Restaurants

James Pembroke

In August, we took a trip to Lulworth Cove, unfairly infamous in the dull minds of geography pupils who have visited on school trips. Where were they expecting to visit? The Grand Canyon?

We had little interest in its geology. A local taxi driver told me the Limestone Hotel did ‘top nosh’ and, as influencers go, I hold a lot of store by taxi drivers, given that they listen to the critiques of multitudinous passengers. They’re more reliable than Tripadvisor.

If I’m honest, it wasn’t even his tip that drew me; I have a passion for British seaside hotels, and I’m not talking about Olga Polizzi’s over-priced Tresanton.

My love affair is hereditary. In 1918, my spinster great-great aunt Nancy opened the Gables, in Swanage, with the certain conviction that Swanage would be the next Bournemouth.

This lowly ambition for the town and its magnificent bay was arguably never realised, in spite of the gastronomic efforts of her niece, my great-aunt Nancy, who merged the Gables with the neighbouring Wolfeton Hotel before the war. Her prowess was recognised in the 1955 Good Food Guide, in whose pages its editor, Raymond Postgate, allowed only 91 out-of-london eateries. He praised her chicken Marengo and Dover sole Cecilia.

I can only hope this accolade gave her some solace for her thwarted escape in the 1930s with a lady acrobat from the visiting Polish State Circus.

Sadly, Nancy sold up in 1964. So my only experience of such coastal grandeur was her rival, the Grosvenor Hotel, on the other side of the bay.

On my desk is the typed dinner menu of 15th August 1985 – its last summer before it was moronically demolished. Starters include ‘various fruit juices’ and ‘soup of the day’, next to which Gaby, the waitress, has written ‘mushroom’.

The strident main courses include ‘roast duckling Montmorency’. And the puddings? Those ghosts of the sweet trolley banana split, lemon syllabub and sherry trifle. Price £7 for non-residents; wine by the glass for 80p.

Fast forward 35 years: the Limestone too has excellent duck – but where was Montmorency? My chilli crab was delicious, too, but there was no maître d’ in a dickie bow and burgundy jacket.

My son, Leo, and I ate out to help out at Barrafina a week later, as compensation for his aborted tour of quarantined Spain.

God, it’s good. I so hope Westminster Council will continue to allow Soho’s restaurants to have tables on the road, as well as on the pavement.

We had the sweetest, most succulent octopus of my 50-odd years; the courgette flowers were stuffed with goat’s cheese, and the eager waitress’s recommendation of the Pluma Iberica was spot-on.

Leo, a budding steak aficionado, fell silent – a 21-year-old’s equivalent of a standing ovation. But would any of it have rivalled the Grosvenor’s lobster thermidor? I bet that was worth every penny of the £5.50 supplement, in 1985.

The Limestone Hotel, Main Road, West Lulworth, Dorset BH20 5RL; tel: 01929 400252; www.limestonehotel.co.uk; three courses for £38

Barrafina, 26-27 Dean Street, London W1D 3LL; branches also in Covent Garden and Kings Cross; www.barrafina.co.uk; £50 a head including wine