stop having reborns because they were so therapeutic for me at the time, and his dad said, ‘Well, then you’re fired’.” My husband’s family were disgusted, they said we were ruining the family name Bill’s father was contacted by PA Real Life for comment, but he had not responded at the time of publication. Even though her reborns have caused tension in the family, Christina cannot see herself giving up her hobby any time soon. She said: “Reborns continue to help me with my grief, and I love sharing content with other people who have lost babies, and they can also really help people with dementia, people who are infertile, people with anxiety and depression, I wouldn’t want to stop this.” Read More Teenager who thought she was pregnant diagnosed with ovarian cancer Woman praised for response to parents who asked her to swap first class seat with their child Barbie vs Oppenheimer: Greta Gerwig makes history with biggest box office opening for a female director

Amazon Prime members currently get the benefit of free Amazon Key In-Garage Delivery, where packages

Bethenny Frankel claims she forgot her real outfit in the Hamptons