Atrip to the coast felt in order when the temperature recently suggested that we, the residents of the United Kingdom, have survived another winter. Behold: sunshine, green shoots, cherry blossom, fresh hope and all that good stuff. And, soon, a glut of bank holidays during which we can unveil our factor 50-smeared knees at the seaside and quickly declare that it’s far too hot.
But not all British seaside experiences are built the same. Nibbling a Waldorf salad while sipping a glass ofOxney organic English sparklingat the charmingHarry’sat the Gallivant hotel on the East Sussex coast is not remotely similar to scoffing a battered sausage on Blackpool front. Both have their merits, but Harry’s is a far more refined affair, it being a recently restyled and renamed restaurant inside a blissful, bougie boutique hotel. This is a hotel, incidentally, that will create a sort of Famous Five Do Santa Monica seaside experience for you, albeit at a price. Cocktails on the sand dunes? They’ll mix and pack them in flasks, and find you suitable garments to wear, too. A spot of flow yoga before your breakfast ginger shot? Not a problem, madam. Then, later on, dinner atHarry’sby Matthew Harris, once of Bibendum (and, incidentally, brother of Henry ofBouchon Racinefame), for a menu that focuses on the heartier, homelier side of classic French cookery. Terrine de campagne with pistachios, oysters with sauce mignonette, braised rabbit in riesling and St Émilion au chocolat for pudding, that kind of thing.
Regular readers will know my thoughts on restaurants inside fancy hotels, and their habitual tyranny of deadly dull, overpriced menus that trap hotel guests who know no better. They’re rarely allowed to fancy something as sating as “lamb chop and chips”; no, they have to be hostage to nine courses of consommé and froth. Harry’s, I stress most emphatically, is not at all like this. First, it is not fussy or stiff, although it is decidedly glamorous, and a bit like a 1950s beach shack given a Soho Farmhouse makeover. Dim, smoky lighting, soft music, tables positioned strategically for maximum privacy, with giant fronds placed between the closer-together ones, so you could be dining next to Tom Cruise and feasibly not even suss.
We began with a plate of smoked eel and a soft, runny boiled egg perched on the plate alongside an assertively mustardy celeriac remoulade. We also ordered that old-school favourite, the Waldorf salad, made with apple, grapes, celery and walnuts, which has become something of a joke in recent times, and possibly why it’s so rarely seen on menus these days. In fact, it’s almost impossible to eat one – especially one served out of a silver sundae bowl and decorated with a delicate parmesan crisp – and not feel as if you’re Wallis Simpson. Those two starters, along with a round of oysters, were pretty much faultless.
Next up, a generous slab of hake with crisp skin and perfectly cooked flesh on what looked like a mermaid’s seat of monks beard and pine nuts, and dressed with an orange segment-flecked sauce Maltaise (that’s a hollandaise made with orange for anyone not au fait with French classic cookery, though it will be impossible to remain so by the time you leave Harry’s). This restaurant calmly serves precise, timeworn recipes using techniques dating from Escoffier onwards, but without making a huge song and dance about it. No one talked us through the dishes at any great length, or demanded that we pay due homage to the chef’s prowess. Quite the opposite: plates were delivered to our table with a cheery “Bon appetit!”, as if they were just serving cod and chips.
Even so, when a humble Barnsley chop comes with a good, fresh, rich hazelnut pesto, you know you’re not really in a place that’s truly casual. A side of champ could perhaps have been more buttery and the sauteed spinach was forgettable, but both were more than made up for by a slice of another much-ignored classic, St Émilion au chocolat, which is what happens when amaretti biscuits are soaked in sherry, topped with a rich chocolate cream and chilled for many, many hours, so the boozy biscuits and cream meld together into something that’s truly majestic.
This was a startlingly good dinner, and it was lovely to get some sand between my toes and remember that there is a world out there beyond the radiator, the hot-water bottle and the seasonal affective disorder lamp. I have tasted spring 2025, and c’est bon. Très bon.
Harry’sThe Gallivant, Camber, East Sussex, 01797 225057. Open lunch, Sat & Sun only, noon-3pm; dinner all week, 6-9pm. From about £50 a head à la carte; weekend set lunch £29 for two courses, £35 for three, all plus drinks and service