86/87 Western Road
Hove, East Sussex (01273 221444; www.real-eating.co.uk)
Monday. Great, Giles Coren is ill, away, or taking politics lessons from Boris
Johnson at GQ. Would I like to take some of The Times’s money, go out, have
a good time, report back? Hell, yeah.
Right, what about Joel Robuchon’s new restaurant in Paris?
Sorry, he’s already been there.
Has Charlie Trotter’s new restaurant in New York opened yet?
No, not yet.
I start to get slightly concerned at this point but persevere. What about the
House of Commons?
Ha, Ha, very funny Oliver.
OK, might as well plug one of my own restaurants.
No way.
Decide to call PR. “I am not doing this article. They are obviously not taking
me seriously. Call them for me, will you.”
PR - “No.”
“You write it.”
PR - “No.”
“Why not?”
“Grow Up, Oliver.”
Saturday: M25. Destination: “Hove Actually”. Occasion: my mother’s birthday. I
discuss with my beautiful wife my frustration at not being able to bag a
suitably posh restaurant for my review, a situation which had been
exacerbated as the week went on.
“Why don’t you review the restaurant we are going to for your mum’s birthday?”
she helpfully suggests.
I protest. I want a financially liberating, sommelier-taunting experience. My
protests wake the kids. Restaurant hell guaranteed to follow. I inquire as
to the time the table is booked for; 5pm is the reply. My mood blackens at
the thought. It was a time well chosen, however, as it meant my mum could
have her birthday dinner with her grandchildren. My wife, sensing my mood,
assures me she has heard good things about this restaurant.
What’s it called?
The Real Eating Company.
I know Brighton and “Hove Actually” pretty well, having lived in the town and
set up my first enterprise there; a hip-hop club called The Can (record
memory - Man Parrish). My parents live there now and I love the place. My
image of the food, however, has become pretty tarnished over the years. I
have always felt that, as a food destination, it was a pre-New Labour
Michael Foot kinda town; a lefty, preachy, veggie type of place. (I am
assured by people in the know that in order to be successful at this
reviewing game one should write as little as possible about the actual
restaurant.) Don’t bother writing, I know there are good restaurants there
now. Hmmm. The Real Eating Company? You can see where this is leading.
OK, where’s the restaurant? “Next to Tesco Metro on the Western Road.” Oh.
The first thing that strikes you is its juxtaposition with a high-street
supermarket. There is no doubt that up and down the country all high streets
look the same. The Real Eating Company offers an insight into the trials and
tribulations of recreating a decent high street. This store is stocked with
some of the best products from around the world, including a good showing
from Britain.
A place like this feels like it wants to stock predominantly British products,
but they are simply not readily available. The best example of this is ham.
Here, in this well-intentioned place, on this typical British high street,
we have prosciutto, serrano and pata negra, but none of it from Britain. How
frustrating! There is no reason, none at all, why there can’t be a British
equivalent. It’s just my opinion, of course, but I believe that it’s the
continued existence of the smallholding in France and Italy, with people
producing artisanal products, that offer a much more diverse existence. The
NFU and British Government should concentrate on this problem rather than
bickering about milk subsidies. With this in mind, and rant over, let’s
indulge.
Dear reader, I have to admit that my initial impressions are good. On display
are many of the best British breakthrough products. The ones that have done
the touring up and down the M1, and are about to hit the big time: Chegworth
Valley Juices (www.chegworthvalley.com), Luscombe Farm (www.luscombe.co.uk),
which offers a truckload of delicious alternatives to the usual fizzy pop,
my pick being their cider.
Then there is the Roman Abramovich of the farming world - Peter Kindersley,
who made his fortune selling books, and then poured a considerable part of
it into Sheepdrove farm in Berkshire (www.sheepdrove.com). His is a
fantastic endeavour which is heartening to see on the shelves. Other
highlights include rosebud preserve - maybe it’s because I love the name and
the Southdown Bee Farm’s honey is wonderful. Many of these products can be
found on www.finefoodworld.co.uk. Go to the website and click on taste
awards.
Eating out with my family is enough to test any restaurant. All in all there
were my three sisters, who all work with me, my parents and, last but not
least, my wife and two children: a kaleidoscope of dietary requirements. And
although I love each and every one of them, it is without doubt the table
from hell. The staff are very nice - polite, patient and accommodating -
which leaves some people in our party with very little to talk about. They
also turn out to be very good at catching children’s food. You need to be
quick on your feet around us.
The menu itself is a good all-day dining affair. The menu, I hear, changes
constantly. I notice a very small kitchen halfway up towards the first
floor, which is a worry. Five o’clock on a Saturday is not a good time to go
to restaurants after a long day and just before evening service.
The menu prices span from £4 to £12.50. My wife chose a lemon sole which was
suitably lemony and delicate, a good dish (£12.50). The children’s sausages
and mash (£4.50) were all eaten, which in my family doesn’t happen if the
sausages are too strong. I ate crab cakes, a staple favourite, which were
basic, of course, but, pleasingly, very light and fresh. The devilled
kidneys on toast with watercress were competently cooked. The desserts were
great: the Valrhona chocolate fudge sundae a definite winner.
In the end, we all had a very nice time. My dad got his meat and two veg. My
wife got her fish. My mum got to sit next to her grandchildren, ignoring her
birthday and everybody else. And we all had our fill of the sundae.
This is the sort of place that is about everyday eating. It is simple and
honest. People going here should not expect a gastronomic experience. The
owner wants people to come back regularly - a real
challenge in this country - so is making it accessible.
We drank Sussex bucks fizz, which is the local sparkling Cuvée N`yetimber with
orange juice, £6.50, as well as Harveys Bonfire Boy beer, £2.95. The wine
list is all under £40 and well chosen.
I put my desire for a big bill aside to review the Real Eating Company and I
have to admit it does what it says on the packet. I wish them well. Oliver.
P.S. Since the bill was only £120, down from a personal estimate of £1,000,
could I point out how great Ben O’Donoghue’s food at the Atlantic is?
Score: 6/10
Oliver Peyton is the owner of restaurants, including the Atlantic Bar and
Grill.
Giles Coren is away
