Smuggling Scallops at The Ship in Rye

On a wet Sunday evening The Ship Inn was quite quiet but felt inviting and ideal for an evening of board games and more scallops. We hunkered down and imagined we were smugglers trying to evade detection. We set about a marathon session of Scrabble along with a pint of Harvey’s. I just wish I had written this review using the scrabble board to record our thoughts…

Coquille Saint Jacques tasted great but wasn’t the elegant dish we were expecting. It was a bit cloying and overly dense but in fairness the scallop was the star of the show. And to be honest what’s not to like about cheese, cream and scallops even if it wasn’t an ethereal version.

Smoked haddock gratin with toasted sourdough was delicious. Very simple. Very naughty. Very good.

Scallops with smoked prawn and chipotle sauce, served on corn fritters, were brilliant. The smoked prawns and chipotle are a great match and a speciality of the Ship. Whilst I loved them, some more sauce would have been very welcome indeed.

Unfortunately scallops with bacon and pea risotto read well but ate badly. Everything was tasty, but the cement-like risotto shouldn’t have been allowed out of the kitchen. It needed to be far looser.

Despite a dodgy risotto and sloppy Coquille Saint Jacques, we had a very enjoyable experience. The staff were a fun bunch of quirky youngsters sporting interesting tattoos, brooding make up and genuine smiles. It’s a great pub that does imaginative food and takes care to create a creative experience that sets it apart from other pubs. So much so that they get full marks for their fantastic website which not only provides all the information that you need but does it with such style seamlessly links with the imaginative vibe you get when you settle in for a session.

Further reading:

The Ship Inn website
The Ship Inn on Trip Advisor
The Guardian on the Ship Inn

This is part of a small clutch of posts about our trip to Rye for the Scallop Festival.

Scallop-ology at Webbes Fish Café in Rye

Scallops are funny things. Their sweet flesh and one dimensional texture make them easy to fuck up. Like a damsel in distress, they are easily overwhelmed. But treated with sensitivity and simplicity they can soar to fabulous heights. After 11 scallops each and a bottle of wine we felt like we had become “scallopologists” and had dreamed up our own scallop tasting menu that I’ll share with you later.

We arrived at Webbes in Rye feeling excited about trying their scallop tasting menu and immediately were worried. The downstairs café was bustling and looked fun. But the upstairs restaurant felt tacky and provincial. Posters in cheap frames advertised their Christmas party menu and the lighting was about as flattering as Basil Fawlty after half a dozen pints of gin. We then asked to move table, away from a view of the toilet and staircase and felt sorry for the next couple who were dumped their. I excitedly chose a bottle of Bacchus from Chapel Down but was told they had run out. Luckily this was the end of any negatives and the scallop marathon commenced…

A small cup of curried parsnip soup adorned with a seared scallop set us on our way. The gently spiced flavour of sweet parsnip complimented the scallop very well. The luscious texture of the soup matched the fishy flesh perfectly. It was an attractive and tasty start that filled us with a sense of reassurance.

Scallop ceviche was far less successful. The flesh had lost its bounce and the marinade was underpowered. Worse still, the minced red peppers anchoring the plate, were overpowering and seemed out of place. It would have been far better with a lick of chilli, some shallots and perhaps a slither of avocado. If you’d served this to a Peruvian they would have been disappointed that one of their national treasures had been let down.

A Thai style scallop with citrus dressing, bean sprouts, coriander and sesame seeds was a bit like a deconstructed Vietnamese summer roll. But without the soft wrapper and sweet hoisin dipping sauce. Cowie enjoyed this one more than me. It was very pretty and an excellent idea. But I wanted something that elevated it above being a dainty salad and something sweet to give the scallop a hand.

“Scallops and black pudding” has probably appeared on most restaurant menus in the UK in the last few years. And rightly so. It’s a cracker. Their addition of a slice of tart apple at the bottom worked brilliantly. It set the saliva glands pumping and made you really focus on the scallop. This dish stood out for us as the one that most elegantly showcased how to create a scallop dish. You need to provide the stuff the scallop doesn’t have: texture, tartness, meatiness. And this dish did it head on.

