The Sportsman - Seasalter - Kent

Bitter experience has taught me that where it comes to dining out, expectation often leads to disappointment. I’ve lost count of the instances where the hype and promise surrounding a restaurant has built up my anticipation to almost feverish heights, but at the end of the night, the actual meal ends with blank looks, shrugs and a deflated ‘So was that it?’ feeling.

Therefore, no one was more surprised than me after a recent visit to the much-lauded, Michelin starred Sportsman pub in Seasalter, Kent. In the resulting post lunch haze, I came to the startling conclusion that it wasn’t just jaw droppingly amazing, but I had just eaten, without a doubt the best meal I’ve ever had – anywhere.

A bold statement you may think, and an even bolder statement if you’re prone to judging a book by its cover. The Sportsman being a somewhat down at heel looking building, just a stones throw from the sea, beside a quiet coastal road, surrounded for the most part by bleak marshland and fields dotted with grazing sheep. Don’t get me wrong; the location has something of a rugged charm to it. But what’s really remarkable about the place is, how unremarkable it is. Unless you knew better, you’d probably drive past with barely a sideward glance.

The overcast February weather on the day that ‘E’ and I visited probably didn’t do much to improve The Sportsman’s exterior charm. The frozen stillness of the grey leaden sky providing an almost perfect backdrop for the unremitting rolling crash of waves on the freezing cold pebble beach and the murky uninviting sea beyond.

Upon entering the pub, the weather outside provided a stark contrast to the charm of the bright, scrubbed, cheerful and welcoming interior. A log fire crackled lazily in the grate, and the room was flooded with natural light from the large windows on either side of the room.

Feeling instantly better about our prospects, we were directed to a large wooden table in the corner. We’d booked for the tasting menu (only available Monday to Friday, which is a bit of a pain in the arse, unless you live locally and are at large on weekdays). Our waitress asked whether we’d like the whole tasting menu to be a surprise, or if we wanted to know what they had in store. Being the busybody killjoys that we undoubtedly are, we opted to know what we would be eating beforehand. Being handed individually printed, separate menus was a nice touch (I had informed them beforehand that ‘E’ of course is a pescetarian and therefore foregoes the immeasurable delights provided by meat, whilst at the same time, embracing the fishy charms offered up by the sea). Which is handy, because at first glance fish appeared to feature heavily.


The Sportsman, as well as being a Michelin starred restaurant, is a pub. A proper one, with a remarkably priced wine list. The most expensive bottle comes in at just under £30. (This is partly due to the pub being tied to the local Shepherd Neame brewery, and therefore having to choose from what’s available at the brewery's suppliers). Nevertheless, it’s a well-chosen list. We decided to go for a bottle of Monopole Blanco 2009, a white Rioja, which we thought might be a good general option to go with the multiple dishes in the tasting menu. More from sheer blind luck than any real wine knowledge, we got it right and the chosen wine was perfect.


A slate appeared with some appetisers to kick off with. Neat looking beautifully fresh squares of Pickled Herring, Bramley Apple Jelly & Soda Bread.


The best pork crackling I’ve ever tasted, light and crisp but soft enough that it almost melted away in the mouth. When combined with the mustard, (which I think may have had a slight touch of apple), it was frigging awesome.


And one portion of Smoked Mackerel, Apple Jelly, Soda Bread and Sorrel (which I didn’t get to taste because ‘E’ stuffed it in her gob without offering me anything but a backwards ‘it was nice’ comment. (To be fair, it was her birthday and I shall of course be adding similar behaviour to the repertoire for my next birthday).


Our next dish swiftly appeared, Poached Rock Oyster, Sea-Buckthorn Granita, Jersey Cream and Dried Seaweed. I don’t think I’ve eaten a cooked oyster before, and now I’m wondering why as it was so bloody nice. The sea-buckthorn, (a wild foraged berry which grows in coastal regions), had a nice sweet, sour note which cut through the rich cream.


More poached oyster goodness followed, in the shape of Poached Native Oysters, Buerre Blanc, Pickled Cumber and topped with Avruga Caviar (Which I was unfamiliar with, and a quick Google has told me is a caviar substitute made from herring roe). Again, absolutely delicious, the buttery, slightly lemon tang of the buerre blanc complimenting the poached oysters beautifully. Lovely stuff.


A board of excellent bread, along with salted butter appeared next. Every element of which including, amazingly, the sea salt in the butter, is made in the pub. (The salt from seawater gathered from the handily located briny deep, just on the pub's doorstep).

The bread, particularly the focaccia was incredible with a beautifully crisp crust and we steamed our way happily through it all at a rate of knots, greedily accepting the offer of a resupply.


