The Dorset

Walk into the Dorset and you’re transported into a completely different world. Unfortunately that world seems to be situated somewhere just off the M25. Shiny varnished wood, pot plants and two blackboards with the menu of the day written down in faux chalk. A silver lift going up to the hotel accommodation upstairs, and piped music. The lads behind the bar are wearing black uniforms with the name of the joint written on their shirts. Have we beamed down into a chain restaurant in Basildon? No, the place is owned by Harveys, a stone’s throw from the brewery. How strange.

It’s just gone midday, and we’re the first eaters. They haven’t got a cigarette machine: there’s no shop near enough to justify leaving my dining partner alone so I decide to grin and bear it. I order a Harveys, and a pork dish from the daily specials board. When it arrives I can see there’s been some thought put into the placement of the meat (taking the central position on the large white plate) new potatoes (located outside the pork in three symmetrical clusters of three) and the broccoli, beans and carrots (in the gaps between the potatoes). A green belt, if you like, around the pork. The vegetables are clearly organic and taste like vegetables should taste. The meat is tender, its blandness set off nicely by the succulent sauce. Little slices of apple add a sweet afterthought onto the palate. A thumbs up for the food, then, and they keep a good pint, so I have two. As for the décor? I was happy to get through the door, back into Lewes. AL