Roast dinner: £8.50-£9.50
Avg drinks prices: Pint lager £3.80, bottle cider £4.00, half pint coke £1.60
Desserts approx £4.50
After reading up on No Name on the net, and following rave reviews by friends and acquaintances, I was greatly looking forward to sampling what promised to be an utter delight. We decided not to attempt to climb Everest - Hanover and I do not mix, ever since I dated a guy on Whichelow Place (the relationship just wasn't worth the, quite literally, uphill struggle) and whilst I am not unfit, I do like to be alive when I eat my roasts. So, a taxi it was, and up we went to the crest of the mountain, where waited a very inconspicuous looking joint. No Name is not a fancy schmancy gastro-pub; instead, it delights on being low-key and unpretentious. This is a good thing. The more 'old man'-style a pub is, the more points it racks up on my list.
However, on entering we were disappointed to see that the biggest table, the table that would have held all seven of us, had been swiped by none other than Brighton's biggest foe - the Middle Class Family. And not a big family, but just two small children no older than five, a distressed-looking mother and a father who was actually sat on another table across from the aforementioned Goliath table. Truly, truly infuriating. Plenty of smaller tables around, but would they budge so we could sit together? Would they bloody hell. So instead, we had to spread ourselves out over three smaller tables, one of which was a good three metres away from the others. This is where the nightmare began.
My friends went to order their roasts before us, so we could save their tables. It was looking good - the menu had a wide variety on offer, including some more fancy and unusual meats - I spotted venison, ostrich, wild boar and springbok. We all went for a wide range, taking advantage of the opportunity to try something new. However, once our friends got back and we headed for the bar, we realised that this was not to be. Our arrival at the bar was followed closely by the arrival of one of the barmen's friends, and so he duly ignored us (despite us getting their first by minutes) and proceeded to have a chat with his mate, who then decided to order twelve drinks, one at a time (Guinness last, natch), followed by twelve roasts, one at a time. This absolutely infuriated me, but the barman did not seem to care. We waited at the bar for a grand total of twenty-three minutes before being informed that the aforementioned customer had taken the last of the venison and springbok. Great. Non-apologetic, the barman continued to converse with his friends instead of focusing on us and did not offer any explanation as to why we had been overlooked. Instead, we reluctantly plumped for beef and sat down to wait.
This is the point at which it becomes a Tale of Two Roasts. Ten minutes after we'd finally ordered, our friends' roasts arrived. They looked delicious. Sumptuous, if small, portions of meat sat atop the potatoes, which were were slightly burned at the edges and creamy in the centre and the gravy was plentiful. The veg, served in a separate bowl, was honeyed, crisp and colourful. The sounds coming from the tables indicated that they were enjoying what they were consuming. We watched, jealousy flooding our veins, waiting on our not-as-exciting beef to arrive. In fact, we were still waiting as our friends polished off their dinners altogether and went to order dessert. We were still waiting when those desserts arrived. And we were still waiting when those desserts were polished off. In the end, it was a grand total of one hour and twelve minutes before our dinners finally arrived - and that was, quite conspicuously, after we made a request as to where they were.
It was not worth the wait. Our roasts looked nothing like the ones we'd seen previously. A limp, lacklustre slice of fatty beef swam in a congealed puddle of gravy; the potatoes had become soggy and the only veg we'd received in our separate bowl were overcooked peas, limp (suspiciously looking like frozen) carrots and mushy cabbage. It was a mess. However, we were so very hungry that we decided to tuck in; we couldn't risk having to wait another hour for our dinners to arrive. Big mistake.
The meat was cold, the gravy was thick and had a skin on it. The veg were sloppy and overdone. In comparison to the sounds of delight we'd heard earlier, the sounds I now heard were sounds of disgust. It was truly disgusting. The plate was extremely hot, which suggested that it had been sat on a hotplate for some time while the waiters did whatever with their time.