A bowl of Crab Risotto followed next, the brown meat flavouring the rich unctuous rice, and little pile of white meat heaped on top. It was subtly flavoured and delicious.


Mine and ‘E’s dining experience diverted at this point, her pescetarian tendencies meaning her next dish was Slip Sole with Smoked Salt Butter. Which was, from the taster I got, delicious and beautifully cooked. The bones, reminiscent of a cartoon representation were able to be removed in one complete piece.


My dish was Smoked Widgeon, which incidentally I’d never heard of and turned out to be a type of duck. It had been shot “around the back of the pub” (presumably whilst in flight, and not put up against a wall execution style). It came with a small pile of Puy lentils and a smear of quince. Again, beautifully cooked. The smoking gave the widgeon a pleasant almost bacon like taste. The sharpness of the accompanying quince cutting through the fattiness nicely.


‘E’s next morsel was a small heap of Whisky Smoked Salmon, which she ate at an almost obscene pace, declaring it excellent with just a slight underlying taste of whisky. I didn’t get a look in.


Eyeing ‘E’s rather more substantial dish and then turning my gaze back to the few scraps of a rather funky smelling meat I’d been given, I couldn’t help but feeling like I’d been stiffed. But what’s this? An explanatory note, which much to my surprise wasn’t from the chefs offering profuse apologies for the miniscule quantity of meat but an explanation that this was their own ham, laboriously cured on site for at least 14 months. I’m sad to say this was the only duff note in an incredible meal. I admire all concerned for the work involved in locally producing a cured ham. But, when the finished result is far inferior to what artisan producers in Spain are making, and having tasted Jamon de la Dehesa de Extremadura Bellota D.O.P. at Brindisa, I couldn’t help but think The Sportsman should scrap the whole idea of ham curing as a bad job and get some of this instead, because it is absolutely frigging amazing. Or, if not, omit ham from the menu entirely. To be honest I doubt very much if anything produced in the UK could ever compare.


Onwards and upwards. A teapot and cups containing ‘Turbot Tea’ was placed on the table. The ‘Tea’ was the stock that our next course had been cooked in, along with seaweed and soy. It was great, and an inventive way of introducing the next dish.


‘E’s menu and mine converged again at this point, Turbot with Sea Herbs (which were apparently sea beets gathered on the beach that morning by the chefs). Another beautiful dish, turbot is always a treat. The accompanying sea beet had an almost sweet taste, at least we think it was from the sea beet and not the sauce, neither of us having encountered it before. There were also cockles, some white crab meat, and a dusting of scallop roe powder.


Another fork in the road. ‘E’s next dish being a gorgeous looking plate of Red Mullet and Bouillabaisse Sauce. By all accounts it was lovely. I didn’t get to taste this either, but somewhat happily because I was totally and utterly distracted by the plate in front of me. The drive in had made me aware that lamb was very much in the offing. Seemingly in fields everywhere throughout Kent cantered cute little chops…I mean lambs… playfully nuzzled their muttons…mothers.


And here it was, Roast Lamb from Monkshill farm (which was just over the road from the pub). A cutlet resting against a piece of braised shoulder accompanied by probably the most amazing mint sauce I’ve ever tasted (so much so that we had a heated 10 minute discussion about what was in it, before giving in and asking the waitress…just demerara sugar syrup, mint and malt vinegar and no crack cocaine apparently).
Anyway, this dish was probably the best, eyes rolling back in the head, thing I ate. I absolutely loved it.


We’d been here a good few hours by this point, and getting near to the end, signalled by the arrival of a dessert. An Apple Sorbet, topped with yoghurt…and, as we discovered once we started eating, laced with space dust – which I haven’t encountered since I was a kid. A bit gimmicky perhaps, maybe. But ‘E’ and I were giggling and smiling like idiots, so it gets massive thumbs up from me.


Our next course was a somewhat more conventional dish of Iced Cream Cheese and Pear. The slightly sour iced cream cheese heaped on poached pear, scattered with a mixture of crumble and meringue crumbs. Absolutely cracking.


Finally, the best petit fours I’ve ever encountered anywhere – Chocolate mousse with warm salted caramel, squares of Shortbread, Mini Custard Tarts, Chocolate Truffles and finally Mini Apple Turnovers. All of it was excellent, but in particular the chocolate mousse and salted caramel was superb.

So over three hours later, The Sportsman tasting menu. Done.
Strangely, despite seemingly eating for England all afternoon, neither of us felt remotely stuffed or bloated, just happily full and contented. This, despite the eight courses advertised on the menu actually somehow expanding into 13 with all of the extra dishes accounted for.