The kitchen’s second attempt at pork belly and scallops was excellent. Because the pork was so soft and tasty, we’ll forgive them for the first cold effort and the flabby skin. It reminded me of a moment in Master Chef last year when Greg Wallace almost had a fit when someone served him a dish like this one. He raged against the idiotic idea of mixing scallops with pork which unfortunately shows his ignorance. It’s a classic combination that you’ll across Asia, Australia and Spain and got a definite Ole from us.

We thoroughly enjoyed our evening and warmed to Webbes by the end of the evening and at 32 quid each it was great value. They cooked each an every scallop with care, precision and only came unstuck with more challenging dishes and because they were slightly overwhelmed by the number of diners they were looking after. We’d both love to have a fun, fishy lunch in the downstairs cafe.

As we tucked into a fairly solid panna cotta and treacly espresso we hatched a plan to take the restaurant over and strip it back to its warehouse roots. We decided to turn it into a Rye version of Smiths of Smthfield, but for seafood with exposed brick walls, an open kitchen and a scallop tasting menu like this:

Scallop sashimi

Miso blackened scallop

Scallop and morcilla salad

Crispy ‘scotched’ scallops 

Scallops with pork belly, artichoke puree and toasted hazelnuts

Souffle St. Jacques with a glass of Mersault

What’s your favourite scallop dish and what would your scallop tasting menu include? I’m intrigued and will try to give the recipes a go in my tiny kitchen in Sweden.

This is part of a small clutch of posts about our trip to Rye for the Scallop Festival.

Rye and the Annual Scallop Festival

Clearly, the Scallop Festival is big news. On a rainy weekend in late February, the quaint cobbled streets of Rye were wriggling with raincoats, walking sticks, rainbow umbrellas, antique experts and scallop eaters. The annual festival gives the town a much needed tourist boost in the bleak winter months and introduces newbie’s like Cowie and me to this delightful town.

When we found out about the festival we thought it would be an awesome idea for a romantic weekend. We stayed at the quite brilliant Simmons Guest House which didn’t put a foot wrong and gave us a luxurious base from which to explore the area. Their sense of style, charming hospitality and top notch breakfast make it the best bed and breakfast we have ever stayed in. Sally Shalam would love it.

We explored the wilderness around Dungeness and the delights of Rye’s backstreets including a hilarious lunch at a very old fashioned tea room called Fletcher’s where it seemed they operated a shoot on talk policy. We even found ourselves whispering our order to the waitress. Crab and tomato soup along with a crab sandwich were good but could have done with some aggressive seasoning to bring out the flavour of the crab. And some non-plastic bread for the sandwiches wouldn’t have gone amiss either. If you are a Trappist monk, or have a fetish for Shakespearean collaborators you’ll love it.

The George Inn is an impressive set up with a restaurant that is well regarded, a bar that is welcoming and rooms that look pretty slick. It’s even on Twitter and according to the Guardian is one of the top 10 cosy hotels to cuddle up in during winter. However, a large golfing society who had just played on Rye’s excellent links course, slightly warped our experience given that we couldn’t move for bow ties, pompous men and golfing bravado. Some people will enjoy its ‘country glam’ vibe, but give me Simmons any day.

We spent a memorable rainy afternoon roasting ourselves next to the Standard Inn’s comforting fires playing a 1983 edition of Trivial Pursuit and downing gallons of excellent Harvey’s bitter. The atmosphere was a great deal less geriatric than the rest of Rye and could almost pass for being lively. Their range of proper pub food, good beer, hot fires and collection of board games make this pub a bit a lot more than just standard. And better still it is directly opposite Simmons, so we only got moderately wet.

In many ways we are delighted that it rained so much. It meant we didn’t embark on a monster cycle through grotty Hastings and past the never ending caravan parks that sadly litter this stretch of coast; instead we enjoyed the luxury of Simmons, the comfort of Rye’s charming pubs and enough scallops at Webbes and The Ship Inn to jeopardise next year’s festival (posts on their way).

