THE ROYAL OAK: A BIT PARKY

I can think of better ways to spend a Saturday afternoon than standing outside Maidenhead station freezing my nads off, needing a wazz, and waiting for a taxi in a long queue of people dressed in funny hats and speaking like Lord Snooty. How was I to know that Maidenhead was near Ascot? All I wanted was a decent bit of scoff for my Saturday lunch. Still, schlepping out to the sticks for a meal is the path I’ve chosen in this odd thing I call a life.

The Royal Oak pub lies just outside Maidenhead in an area of improbably large and expensive looking houses. It’s the sort of area where people play golf, wear cashmere sweaters and drink G&Ts. Jags come as his ‘n’ hers with personalised numberplates. You could count the number of people who read The Guardian on one finger of one hand. Still, Torygraph tendencies aside, they’re obviously a discerning bunch in these parts. They must be to support a terrific gaff like The Royal Oak.

Although it’s called a pub, The Roayl Oak is more of a restaurant with a small bar area. Chef Dominic Chapman has a pretty impressive CV and this shows through in nearly every course and which is why it’s now the holder of a Michelin star. And if you were in any doubt just one look at the menu which screams of generosity and good things to eat would disabuse you of any lingering apprehension.

The Scotch Egg has become a bit of a menu staple in gastropubs but in many places the execution is slapdash and the result no better than an industrial supermarket variety. Not here though where a miniature version was cooked to order. Notably good porky meat encasing a soft quail's egg. Perfectly executed - a starred egg if there ever was one.

Beautifully cured Rollmops were stuffed with sour cream and were a delightful fishy (in a good way) mouthful. Rabbit Rillettes came on toast and were cleverly paired with some pickles. A little underseasoned for my taste but possessed of great texture.

I’d last eaten Sand Eels at Hereford Road several years ago. Traditionally they’re used for bait but in my view they are much better off taking a trip down my throat. Here, they’d been carefully tossed in harina para freír before cooking. The result: wonderfully crisp little fish with a taste not obscured by the frying. They would kill for these in Spain. There was a pot of good mayonnaise on the side but all they really needed was a twist of lemon.

Relishing these dishes came from a combination of top ingredients and the kitchen adding that extra bit of refinement. This really came together in my main course.

A big tranche of incredibly fresh and meaty Turbot, the flesh cooked until just opaque, came with some Samphire in a little puddle of beurre blanc. Dotted around were small, sweet cockles and mussels and a concasse of tomatoes which added the balancing acidity. Technically, very impressive. Hugely enjoyable.

Mr Chapman’s last gig before this one was as head chef of Heston “I Heart TV” Blumenthal’s über gastropub The Hinds Head. No surprising then, that a bowl of chips, rather prosaically described as “Chips” on the menu, were actually of the triple-cooked variety. But not just triple-cooked as in we thought this would look cool on the menu triple-cooked, but triple-cooked as in the original, the standard that all other triple-cooked tubers should aspire to. In other words the best triple-cooked chips you could have. Ever.

It wasn’t all perfect. My Baked Alaska tasted more like an afterthought than a signature dish. If it’s typical of the puds then they could do with adding a pastry chef to the brigade. The whole point of the pud is the contrast between the hot meringue and the cold ice cream within. In my case the covering was lukewarm and (dare I say it?) a little tough with very hard ice cream inside. Given the high standard of the rest of the meal I’m happy to think it was an aberration.

I’m not sure what it was like before Mr Michelin came a’visiting but I also found the atmosphere at a little cold although the service was willing and friendly enough. Possibly, me being extra curmudgeonly because it was freezing and my table was hidden from the action. In fact, strike possibly and make it probably. Very easily forgiven, however, once you taste the fantstic food. A worthwhile schlep I think.

THE REAL EATING COMPANY

Nothin' here but history
Can you see what has been done

I read somewhere that the county town of Lewes had aspirations as another foodie enclave much like Ludlow. A very bold aim to be sure as, until recently, Ludlow was awash with Michelin Stars (at least two of them are now on their to London). My interest was piqued however so I got myself a return ticket to see what’s what.