Incredibly, my expectations had been surpassed by reality. Gobsmacking, it just never happens.
‘E’ and I talked about it afterwards, and agreed that this was without a doubt the best meal either of us had ever eaten anywhere, but it’s quite hard to pin down what made it so special.

I think it’s a combination of things, which make it such an experience. The seemingly remote location albeit surrounded by excellent local produce, seafood from nearby Whitstable, locally growing foraged herbs, vegetables from the pub's own garden and a meat from the nearby farm. There’s a complete and utter lack of pretentiousness about everything, from the service to the food. It’s beautifully informal, yet friendly and slick where it needs to be. The food is carefully presented and perfectly cooked. At the end of the day, I think they love what they’re doing at The Sportsman, and it shows.

I cannot recommend it enough, pretty much faultless. I honestly can’t believe I finally made it there after two years or so of wanting to go, and it was amazing. Seriously, drop everything, take a day off work and go. You won’t regret it.

The Sportsman

Faversham Road,
Seasalter.
Whistable.
Kent
CT5 4BP

Telephone: 01227 273370

http://www.thesportsmanseasalter.co.uk

The Fitzwalter Arms - Goodnestone. Kent

Saturday afternoon, it's a beautiful autumn day. Crisp. The slight chill of the approaching winter is in the air but not yet cold enough to be anything other than invigorating.
The car is winding through the beautiful Kent countryside. I'm now well off the beaten track.... seemingly in the middle of nowhere. The comfort of two laned tarmac clad roads has long since been replaced by a single lane 'track' threading it's way through fields and woods which every now and again give just the briefest blurred glimpse of one stunning ancient home after another as we speed our way along at some speed. I'm late. I have a table booked for lunch at quarter to two, and I've miscalculated how far away it is. A pretty village crossroads just comes into view through the trees.

"In 100 yards, turn Left" announces the unflappable voice of the Sat-Nav. I carry out the instruction and my destination, The Fitzwalter Arms becomes apparent at the end of a sleepy village road.

It's exactly quarter to two, perfect. I park and take in my surroundings. Goodnestone is the kind of sleepy hamlet you imagine belonging to an England long past. The pub, obviously the heart of the village is situated next to a lovely old church, ancient tombstones lean this way and that at impossible angles, a pheasant struts urgently and pecks in the grass amongst the graves.

The beautiful pungent and distinct smell of woodsmoke fills the air and there is complete silence, Incredible silence in fact, broken only by gentle birdsong. I'm charmed. Goodnestone feels like life hasn't changed here for hundreds of years, and I love it.

The Fitzwalter Arms has a bit of a reputation. The Chef David Hart has previously worked at the renowned Sportsman in Whitstable, and it's sister restaurant The Granville as well as The Square in London. The pub is also mentioned in Diane Henry's rather useful book 'The Gastropub cookbook, another helping'. I am looking forward to lunch immensely.

Entering, past the pile of muddy Wellington boots in the porch, and through the heavy wooden door into the bar, where a solitary regular is whiling away the hours; propping it up. An ancient clock ticks heavily, and a real fire lazily pops and crackles in the fireplace. It all feels rather cosy.

We are greeted cheerily and shown through into a bright but fairly unadorned and simple dining room, with windows overlooking the graveyard next door. There is a large table of happy diners in evidence polishing off their lunch. From the county attire, the cheerful yet slightly plummy accents and the heap of assorted shooting paraphernalia... cartridge belts, jackets, shotgun cases lazily heaped in a corner, it is obvious the local hunt is in for a pre-shoot lunch.

A chalkboard with today's lunch menu is posted on the wall. A jug of tap water is proffered without having to be asked for, and a plate of bread is brought over. It's gorgeous and obviously homemade, soft but with a yeasty crust it's very good. I ask the passing landlady to confirm it is indeed made on-site. Apparently yes, twice a day and it's "Seriously moreish".

I order the Cep risotto to start, whilst the GF declines a starter (sigh) and continues to munch on the fantastic bread.

It's not long before my plate arrives, It looks great, steaming, it smells rich and mushroomy. I dig a fork in, slowly lifting and it's oozing rich and creamy, exactly as a great risotto should - it tastes fantastic studded with beautiful meaty ceps, and I start to demolish it in short order. The GF asks for a taste....she agrees it's very good and then tries to have another taste. moving back in with her fork which prompts me to leap to action.

"Woah there,...Get away, what are you doing?.... You didn't want a starter...No....you can't have any".

Rejected but resigned she draws back to her side of the table.
Harsh perhaps, but a line has to be drawn somewhere, you want a starter? order your own. But I did let her mop up a bit with her bread - I'm kind of soft like that.

