» Fare game
Andrew Kay, in shame, finally makes his way to The Griffin Inn in Fletching
As I write this, the first and last pubs that I legally drank in were both called The Griffin Inn. The first was when I was 18 – it was my birthday and before my party (fancy dress of course). I went to the pub for the first legal time, the local where my Aunty Marie, who had a glass eye, was a barmaid. I caused a stir for two reasons, the first for announcing it was my 18th birthday when I had been drinking in there for some time, and the second because I was dressed as Shirley Temple. Don’t ask.
On Saturday I was far more conventionally dressed when I called Mr L and invited him to spend a day in the country. ‘‘Ditch the Prada,’’ I said, “and I’ll lend you a pair of wellies.” He did his best but still looked pretty smart where as I look liked more like Shirley Crabtree these days than Temple. We took the dog for a long and very muddy walk, bought eggs at the roadside and looked at antiques before pulling into the carpark at the Griffin in Fletching.
‘‘I think that I thought that Fletching was miles away from where I live, but it’s only a stone’s throw, and a stone well worth throwing’’
I am ashamed to say that in nearly 12 years of writing local food columns I have only just madeit to the Griffin, despite it being so famously good. I have popped in for a Bloody Mary before but never to dine. We nipped into the Ditchling Food Company first and bought a few Scotch eggs and some excellent Wensleydale cheese, which gave me a Wallace and Gromit moment – although which of us was which is hard to tell.
Back at the Griffin we went to the bar, ordered Bloody Marys and settled down to read a huge blackboard menu in front of a roaring fire. Mr L had been before and was known, so he asked if there was any chance of a table in the dining room and luckily his influence worked. Before long we were sat at a large round table with some excellent homemade foccacia and rich olive oil.
The dining room sells the same food as the bar but without the lowerpriced pubby dishes. It was an easy choice for me to start – razor clams. How often do you see them on a menu? I eat them in Spain where they tend to do that Spanish thing of slowly braising them in a tomato and garlic sauce. Here they had steamed them with chilli and garlic with parsley. God they were good, sweet and meaty, and filling too. Lay three side by side and they are about the size of a steak; four would be too many. I called for a spoon as the broth was too good to waste. Mr L had scallops with a chorizo and coriander relish and caramelised lime. It was gone before I could
click the camera. I did get a taste and they were great, really sweet and perfectly, but barely, cooked.
Mr L followed with Ashdown Forest venison loin with rosti, roast shallots with a juniper jus. The venison was amazing, dark and musky, meltingly tender and full of flavour. The shallots, big banana ones, glistened and were the perfect side of burnt as they should be. The rosti we both thought was a bit too crisp, then revised our thought as the texture added an air of game chips to the dish. The jus was sticky and held the whole together.
I chose rump of Romney Marsh lamb with roast squash, Swiss chard and a lentil jus. What a dish – more than generous in size with thick slices of pink lamb that the chef had taken to the very edge of rareness to achieve a wonderful crisp skin and fine layer of sweet fat. The fat and skin on good lamb is sublime and I found myself saving it till last. The roast squash was creamy and sweet, and the chard perfect, bitter in contrast. My jus, different from Mr L’s, was also sticky but dotted with Puy lentils. I really didn’t want it to end but that was all I could manage.
Mr L, however, finished with a lemon polenta cake with lemon syrup and marscapone, a good slice with a nice puddle of sauce strewn with candied lemon zest and topped with the cheese. I was too full to even try.
We had a glass of red each, a light house wine that did the job, and a bottle of still water. The bill came to about £30 each which, while hardly being cheap, was to my mind incredibly good value. Prime ingredients, mainly local, were treated with care and pride. A kitchen that can roast meats this precisely is to be applauded. I am so tired of roast meats that taste simply of burnt roasting tin.
You can stay at the Griffin, too, with rooms starting at £80 Sunday to Thursday and some topping out at £130 at the weekend, but all including breakfast, which if lunch is anything to go by promises to be excellent. I think that I thought that Fletching was miles away from where I live but it’s only a stone’s throw, and a stone well worth throwing.
The Griffin Inn, Fletching, Near Uckfield. Call 01825 722890 or www.thegriffininn.co.uk
