Noma, Copenhagen

When my friend told me he'd secured a 4-top table at Noma, in Copenhagen - you know, only the Most Famous Restaurant In The World Because It Might Be The Best Ever - and would I like to come, I immediately said yes. I immediately booked myself on some cheapo flights over to the Danish capital, for what would be certainly the meal of a lifetime. Anticipation built up, and I had to keep reminding myself not to go in with too high an expectation. It must be difficult to be a chef at what has been, for several years, lauded as the number one restaurant in the whole world. People traverse countries, seas, continents to dine there. It's difficult enough catering for people with all sorts of tastes, associations, preferences, but even more so with the added weight of expectation. 

It's been a long time coming, this post. Indeed, my companions have already written their (wildly differing) take on it. As can only be expected for such a well-regarded restaurant, the menu was long, the bill high. Upon reflection, I actively enjoyed 10 of 20 courses. That's not a high hit rate. But I don't regret any of it, not even the £308.12 bill. Let's delve deeper. This will take some time. Bear with me. 

Fermented plums and wild beach roses

As we approached for our 12pm reservation (12pm! How positively American of us) we barely got through the door before a chorus of chefs and front of house staff bellowed welcomes at us, relieving us of coats, guiding us gently to our table and placing a glass of fizz before us. It's a slick operation; receive, seat, get the booze in quick. We looked like rabbits in the headlights. Of course we will have the wine pairing, nice man! Get that 'juice pairing' out of my sight. 

We soon realised that every course is presented to you by a chef from the kitchen. They are mostly men. They are all incredibly handsome. As I contemplated the first course I wondered if I would be dumbstruck like a blushing schoolgirl for the wrong reasons throughout the meal. (Yes, is the answer.) Anyway, the pink disc placed before us was horrible. I took an eager bite, and my mouth was awash with astringency, floral pickledness and I bloody love pickles, let me tell you. I took another bite just in case, but no. There was something medicinal about it. I struggled to finish it. One of the staff glanced over with concern, eyebrows furrowed. My companions loved it.

Beet tartar

Never mind, moving on. Beetroot tartar consisted of roasted beets shaved very thinly, topped with ants - ANTS! Dead ants! - which are supposed to have an intense citrus flavour. I tasted bitter, astringent pickled herb. I felt like I'd fallen face first into a mound of soil. I pushed it around for a bit, listened attentively to the lovely Rene Redzepi telling us about... something. He looked at my unfinished course. I looked at it. Then I looked at my hands. 

Apple marinated in aquavit

Sweet joy and relief was this disc of pressed apple, marinated in Scandinavia's favourite booze and topped with pine and something miso-like. Sweet, boozy, savoury, pine tree frozen delight! I gobbled it down with relief. 

Oland wheat and virgin butter

Delicious was the warm spongy wheaty bread with butter I could have slathered on anything to get more of it in me. Phew. Things were picking up. 

Cabbage leaves and white currants

Isn't this dish a beauty? It was a sight to behold, almost too beautiful to destroy. The bowl had been painted green with parsley, with a steamed cabbage leaf balanced in the middle. A fragrant, cleansing white currant broth melded all the flavours together without an astringent-pickled-herb in sight. 

Green shoots of the season with scallop marinade

The most beautiful man in the world (probably - there were so many they now meld into one) brought the next dish over, and explained to us that a scallop 'fudge' had been smeared over the plate, upon which a variety of vegetables lay. Some were raw, some were roasted to crunchiness, some simply steamed. I loved this; I gathered up the contrasting vegetables onto my fork and swooped it through the caramel of the seafood. I can't name a single one of those vegetables I'm afraid. 

Grilled onion

Not just a grilled onion. Positively blackened, so that the skin was tar-black. Thyme leaves nestled inside to make the onion taste a bit like gravy. It was sweet and oniony. That's all I've got for you. I probably shouldn't go to Hedone anytime soon.