Lewes is a very picturesque bustling small town nestling in the South Downs. It has a castle, a river, a white cliff and was home to that perpetual troublemaker Thomas Paine. On the food side there was a farmer’s market, somewhere called Bill’s which looked like fun and er..some other restaurants. All nice enough but hardly the basis for a foodie revolution.

Best of all though Lewes has Harvey’s Brewery. I would have liked to visit the brewery but was told that the waiting list is so long it would be easier to put myself down for membership of the MCC. Luckily in London we have a Harvey’s Pub, the Royal Oak, where we can enjoy Harvey’s fine beer but there’s nothing like drinking it near to the mother lode which in my case meant sitting at the bar of The Gardener’s Arms.

It’s a cosy little pub and despite being situated right on the main drag it’s not too busy and the staff are very welcoming. In fact, I could have easily stayed there for a few hours supping the seasonal Old Ale, munching their fine looking pies with the sweet strains of Patsy Cline playing quietly in the background (a bit of a Madeleine moment taking me back five years to an evening at Jo’s Coffee in Austin, oddly enough). As it turned out I only had time for a couple of pints before I had to walk across the road for lunch.

You’ve got to have a certain amount of chutzpah to call a place The Real Eating Company. What are they trying to say ? Until you eat here you’re not really eating ? Well I don’t know about the other restaurants in Lewes but where I come from we have plenty of places where you can really eat real, so with that name you had better be good. Unfortunately, TREC isn’t up to it. It’s not that it’s really lousy it’s just really mundane. I was hoping for something that spoke of our location, a few specials maybe. Maybe you get this in the evening – I don’t know. All I got was something that looked very like a brunch menu that you’d get in any number of gastropubs. This in itself wouldn’t be so bad if the quality was top-notch and there was a sense of generosity about the whole operation but instead I got a sense that there was an eye very much focussed on the bottom line. Much like you’d find in a chain (oh, it is).

The uneasiness started with the drinks menu. A glass of La Guita manzanilla – that’s right, the stuff you buy in the supermarket for about £7 – was a whopping £6 a glass (glass size not stated so expect the worse). That’s more than in Fino, a restaurant not exactly famous for its modest mark-ups.

None of the starters appealed so I went for the Mixed Charcuterie plate. When it came I thought they’d maybe given me a starter portion by mistake, but no, £9 quid got you three small bits of parma ham, six wafer thin slices of salami and a whole bunch of pickles. There was some consolation in the bread which was very good but, you know…

The rib eye steak at least looked the part and was properly cooked but tasted of nothing. It’s one of life’s more dismal moments when you take the first bite of a large piece of tasteless protein and realise you’ll still be eating it thirty minutes later. This inert bit of cow came with the loathsome fat chips (billed as ‘hand cut chips’) which were soft and seemed to serve no purpose other than for the kitchen to have a game of Jenga. I won’t even waste space mentioning the salad which turned out to be a few sprigs of watercress.

The puds also showed an enthusiastic hand with the calculator: £6 is pretty good going even compared to London (hey - maybe Lewes is the new Mayfair). This seemed to be justified mainly by having a fancy plate and sprinkling icing sugar over the dish. This surely couldn’t be down to the slightly dry ginger cake with a sugar overload in the form of honeycomb ice cream and sugared almonds. And just in case I hadn’t suffered enough the coffee was undrinkable.

Lewes seems like a pleasant place (although who can tell what dark heart beats underneath) and I’m sure it’s got loads of other restaurant that are much better than TREC but really you’re probably better off just stopping to have a look around the castle, downing a pint of the local brew and continuing your journey on to London-on-Sea (aka Brighton). And as for Lewes becoming the new Ludlow, I think there's more chance of England winning the World Cup in my lifetime (I'm taking about the football).