Gastronomic Guide to Thanet

  • Peter’s Fish Factory-Margate

    A lot can happen in the past. 

    And it had. 

    The World got sick.

    The Donald got elected.

    Twice.

    And the Queen got dead.

    Once.

    All while I was mulling it over.

    For ten years.

    Why could I no longer find the words. 

    Would anyone be interested in my literary Meh-sterpieces even if I did?

    And maybe I’d forgotten how to be funny (see above).

    Or relevant, bro.

    This writing lark really wasn’t as easy as I misremembered.

    *Tidies desk* *Drinks coffee* *Sharpens pencils* *Researches*

    *Repeats*

    Nothing was working.

    Especially me. 

    As I looked out at the houses opposite my window, for inspiration (my mews), I made a big decision.

    I had to eat.

    And then tell you about it.

    Plus, a decade of procrastinating had left me a little peckish.

    Luckily a friend had recently mentioned a great place in Margate. They are seldom wrong so it was top of my list as I flew the nest.

    Now you are probably unaware that I went to school with a boy named Luke Avery. He was always angry. Really angry. Fortunately, he wasn’t with me when I found the burger joint Tindos, closed. At 6pm. On a Saturday. His absence ensured ‘The Old Kent Market Blood Bath’ didn’t become my return to storytelling. Ty HMP.

    Stepping out into the warm Margate evening I had no idea that after a hundred or so words, and a spot of waiting, I’d be ready.

    Queues are normally a good sign, aren’t they?

    Yep. Fair point. I guess there are a few exceptions.

    Anyway, weak with hunger I slotted myself into the one snaking its way along the sea front.

    And, if it was indeed a distributer of pharmaceuticals (as you suggested) I’m sure they’d have something to tide me over. Dope. 

    When I reached the head, it was apparent they were handing out something much more addictive. Fish and Chips. Disgustingly good ones too. The fish flaky. The batter crisp. And the chips golden. 

    Empty cardboard carriage in hand I stood looking out to sea. Content of heart, mind and wallet. 

    This was where I wanted to be. Always. 

    Hopefully St Peter will continue feeding the flock from his Fish Factory until the end of time.

    Shortly before that though this humbled disciple gives thanks for helping to make this write.

  • Frog and Scot-Deal

    If there’s one good thing to come out of 2016, it’s that I’ve got a new favourite restaurant. Not much consolation for you, admittedly, but for today I’m the Thanet Ostrich, glossing over the shit dished out last year. And so it was that the amazing and quite lovely Mr Deeson (he of Pork & Co fame) advised me of a place in Deal to scuttle along to when I was feeling peckish. Knowing full well I’d be ravenous over the Christmas period I heeded his words and booked a table. Thank goodness I did, as Frog and Scot was decidedly rocking when we came a-knocking. At lunchtime in Deal? Quelle Surprise! / I cannae believe it! At this bistro you’ll be happy to discover that the menu is short and the staff are sweet. I was lucky and chose the black truffle risotto. Mrs G was luckier and picked the ham hock terrine with white pudding and cranberry. Wow. The next course was a dead heat. My confit pork belly tasted like piglets bathing in ambrosia (the God’s food, not the rice pudding) and her poached smoked haddock with curried celery veloute reminded us just how seldom you’re served perfectly cooked fish. I truly cannot find a bad thing to say. I love that a glass of anything from the wine list would make me smile. I really love the set menu being £13.95 for two courses and £16.95 for three. But most of all I love the shared tarte tatin. It made me forget all the bad desserts I’ve ever eaten and remember what a bunch of fuckwits those Brexiteers are.

