The Times

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 CuvŽe 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? Ê

Score: 6/10

Oliver Peyton is the owner of restaurants, including the Atlantic Bar and Grill. Giles Coren is away

November 27, 2004

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