The Dorset

Roast Dinner: £8.95
Avg drinks prices: Bottle cider £3.85; pint lager £3.70; soft drinks £1.90
All desserts: £4.95

Arriving at The Dorset on a warm, sunny afternoon, we were immediately welcomed by the change in atmosphere in the place.  Despite the place being taken over by new management in recent months, I had been prepared to feel as I had always felt when attending drinks at The Dorset - a little uncomfortable; the feeling of eyes looking down noses burning into me and a general air of disrespect.  However, I was pleasantly surprised - no longer is this a place for posers and wannabes - no sirree, The Dorset has had a makeover (of sorts), and what a crowd-pleaser it seems to have become.  The air was warm and welcoming, the staff smiling and genuine and the menu looked absolutely delicious.  Having been shown to our table, the staff couldn't do enough - drinks were brought promptly, cold and iced; our choices were requested after a suitable wait and the dining area itself was bright, cheerful and had a nice air of chatter within it.

Now, The Dorset has always been renowned for its food - particularly its Moules - so I was harbouring high hopes for this place.  Following the London-Brighton bike ride, this was a choice of a friend as we'd happily agreed to sample the delights with him in celebration of his wheeled victory.  The menu was straight up - three meats and a veggie option with all the added extras - 'potatoes, yorkshire and seasonal vegetables.'  Exciting.  Once again I opted for a beef, same as my friend Ray; Dan, my partner for pork belly with crackling.  I was absolutely starving, and was definitely looking forward to my roast - despite the sun and the heat, it was sorely needed after a heavy Saturday evening.  So we sat back with our cold Westons Organics and we waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.


And some more...  Until 40 minutes had passed and we had to enquire as to the whereabouts of our food before poor Ray vanished into nothingness.  The waiter mumbled an excuse, then disappeared.  A further five minutes passed before we asked again; five minutes after that the roasts finally arrived.  Had it been any other Sunday, a 50-minute wait may not have been a problem, but some days, especially one where a good friend has cycled 54 miles, you need to get food quickly.  Granted, they were full, but we were literally the last to get served in the place.  Even after those who'd sat down long after we'd arrived.


Grrr.


Anyway.  Back to the roast - enough moaning.  Strange presentation they have at The Dorset - meat and potatoes and a nicely roasted shallot on the plate, with a cabbage medley on an accompanying side plate.  I thought this a little strange - such a waste of crockery - but as Ray has kindly put it - "saves me the work of pushing them to one side - I prefer the meat and potatoes."  Fair point, well made.  Only problem was - I am the opposite of Ray.  I love my veg, and was sorely disappointed to see that my 'seasonal' selection only counted two types of cabbage, both of which, though crispy and well-cooked, lacked in any flavour or real oomph.

However, saying that, the potatoes were exquisite.  Lovely and smooth on the inside, crispy and rough on the outside; slightly salted and peppered and contrasting wonderfully with the copious amounts of gravy (a very good thing indeed).  Proper meat gravy, too - thick and dark with a great taste to it.  The shallot was crisp and tender and the portion size, though aesthetically on the small side, was more than enough to fill a hungry cyclist.

The meat, on the other hand, was varied.  I like my beef pink in the centre, but when mine arrived it was clear I'd got the edge of the joint.  Thick, rubbery and grey, it was a nightmare to cut into and a challenge to eat.  However, not a lot of fat and great seasoning made the challenge easier to stomach - it was by no means horrible; just tough.  Ray had a different story - his beef was pink, juicy and fell off his fork as it was so tender.  I had to settle for simply gawping at his fork every time he lifted a piece to his mouth, lamenting that I'd taken the first one to arrive.  Damn.

Dan was just as thrilled with his pork - declaring it "the best piece of pork I've had so far."  According to his experienced word, the crackling was just the right texture - crunchy and crispy, nicely salted; the meat itself was lean and tender and there was a distinct lack of fat running through the actual belly.  Finished in minutes, he'd wanted more.