Sea urchin and walnuts

Do you know where the Faroe Islands are? No, me neither. I thought they sounded quite Caribbean when Rene was telling us that this is where the sea urchin, reportedly the best and the sweetest, is sourced. So I spent the rest of his time explaining to dish to us wondering whether we'd get some sort of pineapple dessert too. The walnuts were like I've never tasted before; none of that dusty bitter staleness, they were fresh and juicy, crunchy yet slightly bouncy. And the sea urchin was the sweetest I've tried, mixing into a creamy sauce. I thought it wonderful. The Faroe Islands are off the coast of Norway. (You knew that, didn't you?) 

Sliced raw squid and kelp

I love raw squid. I love the sliminess in the mouth, I love the bouncy resistance against your teeth as you eat it. I loved this. The creamy sauce with the squid and kelp came together to create an almost caramel flavour, likened universally by the table to Caramac. 

Mahogany clam

I also love clams. When this was brought to us, our chef proclaimed proudly "mahogany clams can live for hundreds of years - this could have been around when Queen Elizabeth I was alive!" All I could think was dear god why are we eating this poor creature. It wasn't up to much. A bit fishy, and really chewy - as you might imagine from an ancient clam. The samphire powder didn't taste of much that I could discern. I felt a bit glum about this one. 

Monkfish liver

We were several (very nice) wines in so I had to pee (sorry) but as I got up to go I was surrounded, with pleas for me to sit back down again. I obeyed and it soon became clear, for our next course was monkfish liver, frozen and shaved incredibly thinly atop a delicate cracker. It looks like jamon, doesn't it? No. It's a clever dish, as each wafer is so cold there's almost no smell to it, but thin enough so that as soon as it hits the tongue it starts to melt and release its flavour. There's a reason monkfish liver is often called the foie gras of the sea; it's rich and creamy, luxurious. Another one I enjoyed a lot, once I could get my head around eating frozen fish offal. 

Pumpkin, caviar and barley

This pumpkin disc was compressed so that the purest sweetness of the vegetable shone through. I used to be a pumpkin avoider and I'm still suspicious of its pulpy sweetness, but this was very enjoyable, mostly I suspect down the the walloping great big quenelle of caviar. The barley cream had a toasted flavour and balanced out the sweetness of the squash. 

Egg yolk, potatoes, nasturtium

This was one of my favourite dishes. Fudgy egg yolk, pouring into the vaguely green-tasting sauce, with discs of waxy potato to soak it all up. Probably one of the most straight-forward in flavour. 

Vegetable flower

By this point, after so many pleasing dishes under my belt, I had been lulled into a false sense of tastebud-tingling security, which made the betrayal of the vegetable flower all the more poignant. It was beautiful, with a shiny surface, dotted with ...bits of stuff. I took a relaxed bite and every part of my brain screamed at me to spit it out again. It tasted of carbon and petrol, harshness and garlic, acetic and hateful. I had to gulp wine to get it down, out of my teeth. I don't know who sent the alien replacements to this Earth to dine with me but they all loved theirs. My face was crumpled.

Wild duck

Are you the kind of person who prefers meat off the bone, prawns peeled, fish filleted? Noma might not be for you. A whole wild duck was presented, head and all, with its sides carved into neat slices that you could just pluck and place into a dark cabbage leaf. Oh, yes, we are back. This is much more my thing. I wondered if they had any hoisin sauce hanging around (SO ASIAN) but actually the flavour of the duck was incredible; deep, rich and gamey, the skin sweet. The head was split open and we were encouraged to eat the brains, which my zombie alien companions relished in. I generously waived my portion. Ducks have small brains, okay?

 Of course the best bits are often the darker meat, probably tougher but with loads more flavour. Leggy lollipops and whatever else we'd left behind came back to us portioned nicely, with a berry-like sauce for dipping. We stripped those bones. 