Welcome at this point, our mains arrived to distract us from the mutual, silently mouthed obscenities, threats and associated hand signals backed up with reproachful stares and hard looks.

I've ordered Rabbit Saddle wrapped in bacon with roasting juices, it comes to the table looking very nice indeed, simple, no frills. It's served with roast potatoes and cabbage. My choice of rabbit had pleased the GF no end. She is apparently still quite unrecovered from a heart-rending attachment to a long dead childhood pet named "Bubbles". Taking this information in blankly, I take a bite of the rabbit....it's beautiful, meaty, subtly gamey.....I subdue a sudden urge to belch whilst simultaneously barking the word "Bubbles". The thought makes me giggle to myself. The GF asks what I'm laughing at, I tell her... and get a frosty look in return.

Meanwhile, the GF is eating her dish of Poached organic salmon fillet with potted shrimp butter. She's enjoying it, and despite the tension raised by the spectre of Bubbles, she offers me a taste. Again, as with my rabbit dish; it's simply but beautifully cooked, flaky almost buttery - I detect a hint of nutmeg.

I'm polishing off my main, it's all I can do to scrape the last of the delicious roasting juices up. Stuffed silly but happy and content. Studying the desserts chalked on the board. I'm thinking about the Earl Grey creme caramel with prunes in Armagnac. For some reason I have a thing about Earl Grey flavoured desserts and find myself drawn to them. But, on this occasion I decide to enlist the help of the landlady and ask for her opinion, as she's 'no doubt tried them all - what does she recommend?'

The 'Warm chocolate mousse, almonds and praline ice-cream' is apparently massively popular and as such is a constant on the board. I take that recommendation and place my order. The GF goes for the cheeseboard.

The chocolate mousse arrives in a large scaldingly hot bowl, its scattered with almonds and the ice cream sits in the middle melting in a creamy puddle. I have a taste and its gorgeous, the light warm mousse mingling with the rich praline ice-cream and almonds, the sides are a baked gooey sticky chocolate crust. It's a lovely dessert, the best I've eaten in a gastropub for some time. I can see now why it's never taken off the menu.

Meanwhile. the GF is digging into the cheeseboard, it looks a little uninspiring, but its a nice selection. The GF comments it could do with some kind of chutney or quince paste. The portions are pretty generous and I lend a hand.....there's easily enough for two to share.

Coffee's are ordered, and a large cafetiere is placed on the table, along with some rather nice nougat to nibble. The pot is huge, and the coffee is pretty good. We easily get two cups each out of it. It's £2 each. (The Bell take note).

Lunch finished, we pay and make our way outside, its starting to get dark and the pub lights come on - it looks cheery and very picturesque. Off in the distance I hear the feint pop and echos of shotguns - the local hunt finishing their shoot. I'm quite jealous of the village's inhabitants having such a fantastic venue in their midst, the pub is charming, entirely un-mucked about with....there's nothing fancy or showy, and the food is the same, unpretentious, beautifully cooked and seriously tasty. It's very hard to fault. It's one of the best lunches I've had for quite a while.

Our lunch for two, with two glasses of wine, coffees and tip came to £65 which is, by anyone's standards a complete bargain.

The Fitzwalter Arms
The Street
Goodnestone
Kent.
CT3 1PJ

Telephone:01304 480303

http://www.thefitzwalterarms.co.uk

The Goods Shed - Canterbury

So, Autumn is upon us proper. The last vestiges of Summers shimmering waves of heat have retreated for yet another year, replaced by the cold, damp, rotting leaf and bonfire smell of this, my favourite time of year.

There's nothing like awaking early on an October weekend to glimpse the leaden grey skies replaced overnight with a cobalt blue, the sun spearing a gap in the curtains with a tantalising shaft of light, dust lazily dancing within....it triggers a voice inside my head that barks like a drillmaster "Wake up!" Coffee, shower and get out into the British dawn nice and early, somewhere in the countryside, perhaps to the coast or maybe to one of the beautiful, historic cities and towns that dot the landscape. Places like York, Royal Tunbridge Wells, Winchester, Stratford-upon-Avon, Bath. Wandering around historic cobbled streets, surrounded by medieval half-timbered warped buildings or roads lined with regal Georgian architecture, well I can think of nothing I'd rather be doing on a sunny autumnal day off.

But of course, being me, before I've left the house to tread the cobbles, or wander the countryside I need to work out where I'll be eating lunch, nothing left to chance. The ideal will be an ancient pub with a roaring log fire serving traditional, seasonal British food, well prepared.
Sadly, easier said than done. Don't get me wrong, these places are out there, but more often than not, located nowhere near where you want them to be.