The great thing about The Dorset is that the gravies differ with the meats.  So many places simply do a stock gravy that it's nice to see a varied choice - a gravy can really make a meal and so to concoct one that complements the food is a real touch.  Dan's pork gravy was slightly cider-sweet, whilst mine was rich and heavy.  Both fantastic.

I really wish I could say more about The Dorset, but the distinct lack of colour and variety on my plate means that in a few short paragraphs, I've pretty much covered it all.  To summarise - what is on there is wonderful (if you're lucky and get a good cut of meat), but there just isn't enough variety - making the whole experience less than worth the 50-minute wait.  To improve?  A few more vegetables and some adventure wouldn't go amiss...

6/10

28 North Road, Brighton, BN1 1YB
Tel: 01273 605423

Credit and debit cards accepted
www.thedorset.co.uk

The Gallery Bistro

Roast Dinner: £9.95 - £10.95
Avg drinks prices: Bottle cider £4.10; bottle lager £3.95; soft drinks £1.80
Desserts: £3.95 - £4.95

The Gallery is a pretty little place.  Formerly a clothes shop, it resides in a cool part of Church Road - just down from the bustle of George Street, a short walk from the sea and just across from the Town Hall.  Resplendent in multi-coloured leather, a verbal description of the decor doesn't really do it justice.  Bright, clean lines and an open-plan interior make this a welcome and refreshing change from the usual Sunday roast venue; the sun shines through the large windows and the high ceilings make everything echo in a slightly school-hall way, though this is not a bad thing - the chatter and the sound of cutlery on plates is reassuring.  Wi-Fi enabled and pet friendly, The Gallery should be bursting at the seams with patrons.  However, on our visit - a sunny, bright Sunday; early lunchtime - it was eerily quiet.  Bar another couple sitting to eat a late breakfast and an older lady with a laptop and a dog, we were the only people indoors.  Granted, the small outdoor terrace that spilled onto Church Street did fill up with early-afternoon coffee drinkers as the hour rolled on, which made me pleased for the manager of the place.  Why?  Because The Gallery is good.  It deserves the business.  A compact, clear menu boasting locally sourced, fresh produce is mouth-watering.  An evening offer of a 3-course set menu for £15 promises delights for the local gastronome and at a bargain price.  The decor is beautiful and they even have a jazz band three nights a week.  However, far be it from me to attempt to critique the place further - I'm here to focus on the roast.

My friend and I plumped for the beef; my partner the pork belly.  The menu simply says 'roast dinner with all the trimmings'; so I assume that the selection changes.  The waitress seemed friendly enough, if a little shy as she asked me how I wanted my beef cooked.  This is a first for me - usually I simply shout 'beef!' from a hungover state in the corner, and 30 minutes later it arrives.  Not this time - I found great pleasure in knowing my beef was going to arrive medium-rare, just how I like it.  We grabbed three Savanna ciders - as this is a bistro, don't expect ales or down-to-earth lagers - which came duly served with lemon and a glass with ice.   It was a welcome change again from a pint of Stowford, and I appreciated the light drink as we chilled at the table, the sun shining through the window behind us. 

The food rocked up twenty-five minutes later - an admirable amount of time to wait.  Not too long, but long enough to know that you're not being given food shovelled from a pre-cooked vat of slop sitting there since the early morning.  However, when it was placed in front of me I was distressed - nay, distraught - nay, destroyed - to see that my dinner - my roast beef dinner - was severely lacking in Yorkshire pudding.  What fresh hell was this?!  On questioning the waitress, I was told that The Gallery do not serve Yorkies.  (This needs to be changed, as I feel it clouded my entire view of the food from thereon in.)  Begrudgingly, I poured on my gravy and duly accepted that this Sunday was going to be Yorkie-less.  Gutting.  However, my partner's pork was crispy and nicely browned, glistening with sea-salt and smelling delicious.  My beef - more of a steak than a cut of a roast - was succulent; nicely browned on the outside and moist and pink in the centre - a perfect medium-rare cut.  My friend's steak was the same, which led me to believe that this was the work of an accomplished chef, not just some guy in the kitchen who got lucky.  However, I did feel like I was tucking into a strange steak dinner rather than a roast; no bad thing as I love steak, but the whole 'roast' feel just wasn't there. 