Truffle æbleskiver

Ooh look, little doughnuts in a cute pan! They reminded me of takoyaki, those batter balls filled with delicious octopus. And these ones were right posh, being all topped with truffle and that. They were filled with The Herb of Doom - lovage. Awful stuff, lovage. Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall has said it tastes "intriguing" and I would agree, I am intrigued as to why on earth anyone thinks it is edible. 

Berries and greens soaked in vinegar for one year

This was every flavour I disliked - nay, found actively repellant - in the opening courses, distilled into one mouthful. 

Roasted kelp ice cream and lemon thyme

I can't remember whether I had any strong feelings about this dish, which is peculiar since I didn't do much fence-sitting for the rest of it. All I can say is that it was a dessert, with no pineapple. Because the Faroe Islands are in Norway. 

A dessert of 'Gammel Dansk' and hazelnut oil

Gammel Dansk is a Danish bitter liquer, likened to Jaegermeister. I can't say I made this association as I found the hazelnut oil mixing with the foaminess of the rectangle puff very unpleasant. I appreciated the light, aerated texture, drizzled with balsamic vinegar, but once the oil got involved, my tongue repelled it. Once again, the alien doppelgangers relished it. (Maybe I am the alien?)

Forest flavours, chocolate and egg liqueur

I ate the mushroom-shaped thing which tasted, ye gods, of chocolate mushroom. I nibbled the bushy chocolate thing at the front, admittedly I had to screw my eyes shut. I threw the towel in and admitted defeat. Instead, I slurped on a whiskey digestif, thoroughly nonplussed about the meal that had just taken place. 

We were offered a tour of the kitchens, which given the level of attractiveness of just the chefs who served us - who knows what other hotty prep chefs they were hiding back there! - it would be foolish to turn down. It's an amazing place; giant prep kitchens, tiny cupboards where all sorts of fermenting take place, and a bitterly freezing outside area where we found other chefs painstakingly plucking the feathers out of wild ducks, huddled together with big hats on to stay warm. Everyone we met was incredibly good-looking sorry, friendly and warm, inviting us to see what they had been working on, and patiently talking us through techniques and methods they use. I was even sent off with a vacuum-packed sachet of home-fermented barley koji to experiment with. 

Back in the prep kitchen, Rene whipped out a map of Copenhagen to doodle on and talked us through all the spots he thought we must visit, taking his time to talk us through why each of them were worth our time. "You must go to this taco place. The food's probably better than here!" he said, with a chuckle. He was just the loveliest.

So, I didn't like a lot of the food. I still left feeling that I'd had a meal of a lifetime though, and one I will never forget. We were treated incredibly well; Noma and their staff are the masters, the very epitome of what great hospitality is all about. In two and a half hours our 20 course meal was over, and not once did I feel that anything was rushed, nor was there a beat missed. Even right at the very end, with a fresh looming service ahead of them, it was suggested that we might stay a little longer to chat and enjoy a glass of wine in the lounge before heading out into the driving snow - perhaps they glanced at my party's footwear and thought we needed bolstering. They were correct. 

I was presented with a huge number of things I'd never eaten before, a lot of flavours that my palate has never experienced (nor, perhaps, would like to again), but I know I may be the anomaly, as I over-heard another guest exclaiming that it was his third visit. Was November, almost the dead of winter, the wrong time to go for me? Would I have enjoyed it more with the fresh, abundant produce of Spring? Between four of us I haven't ever experienced a meal that has divided opinion so much - and we aren't contrarians really - ranging from Jassy who loved the meal, filtering down through Chris and Helen, to me, who was probably the only one who might consider turning fugitive if presented with that 'vegetable flower' again. 

Still, as you can see from our faces, we left really happy - and for me, that's what eating out is all about. 

Don't ever make me eat pickled rose petals again, though. 

