The first approach to Baby Bay Beach Club begins not on the sand but on the track that descends from the National Trust car park above Pentireglaze, where the sea remains hidden until the final bend and the Atlantic suddenly opens across Pentireglaze Haven. It is a route that still carries the quiet logic of Cornwall’s coastal paths, shaped as much by necessity as leisure, leading walkers, surfers and families towards a small cove whose shelter has always depended more upon the contours of the headland than any substantial harbour works. Although many now know it simply as Baby Bay, the older name of Pentireglaze Haven seems to describe the place more completely, reminding the visitor that this was once another working indentation in a coastline where every accessible landing place held practical value before it became scenery.

Even on a blustery summer afternoon the cove possesses an unusual intimacy. The cliffs absorb much of the wider coastline, leaving only the rhythm of breaking surf, wind moving through coarse grasses above the beach and the steady procession of walkers passing along the South West Coast Path. At high tide the beach contracts noticeably, while lower water reveals a broader sweep of sand edged by rock platforms that support small pools of marine life, each tide quietly resetting the boundaries between land and sea in a way that has shaped this landscape for thousands of years.

Finding a live-fire restaurant here therefore came as a genuine surprise. For years Pentireglaze Haven has felt like one of those Cornish places discovered almost by accident, somewhere that rewarded the short walk from the car park with little expectation beyond fresh air, a quiet beach and perhaps the company of a dog determined to investigate every rock pool. Fergus certainly approved. The appearance of Baby Bay Beach Club changes the atmosphere without overwhelming it, the temporary structures sitting lightly on the sand rather than attempting permanence, acknowledging that winter seas would make short work of anything more ambitious.

The food justified the walk. Cooking over live fire seems particularly well suited to a beach where smoke, salt and sea air naturally belong together, and although prices inevitably reflect both the location and the practical challenge of operating in such a remote setting, the standard of cooking made clear that considerable care had gone into what reached the table. As with many new seasonal ventures, there were still signs that the operation was settling into its rhythm. The ordering system was not always entirely clear, a number of drinks were unavailable and service occasionally paused as the team found its feet, yet none of this felt out of keeping with a business establishing itself in such an exposed and demanding location. The quality of the food and the imagination behind the idea more than justified a return visit.

There are mixed feelings in seeing a place long treasured for its relative quiet become more widely known, because every beautiful cove carries a delicate balance between discovery and preservation. Yet Pentireglaze Haven has always adapted to changing patterns of movement, whether fishermen, coast path walkers or modern visitors arriving with paddleboards and picnic blankets. The important measure is whether new activity respects the landscape that made it possible in the first place.

Leaving in the strengthening wind, the smoke from the fire drifted briefly across the beach before dissolving into the Atlantic air, while behind it the old path climbed once again towards the fields above. The cove remained what it had always been, shaped by tide, weather and shelter, simply carrying one more chapter in a much longer story of people finding food, refuge and welcome at the edge of the sea.