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Joe Hill + The Table Restaurant Broadstairs Kent

Doubling Downs

We’ve been at the table, on top of the table, under the table, but never in The Table. Till now. Ironically, we’re sat at the bar, not a table. What the Dickens? We worship in the church where the novelist got married (St Luke’s Chelsea) and party where he lived (Rochester) so it’s high time we ate in his favourite seaside resort (Broadstairs). We’re Grooving to Armada: “If you’re fond of sand dunes and salty air | Quaint little villages here and there.”

The Table is blessed with large windows embracing the street front. It’s very intimate: just 14 covers including ours propped up at the bar. Owner Joe Hill is assisted by three cheery staff in the open kitchen on the other side of the bar. Cosy. “I originally opened here as a wine and cheese deli and it grew from that,” he explains. “I’m a chef by trade. I’ve three young children and wanted to escape the rigmarole of working in London. I’m London born and bred: I’d never heard of Broadstairs till about three years ago! I’ve mates with businesses in Margate though.”

Joe is clearly smitten with his choice of location: “Broadstairs is so friendly. It’s good for families. The town is old, quaint, not too ahead of itself. It still has all your local stores. The sandy beach is dreamy.” He casually mentions working for the greats (Gordon Ramsay, Tom Aikens and Jean-Georges Vongerichten) and working at the greats (Shoreditch House London, W Hotel London and Fordwich Arms Kent) all adding up to an envy inducing resumé. Joe can hold his own: The Table is great.

Lunch menu is introduced as “upmarket street food” and is divided into ‘snacks’, ‘bowls’ and ‘plates’. Sticking to the coastal theme we order house seaweed kimchi then sake drunken clams, seaweed and kohlrabi followed by silken tofu, miso roasted tomato and ponzu. Joe suggests toasted sesame seed and chive flatbread. Good shout. If this is upmarket street food, then York Street is the Mount Street of Broadstairs. Off menu pudding is a posh brownie crowned with flowers and oranges bathing in a fruit syrup.

The afternoon isn’t spent yet. We’re not done. Decisions, decisions. Down doubles in The Chapel Bar or sip on Chapel Down’s Bacchus from the North Downs on that beach, the Downings of Kent? Let’s do both. To quote from Charles Dickens’ Nicholas Nickleby, “Bring in the bottled lightning, a clean tumbler, and a corkscrew.” A local resident emerging from a house built into the cliff face towering over the beach spots our bottle of Kit’s Cody freshly purchased from The Bottleneck wine shop and asks, “Have you had it before? You’ll be in for a surprise. It’s spectacular!”

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Rabbit Restaurant Chelsea London + Taittinger Champagne

Chelsea Tractor

“Running … Running uphill …” (Rabbit, Run by John Updike, 1961). After a Taits (our new fav Reims bubbles) pre party, it might be past Mercury Retrograde and Wolf Moon is just a memory yet we’re still running the roads. “Oh dear! Oh dear! We sha’n’t be too late!” We’re off to the wonderland that is the Sussex-farm-to-King’s-Road-fork Rabbit restaurant. “Spring, fall, summer, autumn: a life as well as a year has its seasons.” (Rabbit, Run, once more). For fork’s sake, a menu, too, has its seasons, especially when the owners tell, “We use all things wild, foraged and locally grown, including sustainable livestock from the Gladwins’ family farm in West Sussex. We call this ‘local and wild’.” We’re local and we’re wild.

They’ve more to say, “We grow and produce a range of award winning wines in our very own Nutbourne Vineyards. The 10 hectares of landscape are carefully looked after to preserve the natural habitat. We grow Bacchus, Riesling family varietals, Chardonnay and Pinot Noir. We produce 40,000 bottles each year. We like our customers to enjoy a bottle of Nutbourne Wine in the spirit of ‘what grows together goes together’.”

Keeping it savoury we chase in hot and cold pursuit: mushroom marmite éclairs, egg confit, cornichon; whipped cod roe, crisp bread, English caviar; baked truffle Tunworth, caraway crisp bread, beetroot and pear chutney; grilled leek hearts, sesame yoghurt, truffle, seed clusters, chicory. Big seasonality on small plates. Restauranteur brothers GladwinGregory, Oliver and Richard – clearly know their spring onions and winter truffle.

Rabbit is carefully casual with a haphazard picture hang on the exposed brick walls and the odd bit of taxidermy in between. Something resembling a cattle grid droops from the corrugated metal ceiling. Or maybe it is a cattle grid. This restaurant is a celebration of rustic farmhouse dining with urban views. At one end of the simple L shape – this is no rabbit warren – is the frenetic King’s Road. At the other end, a picture window frames Burnsall Street with its boxy dormered Dutch gabled Marseille pantile roofed Juliet balconied chamfered bayed sun kissed pastel coloured townhouses. Clientele are well heeled, literally; this is after all the fashionista friendly St Luke’s Parish. Bunny Rogers would approve.

Hare today, gone tomorrow. Rabbit has been a King’s Road fixture for eight years now but other London establishments haven’t survived so long. Shrimpy’s at King’s Cross, was, admittedly a pop up, a meantime use on a development site overlooking the canal at Granary Square. A petrol filling station was rapidly converted into a deconstructivist seafood restaurant offering the best seabass ceviche and plantains that 2012 London had to offer. Like most hotel restaurants the top floor of the London Hilton on Hyde Park has had several reboots. Its currently Galvin at Windows is named after Chef Patron Chris Galvin. Critic Jonathan Meades reviews its predecessor Windows on the World in The Times Restaurant Guide 2002:

Jacques Rolancey, the Lyonnais Chef, is truer to his native cooking that he is to the imperatives of international hotel practice. His lack of fancy is remarkable. Flavours are confidently unexaggerated. Scallops with white truffle and balsamic vinegar are excellent. Cannelloni is stuffed with a light spinach and herb mixture sauced with a vegetable jus …” We’re up for a bit of channelling John Updike’s character Rabbit. We’re running, always running, into the light, that eternally focused light.

Meanwhile, there’s a narcissistic golden rabbit on the loose in County Tyrone.