Noma

Strandgade 93, 1401 København K, Denmark

+45 32 96 32 97

Grilled Sea Bream with Champonzu

Champonzu is a type of ponzu sauce - that is to say, a soy sauce and yuzu mixture. Yuzu is a citrus fruit from Japan; it's lemony in flavour but much, much more fragrant, with hints of mandarin and lime. In the UK it's almost impossible to find fresh yuzu, but you can buy the skin minced in salt, or the juice extracted into bottles. It's ruinously expensive. This champonzu from The Wasabi Company isn't cheap, clocking in at £12.20 for 330ml, but it's such a unique and delicious flavour as they use 5 different types of citrus fruit in addition. You don't need much of it as a little goes a long way - I've had this bottle since last August and I think I still have another dish left in it. 

I used the champonzu to flavour grilled sea bream. It's so simple; slash the bream at a 90-ish degree angle to the spine, rub with oil and place under a hot grill to cook for 7 or 8 minutes each side, turning once. Remove from the grill and drizzle with 3 tbsp of champonzu sauce. Serve with white rice and a hefty tablespoon of ginger and spring onion magic sauce. 

This is gloriously recipe-free. A short post! Hurrah.

2015 Favourites

I'm fond of lists. It orders my mind, gives me a sense of achievement if I need to tick them off, and it provides a handy tool to round things up with. So, slightly late in proceedings, here's a list of the favourite things I ate in 2015, in no particular order. Some are new restaurants, some are stalwarts. I should point out that I paid for all the meals I've mentioned, just in case it makes anything of a difference to you. Happy new year!

Portland, Fitzrovia: 

I went to Portland three times this year; to celebrate a birthday, my work leaving lunch and just cos. Each time it was brilliant. Particularly loved this salsify dish that tastes like a carbonara. The opening photo dish comes up a lot in their mostly-changing menu - it's raw Isle of Mull scallops, beneath wisps of radish and dressed with buttermilk. Isn't it pretty? 

Mama Lan, Brixton

These spicy fried wings are just SO GOOD. Crisp, crunchy, spicy, happiness, even if perched on a stool somewhat uncomfortably in Brixton Market. I often come here for these and a few dumplings as a snack. 

Decatur, Druid Street Markets on Saturday

I love these oysters, trading out of Maltby / Druid Street on Saturdays. Charcoal grilled with lemon, hot sauce and butter, I've never enjoyed a cooked oyster more.

Elliot's Cafe, Borough - lunchtimes only

I was skeptical about the seeded bun - do we really need seeds? - but turns out they're pretty ineffectual. Delicious, well seasoned meat cooked perfectly medium, and good chips. I'm a fries girl myself, but these had such a great potato flavour. 

Xi'an Impression:

These are called 'liang pi', or 'cold skin noodles'. Sure, they're not really a patch on Xi'an Famous Foods in NYC but they are, nonetheless, very good in their own right. Love their 'burgers' too. My full experience is here. 

Chang's Noodle, Bloomsbury

The signature lamb noodles are so so good - creamy, savoury, intense depth to them. I haven't tried enough of the menu to recommend anything else, but I'd struggle to return here and order anything but this. Perfect for cold, windy, winter nights. 

Quality Chop House, Farringdon

I hardly think these need much explanation, but just in case, these confit potato are rightly famous. Crisp on the outside, gooey and soft within - just how any potato should be. I love this restaurant and everything they cook - I even went to the Bloodshot supper clubs at The Dairy when Head Chef Shaun Searley was guest cooking. If you've not heard of it, it's a supperclub for the hospitality industry, recognising that nowhere decent is open after all our hard-working chefs and waiting staff have finished for the evening, so they set up a monthly dinner that starts at 1am. I was delirious by the time I was eating dessert at 4am - I rarely stay up past 2am being the old lady I am. Totally worth it. 

Salon, Brixton

One of the best dishes I had this year was this duck with cherry sauce. The set menu is fantastic value, and I only wish I had gone more often this year. 

Ceviche, guesting at Le Coq, Islington

This quinoa scotch egg at the Ceviche takeover at Le Coq had such interesting flavours and textures, and the whole meal had brilliant dishes throughout. I must get to Ceviche, and Le Coq properly next year.