After choking it down, we noticed that different tables around us had started to send their roasts back. It was here that we realised that we should maybe have done the same - after all, I come from Hove and was a long walk from home, having paid the taxi fare to get there in the first place. We counted - fifteen roasts went back to the kitchen. We decided to speak up.
I managed to grab the waiter and told him of our woes - he was extremely apologetic and took our plates up to the kitchen. On his return, he stated that the chef was willing to offer free desserts, but they couldn't do much else as we'd eaten the roasts. Fair enough. We accepted the free desserts (except one, who couldn't face any more 'food') and plumped for white chocolate cheesecake, which was excellent - rich and creamy, with a tangy orange kick. It was a shame the rest of the meal didn't match up. We were told that the kitchen were a porter short and that a barman had not shown up - I did not accept this as a decent excuse as to why the food was so horrific. I got the vibe that here, the barpeople were more concerned with image and socialising than with decent customer service, which led me to believe that they could have had thirty staff on, and we still would have had a terrible experience because we did not wear fake glasses, or wear skinny jeans and loafers without socks, or have backcombed hair. The waiter we spoke to was the only one we'd interacted with who seemed to care, and he got the brunt of our rage - I'd like to apologise to him again, because he really was the only one who treated us with respect.
In conclusion - I don't think I'll ever be visiting No Name again - despite the gorgeous roasts I'd seen, it's just not worth the taxi fare or the risk.
3.5/10
No Name Pub, 58 Southover Street, Brighton BN2 9UF
Tel: 01273 601419
Credit/debit cards accepted
24 April, 2010
20 April, 2010
The Foragers
Roast dinner: from £11 (veggie wellington) to £15 (beef)
Avg drinks prices: Pint lager £3.80; bottled cider £4.00; half pint coke £1.70
Desserts all £5.00
The Foragers is a great little gastro-pub. Tucked away in a residential corner of Hove, it's a word-of-mouth marvel that shouldn't do as well as it does, given it's location. However, its clean, bright decor, large decked and heated beer garden and great selection of food and drink ensures that it has made its name in Hove. But what of the roasts?
Firstly, The Foragers isn't cheap. No, sirree. Their food is locally sourced and usually organic, prepared fresh on the premises and so there is a premium one has to pay. Their roast dinners are among the most expensive in Brighton and Hove, but hey - I'm not going to complain if the food matches the price. I'd rather fork out a little more for a top-notch roast than spend a fiver and end up feeling dismal. After all, this is the last day before it's back to the grind - if you can't treat yourself then, when can you?!
When we arrived, the first thing that struck us about the place was the sheer number of children. Yup, snotty, noisy, dirty children. They're everywhere. Needless to say, if your idea of a hero is the Child Snatcher from Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang, you'd be better off staying away from this place. Saying that, I don't have a massive problem with children themselves - I am a teacher, after all. It's the parents that get me - those middle-class, snobbish oiks who glare at you accusingly if you dare to step into the beer garden for a cigarette whilst their precious little Maximillian is running amok. No, thanks - this is my Sunday! I shall smoke to the death if I so wish!
Undeterred by the noise surrounding us, we sat down to order our roasts. I plumped for the beef; my companions opting for the pork belly and venison respectively. As we waited, we perused the drinks and decided to whet our appetites with a Weston's Organic or three. Reasonably priced for the area at £3.90ish a bottle, though it's never going to be student-friendly. It was looking good - food was coming out of the kitchen looking vibrant and fresh, colours fighting for attention on the plates. This is a good thing - snot-coloured veg do not satisfy me...
Eventually, the plates arrived at our table. Beautifully presented, as the others we'd witnessed traversing the dining room had been. Broccoli, carrots and cabbage all fought to display their colours beneath a considerable sliver of pinkish beef. Meat gravy - substantial, but not excessive - crowned the food beautifully. However, on closer inspection, my companion was somewhat distressed to find that his pork belly was severely lacking in belly, and was more pork skin than anything else. Now, if you knew my companion, you'd know how distressing this would be for him. No matter, we'd call the waiter over. However, this led to disaster two - his pork was the last in the kitchen. After drying his tears, he opted to replace the pork with chicken, which arrived within five minutes, just as beautifully presented.