Stuff to do in and around Rye:

Twitching in Dungeness
Rye Golf Club
Culture and a very decent lunch at the De La Warr Pavilion in Bexhill see Intoxicating Prose and Essex Eating
Dinner at Webbes
Sunday supper at The Ship Inn
Rye Scallop Festival
The Mermaid Inn
Visit Henry James’ House
1066 Country guide to Hastings and the surrounding area

If we’ve overlooked anything in Rye that needed to be mentioned let us know.

This is part of a small clutch of posts about our trip to Rye for the Scallop Festival.

Horse Guards Inn, Near Petworth, Sussex

What better way to spend Valentine’s Saturday than pumping out 42 miles of cycling down and mainly up the mountains of Surrey and Sussex? After our tricky cycle out of London on our trip to Lewes we decided to catch the train to Leatherhead and cycle from there instead. This increased our range dramatically and made the cycle infinitely more enjoyable. After our disappointing cycle to the Albany in Thames Ditton we resorted back to Diana Henry’s Gastro Pub Cookbook for her recommendation to visit The Horse Guards Inn, near Petworth in Sussex.

The route from Leatherhead to Guildford was quick, if a little hairy at times. And before we knew it we were in Godalming which Cowie insists on calling it Goadalminger for some unknown reason. This brought back fond memories of The Paunch’s first blog post about our stay in a tree house nearby.

The road from Godalming to Petworth quickly became more undulating than the FTSE. Steep hills and snow didn’t make things easy. But they did help to build up an almighty appetite that only a monumental pub lunch could sort out.

We arrived at The Horse Guards Inn, just down the road from Petworth Park, in conditions that would have merited a postponement at many a Premier League football match. The warm welcome we received thawed our bodies almost immediately. And a pint or two of Harvey’s didn’t hurt either. The landlord was astonished at the distance we had cycled and couldn’t have made us feel any more welcome.

We were given a table with a view over the downs and across at the church which is many peoples’ version of the English idyll. Cowie warmed up with some tea that was served in a charming pink tea set whilst we dissected the menu.

Although the staff on the whole were brilliant, our young waiter was a bit of a loose canon. We asked him what he recommended and were quite baffled by his answers. He said he had tried everything on the menu and could vouch for it all. And then when Cowie asked some probing questions, as is her wont, he came unstuck. He hadn’t tried the hake. He suggested having steak even though the rest of the menu looked awesome. So we ignored his advice and ploughed in.

Cowie’s steak tartare was not only beautiful. But it was gorgeous to eat as well. The raw egg yolk added a glossily cocooned the shards of steak and flecks of shallot. And the toasted home made bread was perfect too.

My potted rabbit was tremendous. Smeared on toast with a smidgin of salted butter it was good. But when tarted up with some rhubarb chutney it started singing from the rafters. It had everything. So much so that I almost asked for seconds.

Cowie had a stunning main course that reminded us of a more British version of the fish broth she had at Porthminster Beach Café in St. Ives. This version featured a generous hunk of hake punctuating a broth that was rich with mussels, chorizo and tomato. It was truly brilliant. And just what a tired, cold, damp cyclist needs to perk them up.

My blade of beef with cavalo nero, rosti and wild mushrooms was almost exceptional. But it bore all the hallmarks of being left under the salamnder for too long. The beef was juicy inside but a singed exterior didn’t help it out. And neither did the charred rosti or slightly acrid cabbage. And whilst I like oriental mushrooms, I don’t think they belong on a plate of slow cooked beef in a country pub. And if we are being mega-picky, how seasonal are beans in February?

The star of my main course, in fact, was a side order of black pudding mash which was a revelation. I had worried that it would be crap. But it turned out to be magical.

With our very late lunch at an end we shuffled down the bar to sit in front of the fire and enjoy the rugby with a cup of tea and some home made fudge. The locals were warm and friendly, offering us plenty of advice about how to cycle to the nearest station.