The veggies were simple but perfectly cooked - broccoli, carrots and roasties with a serving of green beans for good measure.  Simple, honest veggies that had evidently come from someone's allotment.  They were crunchy and hot, better than mum makes, but there was no artistry involved.  In previous pubs I've been party to honey-roast carrots; spiced cabbage; buttered peas - I suppose I've been spoiled.  It wasn't at all bad; just a little plain for my liking.  Simple.  Clean.  But not a gastronomic adventure.  I so wanted my food to blow me away - the menu itself made me want to abandon the roast altogether and plump for one of their many delicious combinations - but I was left feeling a little disappointed.  The chef could benefit from a little after-hours experimenting with different flavours and combinations of veg to really make the roast pop, especially as they have to contend with a lack of Yorkshire.

We didn't stay for dessert, but what we did see on the menu did seem reasonably priced and sounded delicious - from creme brulee to chocolate brownie, it was all simple, hearty, sugary goodness. 

It's hard for me to decide where to place The Gallery on the ratings board.  On the one hand, it's a beautiful place - the decor is second to none - and the location is very good.  The food is well-cooked and not at all soggy or sloppy.  From the limited selection I saw being rolled out from the main menu, the food seemed bright, burting with colour and flavours and arty on the plate - however, as a roast joint?  I'm not so sure.  As I said earlier, it felt more like a steak dinner, which would have been fine if that was what I'd ordered.  The whole plate needed more adventure, experimentation and ambition.  And Yorkies!  Sacrilege, that's what it is...  I'm not sure roasts are their forte.

I will be going back to The Gallery, for sure, but I'm going to take advantage of their excellent set menu and some light jazz.  I think that you should, too - it really does have a great atmosphere.  I think that is where this little bistro's talent will really lie, and I fully expect to have a great time.

6/10

115 Church Road, Hove BN3 2AF
Tel: 01273 777488
10% service charged added for parties of 4 or more; booking recommended for large parties
Credit/debit cards accepted
http://www.gallerybistrohove.co.uk/

The Bath Arms

Roast dinner:  £8.95 - £10.95
Avg drinks prices:  Bottle cider £3.90, pint lager £3.65, soft drinks £1.95
Desserts approx £4.95

The Bath Arms is one of Brighton's hidden gems. Tucked away in a corner of the South Lanes and overshadowed by the football-showing, cheap-burger-serving might of The Font, it's easy to overlook the traditional red-and-white decor of this haunt. However, I assure you that doing so is a huge mistake.

Small in size but surprisingly spacious, the main bar is surrounded by small tables and benches, but to the left is a large eating area, with tables that can seat up to 6 - if you have a big party though, prepare to be separated as there is no space huge enough to fit such a big group.  However, this won't really matter; the whole place has a 'living room' feel to it, especially in the winter.  It'll just be like sitting round at your auntie's house. In fact, everything about this place is 'real' - real ales, real ciders, real crisps (none of that Walkers crap), a real fireplace with real flames, real service and real, genuine, hearty food. The bar staff are equally 'real' - there's none of that pretentious air in The Bath Arms; they're just genuinely lovely people who will do all they can to make sure you enjoy your food and drink.

This is a place that remains traditional - in an age where we are expected to make our own way to the bar to place our orders before carrying our own drinks through the melee to our table, it makes a refreshing change to have waiter service in a cosy pub. The staff are knowledgeable, helpful and friendly and are willing to assist in making some (inevitably) difficult choices when it comes to your food. Service is relatively quick, too - any faster and I'd be wondering about their methods in the kitchen but a wait for food is long enough to make you realise that they really are cooking from fresh, but not so long that you are twiddling your thumbs whilst your stomach growls angrily at you.