The beef melted beautifully in the mouth; comments from the others suggested the same of the chicken and pork. The pork belly was salty and smooth, the crackling shimmering with rock salt and crunching satisfyingly in the mouth. The venison, though teeny, was cooked to perfection.
However, The Foragers has a flaw. For all of its beautiful presentation, by the time we'd finished we were still hugely hungry. There just isn't enough of it. I counted two small roast potatoes, three carrots, two small sprigs of broccoli, one parsnip and a dessertspoon of cabbage for my vegetables. I'm no fatty but come on - surely a good roast needs at least four good roasties? Comments from the table were all similar - great quality, just not enough. And for the price, you'd expect to get enough to fill you up until your evening meal.
It was disappointing for us, as every mouthful had been savoured. Technically there was nothing at all wrong with the food; it was perfection on a plate. However, we couldn't help feeling just that little bit ripped-off. We had no option but to engage with the desserts menu, which for a fiver offered equally delicious and equally feebly-sized portions. It's frustrating - I understand I'm at a gastro-pub, but what happened to generosity?
The staff were excellent, by the way - they did not flinch when we returned the pork and when a drunk companion showed up without notice, they were quick to recognise his lack of suitability for the venue and accommodated our requests not to serve him without getting irate. They chatted to us about different drinks and answered all of our (sometimes inane) questions. I really can't fault them - plus, they're all super-attractive. So there's a bonus. We were slightly disappointed on receiving the bill to see that we had still been charged for the belly-less pork belly, despite the chicken replacement costing £3 less on the menu. A quick word in the ear rectified this, though, without much fuss.
To summarise - brilliant quality food, excellent service - but take a sandwich with you, just in case, as the price reflects quality, not quantity.
8/10
The Foragers, 3 Stirling Place, Hove BN3 3YU
Tel: 01273 733134
Booking recommended; credit cards accepted
www.theforagerspub.co.uk
Avg drinks prices: Pint lager £3.80; bottled cider £4.00; half pint coke £1.70
Desserts all £5.00
The Foragers is a great little gastro-pub. Tucked away in a residential corner of Hove, it's a word-of-mouth marvel that shouldn't do as well as it does, given it's location. However, its clean, bright decor, large decked and heated beer garden and great selection of food and drink ensures that it has made its name in Hove. But what of the roasts?
Firstly, The Foragers isn't cheap. No, sirree. Their food is locally sourced and usually organic, prepared fresh on the premises and so there is a premium one has to pay. Their roast dinners are among the most expensive in Brighton and Hove, but hey - I'm not going to complain if the food matches the price. I'd rather fork out a little more for a top-notch roast than spend a fiver and end up feeling dismal. After all, this is the last day before it's back to the grind - if you can't treat yourself then, when can you?!
When we arrived, the first thing that struck us about the place was the sheer number of children. Yup, snotty, noisy, dirty children. They're everywhere. Needless to say, if your idea of a hero is the Child Snatcher from Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang, you'd be better off staying away from this place. Saying that, I don't have a massive problem with children themselves - I am a teacher, after all. It's the parents that get me - those middle-class, snobbish oiks who glare at you accusingly if you dare to step into the beer garden for a cigarette whilst their precious little Maximillian is running amok. No, thanks - this is my Sunday! I shall smoke to the death if I so wish!
Undeterred by the noise surrounding us, we sat down to order our roasts. I plumped for the beef; my companions opting for the pork belly and venison respectively. As we waited, we perused the drinks and decided to whet our appetites with a Weston's Organic or three. Reasonably priced for the area at £3.90ish a bottle, though it's never going to be student-friendly. It was looking good - food was coming out of the kitchen looking vibrant and fresh, colours fighting for attention on the plates. This is a good thing - snot-coloured veg do not satisfy me...