The Horse Guards Inn is a very special place that is definitely worth cycling 42 miles for. It’s almost exactly how I’d like to run my country pub one day. Not only is it a proper pub, but it also serves cracking food, offers accommodation and they also have a mini farm shop where you can pick up home made bread and chutneys. Every village should have their own version of the Horse Guards Inn.

A Breakfast worth Cycling 61 Miles For

Rather than blow a fortune on a romantic weekend in Whitstable, with dinner at the Sportsman, we decided to cancel our reservation and cycle to Bill’s in Lewes, near Brighton instead. We’d heard such great things about a little place called Bill’s that we felt we had no option.

So at 10am on a sunny Saturday we set off to the South Coast on our bicycles… We left Balham, Tooting and Mitcham in our wake before emerging in Surrey rather than Sussex. In our infinite wisdom we’d decided against taking a map. Rather than taking the direct route on the A237 we had gone on a tangent on the A217. Banstead Downs, it turns out, is around 12 miles off course from Caterham, which was our gateway out of London and into Sussex. Cowie only told me how far we had deviated when we got to Lewes. Hopefully the map below will help you to understand how much further we had to cycle. What it doesn’t show is the small mountain range that runs through South London…

Having got back on track we were then assaulted by a disgusting hill coming out of Caterham. My cheeks were bright red and the air was blue with cursing. But when we got to the top of the hill the view across the M25 was spectacular.

The London traffic dispersed and the fields opened up. We found ourselves wiggling along down beautiful country roads. Planes rhythmically lined up to land at Gatwick, spewing carbon dioxide only marginally more disastrously than my lungs.

We’d been told to avoid the A22 and if we landed up in East Grinstead, then we’d gone badly wrong. So what did we do? We found ourselves rumbling along the A22, which if you hadn’t guessed, is the main trunk road from London to Eastboune. Every now and then we could hear the squeal of tyres as a motorist got too close for comfort. Lorries the size of Simon Cowell’s ego and huge buses of pensioners did their best to barge us off the road. And then we landed up in East Grinstead! Apparently we should have taken the little country roads that run parallel – by contrast they are safe and pretty.

So when we got to East Grinstead we popped into a BP garage to sneak a peak at a map. The assistant went one better and told us we were not only on course but only 15 miles away. This gave us second wind as we calculated being only an hour or so from lunch.

On leaving East Grinstead we discovered Ben Nevis. If you were under the illusion that Nevis is in Scotland, then you are very, very wrong. It’s 2 miles south of East Grinstead on the A22. We snaked up the mountain, constantly being deceived by the way the road curled back on itself. Several false summits later we stopped and gathered our breath before our final assault. We stormed to the top, only to be confronted by the most soul destroying road sign, I’ve ever seen which looked something like this…

Feeling despondent we ploughed on and were delighted to discover that it was downhill all the way to Lewes. We zoomed along ridges, flanked by cows and dive bombed by birds. This final stretch of cycling was spectacular.

We arrived at Bill’s at 3 o’clock. I was so hungry that I’d considered eating my front wheel and bicycle chain. It was throbbingly busy with people devouring breakfasts and wolfing down impeccably sourced food.

Bill’s is famed in Sussex for serving stonkingly good organic produce. But most importantly, they do one of the best breakfasts in the South East.
When we ordered pretty much everything on the breakfast menu the waiter suggested we had asked for too much. So we asked for some crumpets as well!

My full English was excellent. Plump sausage competed for primacy with two wonderfully poached eggs, two rashers of immaculate bacon and a mushroom, that had been dusted with thyme leaves. The only concern was an over exuberant application of basil leaves and a paucity of sourdough toast.

Cowie’s scrambled eggs with smoked salmon was served cold. So we sent it back. We listened to a tell tale ping but none came. Moments later Cowie was tucking into a fantastic pillow of runny scrambled eggs, that oozed over a generous sheet of smoked salmon. Apart from the false start, this deserved full marks.

Cowie, being Cowie, devoured a platter of salads and vegetables with indecent speed as I guzzled my rhubarb smoothie like a child who likes annoying everyone when they suck the final dregs out of the glass.