The Camberwell Arms, Camberwell

Not exclusively this dish of squid with chickpeas, but in fact much of what is served at The Camberwell Arms is really excellent. Had a lukewarm and slightly greasy venison stew recently but I'll forgive them that for all the other great dishes. Here's my full post. 

Finally, my Restaurant of 2015 goes to The Newman Arms. 

They serve comforting pies on Monday lunchtimes, wonderful roasts on Sundays, but also incredibly inventive cooking that's brilliant and interesting, a few cuts above usual pub comforts, by Head Chef Eryk Bautista. I've written about the weekday evening menu here. Owner Matt Chatfield of The Cornwall Project surely has to be the nicest man in the industry; he lends his kitchen and facilities out to charity soup competitions, and to aspiring chefs and street food traders to host guest dinners. It's that kind of collaborative, generous and wonderful spirit of sharing that is really really special. It warms me, and makes me want to return again and again. 

Have a great 2016!

Fennel & Pink Peppercorn 'Gravadlax'

I don't know when it became a Mabbott family tradition to cure our own salmon for home-made Gravadlax to eat on Christmas morning, but it's one that has stuck, despite none of us having any Scandinavian roots whatsoever. Usually served with a Bloody Mary for the able-bodied in the family - half of us have an alcohol allergy. Could you guess it's not me...? - at around brunch time, it is one of the things I most look forward to at Christmas. 

If you're unsure of what gravadlax is, it is cured salmon, made using just sugar, salt and dill most traditionally. Often other ingredients are added to enhance this, such as gin, juniper berries, or beetroot for a prettily stained purple colour. Often served with a sweet mustard and dill sauce, in our house we've never bothered, opting just for wafer-thin slices over buttered bread with a squeeze of lemon. Dad has always worked to a 50 / 50 sugar to salt cure, for 5 days. The cure is mixed up and spread over the large fillet of salmon and down the sides, then topped with masses of dill, and sandwiched with another identically shaped piece. This is wrapped well in cling film, then foil and placed in the fridge with something heavy on top to weigh it down. It then needs to be turned and drained of any residual juice every day. It's best to use the freshest salmon you can find - sushi-grade from the fishmonger, if possible.

It's funny that you just go home for Christmas and expect all your comforts and traditions to be in place. I didn't think anything of it that my parents had emigrated to Spain this year, until with horror at the supermarket I stared dumb-struck at the lack of dill. And then at the market. And then at another supermarket. We were going to have to improvise.

Firstly, what does dill taste of? It's a bit aniseed-y - tarragon would have been perfect. There is no tarragon in Spain. In fact, the only fresh herbs we could find were mint, basil, chives or coriander. So we looked to spices to make up the dill flavour, and then we threw all caution to the wind and decided on a new take. 

I'm just going to give you what I used here, as all of it is very dependent on how large your fillets of salmon will be: ours were about 6 inches long. You will just have to eyeball it and remember that it's much better to have too much than not enough. That's a life philosophy, that. 

Fennel & Pink Peppercorn 'Gravadlax'

Makes the cure

3 tbsp fennel seeds
2 tbsp pink peppercorns
6 tbsp sea salt flakes
7 tbsp caster sugar 
Zest of 1 lime
A large bush of coriander stalks and leaves, chopped finely

In a pestle and mortar, pound the fennel seeds, lime zest and the pink peppercorns roughly. 

In a large bowl, add the salt, sugar, and fennel seed mixture and mix well. Add the coriander and mix again. 

Lay out a sheet of cling film and place the cleaned, boneless salmon fillet (skin on) on the cling film skin side down. Spread the cure all over the fillet and on the sides. My dad also sits the salmon on some cure but given it's got the skin on and you don't eat it, I've never seen the point. I don't argue this though.  

Place the other salmon fillet flesh side down on top to sandwich the two together and wang any remaining cure around it and down the sides. Wrap tightly with clingfilm, then with foil and place in a baking dish or casserole dish that fits it snugly. Weigh down with a heavy object, like a bag of rice, and place in the fridge. Turn daily, draining any juice out, for 3 to 5 days. Many recipes do 3 days - we've always done 5. 