Eventually, the plates arrived at our table. Beautifully presented, as the others we'd witnessed traversing the dining room had been. Broccoli, carrots and cabbage all fought to display their colours beneath a considerable sliver of pinkish beef. Meat gravy - substantial, but not excessive - crowned the food beautifully. However, on closer inspection, my companion was somewhat distressed to find that his pork belly was severely lacking in belly, and was more pork skin than anything else. Now, if you knew my companion, you'd know how distressing this would be for him. No matter, we'd call the waiter over. However, this led to disaster two - his pork was the last in the kitchen. After drying his tears, he opted to replace the pork with chicken, which arrived within five minutes, just as beautifully presented.
The beef melted beautifully in the mouth; comments from the others suggested the same of the chicken and pork. The pork belly was salty and smooth, the crackling shimmering with rock salt and crunching satisfyingly in the mouth. The venison, though teeny, was cooked to perfection.
However, The Foragers has a flaw. For all of its beautiful presentation, by the time we'd finished we were still hugely hungry. There just isn't enough of it. I counted two small roast potatoes, three carrots, two small sprigs of broccoli, one parsnip and a dessertspoon of cabbage for my vegetables. I'm no fatty but come on - surely a good roast needs at least four good roasties? Comments from the table were all similar - great quality, just not enough. And for the price, you'd expect to get enough to fill you up until your evening meal.
It was disappointing for us, as every mouthful had been savoured. Technically there was nothing at all wrong with the food; it was perfection on a plate. However, we couldn't help feeling just that little bit ripped-off. We had no option but to engage with the desserts menu, which for a fiver offered equally delicious and equally feebly-sized portions. It's frustrating - I understand I'm at a gastro-pub, but what happened to generosity?
The staff were excellent, by the way - they did not flinch when we returned the pork and when a drunk companion showed up without notice, they were quick to recognise his lack of suitability for the venue and accommodated our requests not to serve him without getting irate. They chatted to us about different drinks and answered all of our (sometimes inane) questions. I really can't fault them - plus, they're all super-attractive. So there's a bonus. We were slightly disappointed on receiving the bill to see that we had still been charged for the belly-less pork belly, despite the chicken replacement costing £3 less on the menu. A quick word in the ear rectified this, though, without much fuss.
To summarise - brilliant quality food, excellent service - but take a sandwich with you, just in case, as the price reflects quality, not quantity.
8/10
The Foragers, 3 Stirling Place, Hove BN3 3YU
Tel: 01273 733134
Booking recommended; credit cards accepted
www.theforagerspub.co.uk
19 April, 2010
The Temple Bar
Roast dinner: £8.50
Mixed roast special: £10.95
Avg drinks prices: Bottled cider £3.90; pint lager £3.75; half pint pepsi £1.60
Ah, what a wonderful day for a roast... The sun is shining, the sky is clear and blue (and thanks to grounded planes, all that fly in it are avian) and just down the road a good few thousand people are sweating their bollocks off thirteen miles into a marathon. What better way to celebrate Brighton's first long-distance Roman throwback than with a cold beer, a pile of meat and veg and a smug grin?
We arrived at Temple Bar with high expectations - reports had been good. Formerly the slightly-pretentious and over-expensive Star and Sailor, The Temple Bar had been rechristened and (hopefully) had managed to shake off those Brighton fashionista wannabes and upper-middle-class knobends so well known down the Hove Actually end of Western Road. It was fairly early and the front windows, floor-to-ceiling, had been flung open allowing the sunlight and accompanying heat to flow into the pub. The new, green paint job given by the new landlord accentuated the vintage cuteness of the place - kitschy prints jostle for space on the walls next to newspaper cuttings, creepy pencil drawings and beer posters and the dark wood of the central, in-the-round style bar made it seem grandiose and regal. Things were looking very good indeed.