We had several long chats to the staff who were charming throughout who were giggling at the fact that we’d cycled 61 miles to be there. They all clearly love working at Bill’s and their passion ensures all the customers leave with a smile on their faces.

We loved our cycling expedition so much we’re going to make it into a series. Although I doubt we’ll do too many that require 5 hours of cycling! If Michelin gives stars to restaurants depending on how far you’d drive out of your way to eat at them, then it might well be time for Bianchi or Trek to launch a new guide that is based on how far you’d cycle for breakfast. We’d suggest that Bill’s deserves the full 3 star rating.

Castle Cottage Tree House

What a trip. I booked the Tree House near Petworth back in October after seeing it featured in Olive Magazine on Cowie’s birthday… I only found it because she managed to lock me in her house and had to courier her keys home to me! As they say every cloud has a silver lining… and our silvery lining was finding the tree house to beat all tree houses!

We had to book 6 months in advance but the wait was well worth it… trips to Argentina, Barcelona and the Lakes came and went in the meantime (more on them later)…

After a typically arduous week at work we drove down to the tree house via Godalming specifically to go to their fish and chips shop. It seemed a good idea to save some money and not rush. Our planning paid off as we wolfed down some first class haddock and cod accompanied by fluffy chips and acres of tartare sauce.

Arriving at the tree house happened more by luck than judgement. Our instructions, pulled from their website were so detailed that they were incredibly hard to follow… “at the second post box after the dusty sign you can either go left or right but make sure you are going uphill… after the dead badger make sure you drive safely around the corner and look out for a church”. Given that it was pitch black we just followed the map instead!

Ron greeted us like long lost Naval friends and showed us along the seductively lit path to the mysterious tree house we had travelled so far to stay in… Created out of a sweet chestnut the structure is actually supported by telegraph poles, but you’d only realise this if you happened to take a big sniff on a hot day…

The balcony was decked out with 2 cotton hamocks being overlooked by a slightly frayed stuffed lion/tiger (even after 2 days we couldn’t tell what it was). Pulleys winches and a defunct sauna completed the decking area that we spent so long reading the papers on and sipping gin and tonics. You look down from the perch onto an emerald green pond past a wicker pidgeon.

The room itself featured an enormous and utterly brilliant bed, heavy suede curtains, an enormous wardrobe (that neither of us used), flat screen telly, bright brass sink and leopard skin bedding! What more could you want from a room… let alone a tree house!

My excitement escalated as I sipped tea whilst reading a selection of “how to build your ultimate tree house” books… I had no idea such a cult existed! Maybe Cowie will let me join. I still feel a bit bereft that my old tree house in Stevington has been taken down, tree and all!

I haven’t slept this well in ages… both nights we both slept without even an inkling of waking up. Even our dreams were sweet… Probably helped by the weather being very favourable and not blowing us to kingdom come.

Breakfast started badly. Very badly. I was almost hospitalised after headbutting the rather low hanging chandalier. It actually turned out to be a very good way of breaking the ice with our fellow guests… all of whom were green with envy ‘cos we were in the tree house and they weren’t!!!

It got better and better as we moved on from an impecabble full English (with the best fried egg ever) to their incredible array of things to go with your toast. Homemade madmalade and blackberry jam were sensational and all the better for being smeared on home made bread. Coffee arrived sizzling to the table and did a great job of making me forget about the slightly bloody lump on my forehaed!

Their recommendations of things to do during the day were typically strewn with idiosyncratic directions. But they worked. Arundel was brilliant. Even the ludicrous pricing of the castle at £13 each worked in our favour as we realised that neither of us wanted to go there anyway! We found a cracking deli that supplied us with incredibly Stinking Bishop, salami, jam and bread which we feasted on in a field near Diddlington on the South Downs. This was England at its most relaxing best.

Dinner was just what we wanted. Fishy. Informal. Tasty. Local. For more see Cowie’s post here.

This was only ever supposed to be a cheeky little weekend break away. But we returned to London so re-energised that it felt like a 2 week holdiay.