Sunday saw me in Canterbury, Kent wandering the historic cobbled streets and lanes, gawping at the incredible Cathedral and as the morning turned to afternoon, thinking about lunch.
I couldn't find the ideal in Canterbury, despite the profusion of historic half-timbered buildings and ancient inns - it's apparently too much to ask to find a reputable one that proffered decent grub, but my research had turned up something else.... A former Railway Goods Shed, now a farmers market/restaurant located just outside the old city walls. With cracking reviews from critics such as Jay Rayner, no less (albeit back in 2005), it seemed like an ideal choice.

As your eyes adjust to the light, entering the comparative darkness of the former Goods Shed, you immediately notice tables loaded with fresh local Kent produce...the same produce in fact that the restaurant creates it's menu from daily. Apparently 95% of the restaurants ingredients are sourced from the daily farmers market which is located barely meters away from the kitchens. There's a small fishmongers, a decent sized butchers, a stall selling bread, even a small stall selling cheese. It's about as local and fresh as ingredients are going to get, and is a fantastic idea. It would be great to see the concept replicated elsewhere.

The Restaurant is located in a open gallery which runs down one side of the shed, overlooking the market. It's simple but pleasant looking, bare wood tables, a small bar located in the middle and large original arched windows offering views of the dubious pleasures supplied by Canterbury West train station.

Studying the chalked menu board behind the bar, my initial thought was "Great simple, British dishes and local produce" my second thought was "Quite expensive - hope it's worth it!"

Well, you'll be pleased to learn that it was worth it, just. There were elements of the meal that let it down slightly, considering the prices being asked, but overall I enjoyed what I ate.

We were brought thick slices of excellent rustic bread served on a wooden board with butter. It was good stuff, as far as bread goes.

My starter of Ham Hock Terrine with 'Paul's Piccalilli' was quite possibly one of the prettiest starters I've seen this year, a thick jellied slice of terrine layered throughout , with fresh green herbs, separating the soft flakes of ham hock and studded with peppercorns, perched on warm toasted bread with a subtly flavoured, obviously homemade piccalilli. Beautiful stuff, it all worked so well together, and served on old mismatched china, was really nice to look at, being almost a shame to dig in.

My main of Confit duck with muscat wine and chorizo arrived, and was almost equal in the looks department to my starter, again served on old mismatched china. Two confit duck legs, spiked with chorizo balanced on a mound of buttery mash which itself sat on a bed of spinach and a chunk of some kind of squash. The Duck was perfectly cooked, falling from the bone at the merest touch of the fork, great stuff. Incredibly tasty but filling, this was a huge portion of food, I barely finished it.

The GF's main (no starter for her - that's why she's svelte, and I'm running headlong towards being fat.) was Filleted skate, with brown shrimps, and brown butter. I tried some and it was lovely, subtle yet meaty. For some reason she wasn't so keen, stating that the skate wasn't hot enough. I'm not so sure to be honest, a flat piece of fish like skate will lose heat rapidly - the piece I sampled was fine. So, a divergence of opinions on that dish.

Desserts, I toyed with the highly unusual step for me of not ordering any, I was so full. The GF suggested we share one...(not likely!) But, steeling my resolve I pushed on determined to see this to the end, and immediately went for Treacle tart with brown bread ice cream.
This arrived with candied orange zest on the side, (nice simple idea which I'm going to steal for use at home). and a slightly broken looking appearance at the front. Presentation issue aside, it was lovely and light, partnered with a slick of cointreau, cinnamon and star anise syrup and the ice-cream (which If I'm honest didn't taste much of brown bread to me) it was a nice way to end the meal.

The GF's Apple flan with custard seems to have suffered from the same serving problem, also arriving with the front broken. Her considered opinion, it was "OK, a bit dry" She didn't seem too keen.

So, a few hits, a few misses. My starter and main were truly excellent, the GF wasn't so enthusiastic about hers. The dessert's, although in my case, nice, were marred by a bit of cack handed presentation. The service, friendly, efficient and prompt was let down a bit by the waitress not knowing what the vegetable platter consisted of and seriously underselling it. But for all that, the concept of eating dishes made with locally sourced food, with the ingredients to purchase yourself a mere step away is an intriguing one. I think that overall, I'd happily eat here again but at around £7-50 for a starter, £16-£20 for a main, and £6-50 for a dessert, I'd expect a bit more attention to the small details.

The Goods Shed

Station Road West
Canterbury
Kent
CT2 8AN

Telephone: 01227 459 153

http://www.thegoodsshed.net/