Not knowing what to opt for in the drinks department, I asked the barmaid's advice on pear cider. She recommended the bottled - I forget it's name, but it was a bloody good call - sweet and silky, almost like a retro pear pop. Perfect for an early lunchtime treat. We then sat down to peruse the menu, and damn, what a menu - chicken, lamb, beef and pork roasts all on the cards, in addition to the truly unique 'mixed roast' - think a carvery, but without the chavs and OAPs. They also do a pretty sweet selection of other dishes including a veggie roast and a salmon dish, cous cous and sandwiches. However, this is a blog about roasts, so we shan't concentrate on these other delights (but hey, I recommend checking it out midweek for some gastronomic heaven, if the look of the smoked salmon dish the guy behind me had was anything to go by).
Initially we were somewhat upset at the lack of Yorkshire puds on the chicken and pork roasts. Sacrilege! Instead, these are served with a sausage meat stuffing. However, undeterred we made our order - a chicken, a lamb, a beef and two mixed roast specials. This was looking exciting.
A three-minute wait later, the first of the roasts arrive. Amazing! Sadly, it wasn't to be - they swiftly returned and removed the plates from beneath my companions' slightly salivating mouths with an apology and a deft hand. Cruelty. We'd glimpsed what was to come, and it sure looked good. A large - nay, HUGE - pile of perfectly cooked meat; pinkish beef, supple lamb, crispy crackling and plump juicy chicken breast all sat atop a mere mountain of boiled, stewed and roasted veg. No cheap get-outs there, either - on one plate alone, we counted (take a deep breath): broccoli, cauliflower, two types of cabbage, roasted parsnips, carrots, butternut squash, celeriac, swede and the most perfect roasties you've ever seen. All topped off with a puffed-up Yorkie crown. Thus, we sat back, bottom lips firmly pushed out, and waited for our real roasts to arrive.
We were not disappointed. The plates were massive. Ginormous. Epic. Well, almost completely undisappointed. They did manage to bring me a lamb dinner instead of a beef, and I had to wait an agonising twelve minutes as my companions tucked in before I finally received my beef delight; however, I later decided that twelve minutes and a fresh new plate was preferable to a lightning-quick changeover and old food. It was worth the wait. The beef fell apart in my mouth; the roasties were crunchy, slightly charred and soft in the centre. The broccoli was bright and firm; the cabbage slightly sweetened and spiced. The parsnips were juicy and a delight to eat. The whole thing was a pleasure to behold, and a pleasure to eat.
My companions' views of the mixed roast were similar. Well, they did make noises that I'd usually expect to hear in an upmarket porno, so I think it was good news. They groaned and 'mmmm'-ed and 'ahhhh'-ed their way through what was quite frankly the Everest of meat piles, and seemed to love every minute. However, towards the end, the groans seemed to err on the side of discomfort and queasiness as opposed to sexual delight, such was the challenge of polishing off everything on the plate. My beef roast alone had long since beaten me, and I'm not one to easily admit defeat when it comes to food. In fact, if I had only one criticism of this place, it's that they simply serve far too much. We really had no choice but to spend the rest of the afternoon sitting on a bench in the sun, drinking more pear cider, doing The Observer crossword, chewing the proverbial and watching the world (and the exhausted marathon runners) go by. What an epic Sunday.
To conclude? A truly outstanding example of roast mastery, and what better way to begin this blog? The Temple Bar will truly be a hard act to follow.
9.5/10
The Temple Bar, 121 Western Road, Brighton BN1 2AD
Tel: 01273 721 501
Bookings accepted (and recommended); credit cards accepted
Mixed roast special: £10.95
Avg drinks prices: Bottled cider £3.90; pint lager £3.75; half pint pepsi £1.60
Ah, what a wonderful day for a roast... The sun is shining, the sky is clear and blue (and thanks to grounded planes, all that fly in it are avian) and just down the road a good few thousand people are sweating their bollocks off thirteen miles into a marathon. What better way to celebrate Brighton's first long-distance Roman throwback than with a cold beer, a pile of meat and veg and a smug grin?
