There was a whole-table dive towards the Coombeshead Farm sourdough and Bungay butter, and we loved the retro fun of devilled eggs, a handsomely perky prawn cocktail, and mushrooms on toast starters. There was nothing prettified about the fish stew, but the clams, mussels and white fish were plentiful, and the hearty bisque and the fregola made it proper, wintry food. Delicious. We went a la carte but there’s a great-value set menu with choice at £26/29 for two/three courses served up to 6pm.
Oliver puts himself out there bravely. You feel it most when he digs into his back catalogue to serve up that popular Fifteen salad of burrata, clementines, bitter leaves and charcuterie, or his dad Trevor’s chicken (breast stuffed with wild mushrooms and wrapped in puff pastry, with a mustard-shallot sauce), or pasta dishes that remember his early cheffing days at The River Café such as truffle fettuccine which delivered on all silky/savoury/luxurious fronts. Next time for me it’s the venison pappardelle, if the way the people next to us were devouring it is anything to go by, or I might share a pie and mash, or Sutton Hoo chicken and chips. And I’ll come without having to clock-watch so that I can take my time over a ginger sponge with custard ice cream and caramel. There is much to tuck into and enjoy here.