To eat, remove foil and cling film, brush off the cure from the fillets with a piece of kitchen roll, and slice very thinly. You can serve with mustard sauce if you like.

Viet Food, Wardour Street

Wardour Street, the Chinatown end south of Shaftesbury Avenue, used to house a stalwart Vietnamese restaurant, opposite the infamous Wong Kei's. Inside, paper tablecloths, strip lighting, sticky chopsticks and bland food meant I only visited a couple of times. To survive as long as they did, which is to say at least the 11 years I've worked in London, is a testament to the tourist footfall that passes through Chinatown. 

That's all changing, now. On the corner used to be a giant buffet restaurant where drunks and people of questionable taste could pile gloopy orange chicken atop deep red crispy chilli beef, stabbed with a flaccid spring roll on a huge plate and repeat, and repeat ad nauseum. Slowly, that's being refurbished into Shuang Shuang, a steamboat restaurant that I am most excited about (more on that later). Next door, Viet Food has sprung up. The pedigree is good; the Chef / Proprietor is Jeff Tan, of Hakkasan Mayfair and others. I had high hopes. 

When we arrived we were hit by the unmistakeable smell of pho, that heady, anise-laden broth that characterises the noodle soups of Vietnam. We announced our intentions and we waited. We waited some more as others who'd booked squeezed past us. Then we were asked to wait outside. So we waited even more. Finally I cracked and asked if there was actually a table to wait for, and we were sulkily shown to an upstairs sharing table. 

The menu is huge. Separated into 'Incoming', soups, chef's specials, pho, bun, rice... we stared at the list groggily, trying to figure out what to order. Summer rolls were big and bouncy, packed full of lettuce and prawns but not a patch on Uyen Luu's. There are no interesting herbs here, just the crunch of the greens and a hoi sin-style sauce for dipping. 

Coconut calamari is much talked about when Viet Food is mentioned. I didn't get it. Bland, rubbery rings with a slightly sweet, crisp coating, served with a miniature bottle of sweet chilli sauce that was just a pain in the arse to extract. Grumpf.

Chargrilled glazed lemongrass chicken wings were a meagre portion. Sure, they were £4.50 but it was slightly embarrassing to look at on the plate; the plate was large enough to make them look stingy. There were four of us and three joints of the wings were hard to share. The lemongrass flavour was absent. They're chicken wings! Cheap as anything. Make it a fiver and pile them on. 

Happily, smoky spiced quail was a whole bird (which you'd hope for £8.50), neatly jointed into 4, and indeed spiced. Lime and salt were provided to sprinkle on at whim, and we made light work of them. 

'Slow-cooked haddock with Chef's special sauce' (£8) came in a claypot in, er, special sauce (are you thinking that too?). Chunks of fish, tender enough for Granny to gum her way through, came in a slightly sweet, slightly savoury cornflour-thickened sauce that was nothing to really write home about. 

The Pho Chin Hue, featuring slow-cooked beef in spicy broth, featured none of the promised heat but had a nice flavour. Upon its arrival we were presented with a bottle of fish sauce - "we don't use MSG in our food so you might need this for more flavour". Quite weird. I'd rather they just used MSG rather than having to add my own umami. Or I dunno, cooked it with more flavours. And before you say it, MSG is fine. 

Bun Thit Nuong, which is chargrilled lemongrass pork with round noodles in a salad form, was decent with a good amount of herbs but it was presented as just a big ol' mess. I've seen street food vendors turn out a more aesthetically pleasing dish on a hot and muggy roadside. 

The unexpected highlight of our evening was the steamed okra with soy sauce (opening picture) £5. Now that was delicious; the vegetables were still crunchy, with a hint of soy and a sprinkling of deep fried shallots. I've never known anything made of okra to be so universally liked.

We weren't exactly full by the time the food was finished, so the dessert of the day had to be ordered. Pandan sago with caramelised banana was served portioned out table-side. The banana was in no way caramelised, but we still enjoyed it. 

