The Granville
Lower Hardes, nr Canterbury
(01227 700 402)
Meal for two, including wine and service, £70
A short while ago I was asked by a magazine to predict coming trends in restaurant food. I said I thought kitchens would increasingly do as much preparation for themselves as they could. They would bake their own bread, smoke their own fish and cure their own meats. I said this because I had just eaten lunch at the Granville, a pub not far from Canterbury which is attempting to do just that, and it seemed such a good idea. I actually have no idea if kitchens across Britain really are getting into the DIY business, but I wish they would.
The Granville is the second food pub from self-trained chef Stephen Harris, who along with his brother took over the Sportsman in Seasalter, outside Whitstable, a few years ago. Harris is a serious-eating chef, who regularly takes his small brigade to Britain's top restaurants to see what's going on.
He's also not above borrowing ideas along the way. Technically the term for this is 'stealing', but Harris is skilled at adapting these dishes to the more modest surroundings of a pub and making them his own. On the Sportsman's menu you could find echoes of Heston Blumenthal and even Alain Ducasse, but the execution is pure Harris. The result is a thoughtful menu, and one which, a few years ago, won them a Bib Gourmand from Michelin, an award given for 'a good quality of food for under £27', excluding drinks. This seems to me a far more useful category than the special occasion flummery and nipple tassels of the Michelin star.
In the latest Michelin ratings, announced last month, the Granville won a Bib as well, and rightly so. A rather average-looking roadhouse from the outside, inside it's a wide, airy space from which the ceiling has been removed, so you look up to the pale painted rafters. Dotted around the room are big, chunky, wooden farmhouse-style tables. The effect is a utilitarian, Shaker style. The menu is scribbled up on a blackboard and you order food at the bar.
Being close to the sea I decided to have a pre-starter of two oysters, but before they arrived I was brought a pot of pumpkin seeds. They were roasted with salt and rosemary, and were both still warm and dangerously addictive. Alongside were chunks of the restaurant's own focaccia-style bread, with a crisp, salty, herb-flecked crust and a rich springy crumb. Given that few of the big London outfits make their own bread these days, the effort here is impressive.
What to say about the oysters? Not much. They were lovely. They cost £1.20 each, which is a good price for a rock. For my starter proper I had locally smoked widgeon, a kind of wild duck, which was shot on the land behind the Sportsman. This one was also smoked locally, but they are currently building a smokehouse down in Seasalter and will soon begin smoking everything themselves. Alongside the slices of rich widgeon breast were, on one side, a herb salad and, on the other, a pile of mustard fruits, known in Italy as Mostarda di Cremona: candied fruits in syrup with a fiery lift at the end. As I worked my way across the plate I got sour, then smoky, then sweet. It was certainly a lot of tastes for £7.95.
I finished with spiced pineapple, which came in a light syrup spiked with chilli, with crisp pieces of gingerbread and their own coconut sorbet, made using a method pioneered by Ferran Adria at El Bulli in Spain: gelatine is added to the syrup before it is churned and the result is a big, pleasing mouthfeel. After that came coffee and a couple of their home-made marbled chocolates. There's a short wine list, which starts at £10 and manages to stay almost entirely below £20.
Oh, all right then. Yes, I did have a main course. And no, disappointingly, it wasn't very good, which is why I was going to push off without mentioning it. But then I only ordered the crispy duck with smoked chilli salsa and soured cream because it read oddly - and in spite of the fact that it meant I was having duck followed by duck. The bird itself was expertly roasted and came on a tidy pile of lightly vinegared cabbage which gave a passing impression of sauerkraut. But the salsa was too heavy on pureed tomato and the soured cream added nothing.
This is the problem with eating alone. Even a Stakhanovite appetite like mine can't always give the menu a real shakedown. I would much have preferred to try the roast chicken with a truffle cream sauce, or the wild sea bream, or the confit salmon. But, selflessly, I went for the curious duck thing. See how I suffer for you? My instinct, though, is to disregard that dish. They roast their own pumpkin seeds. They bake their own bread. They make their own chocolates. And my starter knew the neighbourhood better than I did. Those are the really important things about the Granville.