  • The Compasses Inn-Crundale

    Some time ago, in a far away dentist’s waiting room, I was flicking through a copy of The Rooters Gazette and happened upon an article examining deliberately-hidden towns and villages across the British Isles. Apparently, back in ye day, we all existed as individual tribes that seldom ventured more than a mile from our birthplaces.  On the upside you were unlikely to be frustrated by tourists asking questions in unfathomable tongues, the downside, however, was the high chance of marrying a relative. The article went on to contend that there were still a handful of Narnia-esque places that don’t exist on modern maps for no good reason other than the inhabitants wishing it that way.  And so it was that on a crisp October morning we were magically transported to Crundale (see, you’d never heard of it had you?). At the heart of this fantastical village was ‘The Compasses Inn’, a perfectly imagined pub that had previously only existed in my dreams. Plenty of local beers, an intelligent and reasonable wine list plus a massive garden for the kids. Smiley face. Having dribbled over our menus for ten minutes we chose a crab cannelloni with bisque & a game terrine with spiced pear chutney (both £6.95). To follow we went for ox-cheek bap with horseradish mayonnaise and dripping chips (£9.95) and kedgeree with smoked haddock fillet, poached duck egg and curry ketchup (£11ish). It was only the devil’s little helper, beetroot, that meant we didn’t order all 25 dishes on offer (should we have had the time or elasticated trousers required). All of our picks were perfectly cooked, balanced and presented. I wept a little. Surely the desserts (apple creme brulee & sticky toffee pudding) couldn’t cut it too? Nobody is that good. Ahem. Step forward Rob Taylor. A whisking, pickling and braising alchemist of the highest order. He’s amazing. He’s invincible. He is the King of Crundale. When you do go and pay your respects all I can tell you is that the village is located on the North Downs, about halfway between Ashford and Canterbury, and is populated by 150 of the most tight-lipped people you’ll ever meet.  

  • The Riz-Margate

    Right then, hands up if you can name the country: a 30-year civil war that ended in 2009? The British occupied it during the Napoleonic Wars. Anyone? Pearl of the Indian Ocean. Temple of the tooth. Colombo (not him). Well?  I’d kinda hoped it was only me that had spent 43 years missing out on Sri Lanka, but it appears that you might need educating too. Luckily for us, the amazing Paul (Mr Riz) is here to edify. My first lesson came one Friday in October, when we stepped into his unique Cliftonville classroom. Since then we’ve returned on six occasions and have tried 23 dishes from undoubtedly the most interesting menu in Thanet. I’ve heard it said often about Asian restaurants that if the people of that country are eating there, it must be a good sign. I’m not sure that I’ll ever be able to use that cliché in Cliftonville, but I can say that I’ve already spotted Margate’s Queens of Pizza, the entire staff of Broadstairs’ best restaurant and the Isle’s only real food critic dialling in a take-away (Paul does home tutorials too). As his star pupil, might I propose you try the gobi manchurian; chilli paneer, monkfish curry; Ceylon chicken; duck chettinadu and please, please, make sure you order the mutton string hoppers (despite how they sound). The breads are brilliant (especially the paratha), the rice remarkable and the dosas divine. However if you’re not one of life’s decision makers, do what I do and put yourself in Paul’s nurturing hands.  He really can do no wrong.

    49 Northdown Road, Margate, Kent, CT9 2RN, 01843 293698.

  • The Corner House-Minster

    Benjamin Franklin famously said, ‘In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes’. Fair point. The lesser talented John Morton declared, ‘A man living modestly must be saving money and could therefore afford taxes, whereas if he was living extravagantly then he was obviously rich and could still afford them’. This unpopular musing, from the then Archbishop of Canterbury, became known as Morton’s Fork and for some odd reason, back in the 80’s, David Sworder named his Minster restaurant after this undesirable dilemma. Three decades later his son Matt has returned to the same space to cook up a storm at the Corner House. We first visited on a Friday evening where we found an eclectic mix of ages and types enjoying modern British, locally sourced plates of great looking food in this bijou galley-shaped restaurant. I enjoyed an excellent chicken parfait followed by the most amazing cod loin I can remember. I finished off with the unrivalled brown bread ice cream. Pretty much a perfect meal. Mrs G had some stuff too but I was so excited by mine that the blinkers went on from the first mouthful and never came off until the bill arrived. On the way out I reserved a table for eight for the following Saturday lunchtime. That’s a tad hasty I hear you mutter. Fear not, dear reader, as I’d stumbled upon a nugget whilst thumbing the menu earlier. Lean in.  At lunch they offer up three courses for £13, two for £10 or one for £8. OMFG! Eight days later we were back. New dishes included a stunning pea and ham soup, an excellent flat iron steak and a divine lavender crème brûlée.  Just as good, but cheaper. If Mr Franklin were alive, well and residing in Thanet today there’s a fair chance you’d find him tweeting, ‘In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death, taxes & totes amazeballs food 4 little cash @ Corner House. #yumminster’.

    42 Station Road, Minster, Kent, CT12 4BZ, 01843 823000.