IT IS hard to think of summertime, fine dining and St Ives without bringing to mind the marvellous Porthminster beach cafe, writes Phil Goodwin.

The stunning location of this whitewashed, Art Deco eaterie makes it one of Cornwall's biggest crowd pullers, and a quick glance at its rave reviews shows how much of a magnet it has become for the capital's media types.

But if, like me, you thought the good folk tending the hot grills through peak season just shut up shop and head south for the winter, then think again.

Sure, the opening hours are pared down to mostly lunches, with the evening dinner menu only available on Fridays and Saturdays, but open they most definitely are.

And in a bid to keep the place ticking over through the quiet weeks leading up to Easter, Aussie head chef Isaac Anderson has decided to turn his hand to a spot of missionary work, passing on a few tricks of the trade to a bunch of enthusiastic amateurs.

Thanks to a cancellation I was offered the chance to join the winter cooking class last Tuesday evening as it hit week three: scallops and mussels.

But as I quickly learned, there is a whole world of difference between the glamorous ground level where the stunning, and artfully presented, dishes are consumed, and the fiendishly hot and cramped bowels of the building, from whence they are conjured up and dispatched.

We five were handed a glass of Penwith's perky Polgoon bubbly, briefed by Zak as to how we would titillate two of the south coast's most sought after bivalves into mouth-watering showstoppers, then led down into the kitchen to get to work.

I was thrown a pinny and ordered to the red grape and truffle jelly station.

I was to whip up a combination which would eventually top three juicy scallops, three smears of Jerusalem artichoke purée and three thin slices of Spanish black pudding.

After cleaning, stripping and liquidising a kilo of grapes, I simmered them for 10 minutes while whisking in precise amounts of gallumgum, a magical powder which causes liquid to set and remain that way, even at high temperatures.

Once hardened in the fridge, this jellied fruit juice and fresh truffle slab was sliced into tiny individual cubes and carefully placed on top of each of the three scallops.

I was too busy to see what my team mates were doing to make the puréed chestnut and Jerusalem artichoke – JA, for those who feel the need to show off, is the down-with-the-chefs terminology.

Whatever it was, a wonderful aroma was emanating from the mixture, which was being whipped into shape by an industrial blender the size of a road drill.

We all took turns opening the scallops and slicing the live, fleshy insides away from the shells without doing too much damage to be able to serve them.

There was a flash of dark humour, and a reminder of the inevitability of occasional injury, as Isaac explained the precise blade technique required to open the shell.

You have got to be really unlucky to slice right through the back of the shell and into your hand, he casually informed us clearly it was a faint possibility, though we were, it seems, lucky.

Once the dish was assembled at the pass – a dollop here, a smear there, a tiny tower and a drizzle of truffle oil there – we went to the restaurant to consume the fruits of our labour.

There is no praise quite like self-praise and we all declared ourselves pleased with the results; it was wolfed down in a fraction of the time it had taken five of us to prepare it.

I half wanted to stay up there, glug a few more glasses, now we were on the Polgoon rosé, and wait for the second course.

The sweet and sour mussels with chilli jam and tamarind sauce, Isaac's Asian twist on moules mariniere, sounded a delight.

But we drained our glasses and trooped back to the flame and stainless steel, where I learned how to prepare crispy-fried salsify shavings and properly clean and debarnacle a mussel.

Having prepped much of the ingredients before the entrées, the main course was knocked out a little quicker but the deep, sweet and sour sauce was no less impressive.

The experience was invaluable but I can't say the effort required surprised me – I have never been under any illusion that cheffing was anything other than hard graft.

But it does remind you how much quality cooking depends on the ingredients, planning, organisation, preparation and timing, and how success comes from the ability to repeat the well-honed process again and again.

I would advise giving the place a try now before the crowds arrive. If the food tastes that good prepared by a gang of no-hopers then the real thing has got to be awesome.

Where: Porthminster Cafe, Porthminster beach, St Ives, next to railway station

When: Closed Monday, open weekdays from 11am and weekends from 9am; lunch Tuesday to Sunday midday to 3pm, dinner Friday and Saturday 6pm to 9pm

Family friendly: children welcome, half-priced menu, highchairs and booster seats available

Parking: Station pay and display

Contact: 01736 795352

Website: www.porthminstercafe.co.uk