Telephone: 01323 435 006
Address: The Grand Hotel, Eastbourne, East Sussex
Rating: 15.5/20

Few things annoy me more than being told that I can't have a dish when I have set my heart on it. I had set my heart on pike soufflé with crayfish sauce, and I was told that I couldn't have it.

"Why not?"

"Because it's not on the lunchtime menu, sir."

"But it's on this menu here."

"I'm afraid we don't serve that at lunchtime, sir."

"It doesn't say so."

"We only serve the lunchtime menu at lunch, sir."

"That's pretty silly."

"Sir?"

"Not to make it clear that these menus aren't available at lunchtime."

"Sir?"

There was no getting around the fact that I wasn't going to be able to have the pike soufflé or, indeed, the pigeon with which I wanted to follow it. This was a pity, because they were the most exciting dishes on view at the Mirabelle at the Grand Hotel, Eastbourne.

I have a weakness for grand hotels, particularly when they come in the shape of wedding cakes, as if covered with dazzling white icing sugar and with many Corinthian pillars. The Grand was built for a more spacious era, when well-to-do Brits holidayed on the south coast, before they migrated farther south, to the twinkling waters and eternal sunshine of the Mediterranean, taking their Corinthian pillars with them to fit out more grand hotels. But the Grand in Eastbourne remains really quite grand in a modern, uniform, corporate kind of way, and is spacious to a degree that few modern hotels can afford to be. It took Tucker and I five minutes to walk the corridors from the entrance hall to the premium dining room, which is the Mirabelle.

I had been drawn there by a reader's letter, advising me that Gerald Roser was now guiding the kitchen. Formerly, he had run a restaurant in St Leonard's-on-Sea, just down the coast beyond Hastings, the kind of place "where the hearse draws up pretty regularly", as my companion that day accurately observed. Even so, we had had a splendid lunch, and I developed a considerable respect for Roser's cooking, which found an admirable balance between directness and sophistication, with considerable individual finesse.

The pike soufflé and pigeon on his menu in Eastbourne again spoke seductively of a characteristic style. Instead, I had to make do with grilled sardines with tomato sorbet and marinated guinea fowl with preserved lemons from the lunch menu - not least because Tucker had already bagged the chicken and vegetable terrine and the confit of salt marsh lamb with thyme jus.

I have nothing against grilled sardines (well, not much), but they don't tell you a great deal about the character of the chef, except that he knows where to find fresh sardines and has the technical ability to grill them accurately. Tomato sorbet is another matter. First, I would question whether it is an ideal accompaniment to hot sardines. Second, I would question the wisdom of serving it on a hot plate. And third, I would question making it with tomatoes that don't deliver the necessary flavour. This was not the Roser I knew and loved.

Neither was the marinated guinea fowl with preserved lemons. Not that it wasn't a decent dish. The bird had that beefed-up flavour that makes it so much more acceptable than the flabby, modern versions of the commoner poultry. It was decently tender and juicy, with the lemons providing just the right amount of da-do-wap-de-wap. All round, it was a superior Mediterranean-style dish - but it wasn't Mr Roser.

The chicken and vegetable terrine and the lamb brought us closer to the old ideals. It was a textbook terrine. The vegetables (mostly leeks) held their texture and flavour to balance that of a tastier than average chicken. It was a generous slab, and not drowned beneath a classy truffle dressing. The lamb, meanwhile, was absolutely spot on: sweet, succulent, tender and tasty right up to the end. Cooking lamb in duck fat is a bonzer way to treat the dryer cuts (there's a grand recipe in Memories Of Gascony by Pierre Koffmann, if you're interested), because the slow cooking makes for toothsome delicacy and the duck (or goose) fat seems to infuse extra layers of flavour into the meat. Or so Tucker said. I believe him, having watched him clear his plate with an almost reckless intensity.

A plate of decent cheeses for me and an obliging, not-so-bitter bitter chocolate parfait with Grand Marnier custard (all right, crème anglaise) for Tucker rounded things off.

I can't disguise the fact that there were disappointments, but any serious criticisms must be set against the prices - £12.50 for one course, £16.50 for two, £19 for three - for what is undeniably accomplished cooking (even if lunch lacked the hoped for individuality), with pretty sleek service.

· Open Tues-Sat, lunch 12.30-2pm; dinner 7-10pm. Menus dinner, £35 & £55. Wheelchair access & WC.