We arrived at Temple Bar with high expectations - reports had been good. Formerly the slightly-pretentious and over-expensive Star and Sailor, The Temple Bar had been rechristened and (hopefully) had managed to shake off those Brighton fashionista wannabes and upper-middle-class knobends so well known down the Hove Actually end of Western Road. It was fairly early and the front windows, floor-to-ceiling, had been flung open allowing the sunlight and accompanying heat to flow into the pub. The new, green paint job given by the new landlord accentuated the vintage cuteness of the place - kitschy prints jostle for space on the walls next to newspaper cuttings, creepy pencil drawings and beer posters and the dark wood of the central, in-the-round style bar made it seem grandiose and regal. Things were looking very good indeed.
Not knowing what to opt for in the drinks department, I asked the barmaid's advice on pear cider. She recommended the bottled - I forget it's name, but it was a bloody good call - sweet and silky, almost like a retro pear pop. Perfect for an early lunchtime treat. We then sat down to peruse the menu, and damn, what a menu - chicken, lamb, beef and pork roasts all on the cards, in addition to the truly unique 'mixed roast' - think a carvery, but without the chavs and OAPs. They also do a pretty sweet selection of other dishes including a veggie roast and a salmon dish, cous cous and sandwiches. However, this is a blog about roasts, so we shan't concentrate on these other delights (but hey, I recommend checking it out midweek for some gastronomic heaven, if the look of the smoked salmon dish the guy behind me had was anything to go by).
Initially we were somewhat upset at the lack of Yorkshire puds on the chicken and pork roasts. Sacrilege! Instead, these are served with a sausage meat stuffing. However, undeterred we made our order - a chicken, a lamb, a beef and two mixed roast specials. This was looking exciting.
A three-minute wait later, the first of the roasts arrive. Amazing! Sadly, it wasn't to be - they swiftly returned and removed the plates from beneath my companions' slightly salivating mouths with an apology and a deft hand. Cruelty. We'd glimpsed what was to come, and it sure looked good. A large - nay, HUGE - pile of perfectly cooked meat; pinkish beef, supple lamb, crispy crackling and plump juicy chicken breast all sat atop a mere mountain of boiled, stewed and roasted veg. No cheap get-outs there, either - on one plate alone, we counted (take a deep breath): broccoli, cauliflower, two types of cabbage, roasted parsnips, carrots, butternut squash, celeriac, swede and the most perfect roasties you've ever seen. All topped off with a puffed-up Yorkie crown. Thus, we sat back, bottom lips firmly pushed out, and waited for our real roasts to arrive.
We were not disappointed. The plates were massive. Ginormous. Epic. Well, almost completely undisappointed. They did manage to bring me a lamb dinner instead of a beef, and I had to wait an agonising twelve minutes as my companions tucked in before I finally received my beef delight; however, I later decided that twelve minutes and a fresh new plate was preferable to a lightning-quick changeover and old food. It was worth the wait. The beef fell apart in my mouth; the roasties were crunchy, slightly charred and soft in the centre. The broccoli was bright and firm; the cabbage slightly sweetened and spiced. The parsnips were juicy and a delight to eat. The whole thing was a pleasure to behold, and a pleasure to eat.
My companions' views of the mixed roast were similar. Well, they did make noises that I'd usually expect to hear in an upmarket porno, so I think it was good news. They groaned and 'mmmm'-ed and 'ahhhh'-ed their way through what was quite frankly the Everest of meat piles, and seemed to love every minute. However, towards the end, the groans seemed to err on the side of discomfort and queasiness as opposed to sexual delight, such was the challenge of polishing off everything on the plate. My beef roast alone had long since beaten me, and I'm not one to easily admit defeat when it comes to food. In fact, if I had only one criticism of this place, it's that they simply serve far too much. We really had no choice but to spend the rest of the afternoon sitting on a bench in the sun, drinking more pear cider, doing The Observer crossword, chewing the proverbial and watching the world (and the exhausted marathon runners) go by. What an epic Sunday.
To conclude? A truly outstanding example of roast mastery, and what better way to begin this blog? The Temple Bar will truly be a hard act to follow.
9.5/10
The Temple Bar, 121 Western Road, Brighton BN1 2AD
Tel: 01273 721 501
Bookings accepted (and recommended); credit cards accepted
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