I really wanted to like Viet Food. I was hoping for a West End alternative to Pho, at which recently meals have been disappointing, with dishwater-like broth, but the food felt lacklustre, the portions stingy - exactly the opposite of what Vietnamese food is about. Shame. 

Viet Food
34-36 Wardour Street, Soho,
London W1D 6QT,

Rockfish, Brixham

As well accomplished The Elephant's food was, the experience seemed cold and passionless. Our lunch the next day at Rockfish in Brixham was a total contrast; the service was warm, knowledgeable and friendly, and the room had a cheerful airiness to it. 

Opened by Mat Prowse and Mitch Tonks, Rockfish sits right on the fish harbour at Brixham, meaning the day's catch barely has to travel to get to the kitchens of the restaurant. There are four restaurants now, all serving a menu of sustainable and ethically sourced seafood. At this particular restaurant, the fish market is overlooked by the terrace which unfortunately in November was out of the question; you could imagine on a summer's day that those are the hot tables, especially with a glass of blush rosé. Inside is bedecked in white wood and beams emblazoned with uplifting maritime slogans, and the tables are laid with paper placemats listing different kinds of fish. Our waitress circled and priced the fish from the list that were available that day, all either battered, grilled or both. 

We all zero'd in on the fine print on the menu. All meals are served with unlimited chips. UNLIMITED CHIPS! Now that's a gauntlet thrown if ever I saw one. 

As we were 6, we were able to order a variety of starters. Sprats were the biggest I've ever seen; I deconstructed the first as I wasn't sure of the stabbiness of the bones; I needn't have worried, as they were soft enough to munch through, undetected.  

Salt and pepper prawns were big fat ones, battered and fried until crisp. I was actually hoping for prawns with heads still on, stir-fried with seasonings so that you could really get stuck in there with your hands, beheading the prawns and the like, but it wasn't to be. I'd clearly not read the menu descriptions properly. 

Is there much more pleasing than shellfish cooked in garlic butter? I'd say no. These were cooked with "loads of garlic", but somehow managed to retain their own flavour. I found the bread a bit pointless, but others made light work of it. 

The sharing platter of starters came with dressed crab, more crab meat, cockles, whole head-on prawns to get messy with, and 3 oysters. Cockles I avoided - has anyone ever had one that wasn't remotely gritty? Why do we bother with them? - and headed straight for the prawns, ripping shells off, dunking them in aioli - my favourite way to eat them. I am but simple. 

Heroically one of our party ploughed onto mains with a deep-fried mixture of seafood; no mean feat, given the previous deep-fried selection. I opted for the Dover sole (£20) healthily grilled, to enable me to fit more chips in. 

The fish was cooked simply and perfectly, lightly grilled on each side so that the meat slid from the bones with ease. The South Devon crab roll, though I didn't try any, was very well received, as were the mussels. I had eyes only for my fish, and the pickles selection.

Chips were fat and crunchy, fluffy inside and the pickles and sauces were absolutely exemplary. 'Chip-shop curry sauce' - a a guilty little pleasure of mine - was indeed like the chip shop versions; gloopy, slightly clumpy and wonderfully mild. I used to turn my nose up at the mere mention of curry sauce but I was wrong, very very wrong indeed. Mushy peas were proper - none of that crushed pea bullshit - and the pickles! Delhi pickled cucumbers, sweet and sour pickles, and pickled fennel. We were in pickle heaven, let me tell you. I often find a wally overwhelming (snigger) but these were just perfect - all sliced and ready to refresh each mouthful of fried fish. 

Service was pleasant and friendly - turns out the most amount of unlimited chips consumed isn't as much as you might think - and they were there when we needed them, and absent when not. We only wished we didn't have to dash off for our train. 

Rockfish, Brixham
Brixham Fish Market, 
Brixham, TQ5 8AJ

01803 850872

We dined as guests - all views are very much my own.