As far as the food goes, main courses are divine. Changing daily, all food is locally produced and prepared fresh in the kitchen and manages to avoid the pretentious flourishes so well used in Brighton. A staple on the menu is the hearty portion of wild boar and cider sausages atop a creamy mountain of real mash with just the right amount of meaty gravy. Ratatouille comes in a steaming bowl and managed to convert a vegetarian friend back to the world of mediterranean vegetables after some terrible ratatouille-related experiences in the past. The fish and chips came on a huge plate, with thick-cut chips that are served at just the right temperature, though the mushy peas on the side were a little bland and left a lot to be desired. My only criticism with the main courses is the lack of vegetables - a friend who'd ordered the salmon with polenta was disappointed that she would have to pay extra for her helping of veg. It seemed a little like we were being ripped off - after all, aren't veg part of any meal?

However, this all pales into insignificance when you sit down for a Sunday Roast, and, let's be fair, this IS a blog about roasts. Choices are limited to three and you never know what those choices will be until you arrive, but whatever you choose is guaranteed to be served beautifully. The chicken, skin-on, is crispy and herby; the beef is rare and melt-in-the-mouth; the pork is sumptuous and salty without being tough, and if you're lucky to get pork belly, the crackling will be bubbly, thick and crunchy. The vegetarian choice is bursting with herby, citrussy flavours and the vegetarian gravy is not a cheap, meat substitute - they really go out of their way to ensure that veggies feel included. All roasts are served with roast potatoes (chewy and crunchy at the same time), seasonal vegetables (usually roasted carrots and parsnips with cabbages in winter; spring greens, green beans and carrots in the summer months, all providing a lovely sweet side to the dish) and a home-made Yorkshire pud.

The cabbage alone is an experience - spiced; crunchy without being overcooked and bearing a hint of cinnamon and apple - wow.  I don't even like cabbage, but this is something else.  The carrots are honeyed and crunchy; the broccoli is still crisp and the green beans are nowhere near soggy.  For veg that can so easily go wrong, it's all done perfectly, and the ever-changing menu means you'll always be surprised.

The only downfall is the gravy - not the taste but the amount of it.  Unfortunately, the chef can scrimp - but this is me complaining, and I do like my roasts to be almost swimming in the stuff.  If you only like a sprinkle of the wet stuff, then you'll be fine.  It's not a huge problem, either - the staff are always passing by and asking if you need anything, and a quick word in their ear will ensure that before you know it, you've got a little pot on your table to do with as you wish.

The desserts are also beautiful - my marscapone chocolate pot with chocolate flapjack was small but enough, the juxtaposition of crunch and cream a delight. The sticky toffee pudding is light and airy, the custard creamy and velvety without being saccharine-sweet. Choices are few, but the compact menu is only beneficial - I have a feeling you'd be sat for hours attempting to conquer option paralysis otherwise.

Sandwiches and bar snacks are also served - fresh and decently portioned, they're well worth the fiver or so you'll pay.

I have been to The Bath Arms a fair few times recently, and it's testament to how good it really is that I am willing to put the Roast Hunt on hold to satisfy my stomach. However, now the sun is starting to peek through the clouds, I am sad to say that my visits will wane somewhat - thanks to its position, The Bath Arms is a perfect winter pub, but with a severe lack of outside space and its dark-wood interior, it would feel simply too suffocating in the height of summer. I have to say, I'm a sucker for a beer garden when the sun is out, and The Bath Arms simply cannot deliver this.
To summarise, the Bath Arms is the perfect place for a date, an outing with friends or an evening meal with visiting family. In fact, it's ideal for all occasions - the atmosphere is warm and forgiving on these cold nights and the accommodating staff make the hunt for the pub in the first place totally worthwhile.

9/10 (point lost to lack of beer garden - in the winter, easily a 10)

4-5 Meeting House Lane, Brighton BN1 1HB
Tel: (08721) 077 077
Booking recommended at weekends; credit/debit cards accepted

No Name Pub

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

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

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