Boat Drinks

How We Got Here: it’s three o’clock in the morning; one figure is slumped, fully clothed, on the sofa. A second slumps, fully clothed, on the bed - head hanging off the end and feet resting on the pillow. Another has passed out after eating an entire tuna pizza while watching the X Factor results show on catch up, while the fourth listens to the cacophony of snoring and wonders how on earth to piece the night’s events together to capture the joy of a Sunday session while retaining some shreds of dignity for those involved.

Yes, that forlorn fourth figure – with the beginnings of a hangover and an industrial case of heartburn – was me. So here goes…

It had all started twelve hours earlier, at the Boathouse in Christchurch which, as the name suggests, affords views out across The river Stour. We were there for a leisurely lunch and perhaps a drink or two, owing to the fact we all had the unusual prescience to book the following day off work.

It wouldn’t be Sunday without a bloody mary, although the ones served here had horseradish and Tabasco in such sinus-clearing doses my eyes tear up a little when I think about it. Better were the double Hendricks, served in Spanish-style balloon glasses with Fevertree tonic, cucumber and juniper berries.

Wood smoked mackerel with pickled cucumber and horseradish mayo was a simple and unassuming plate of tried and tested flavours that reminded me how much I still love what was a lunchtime staple growing up - although my mum would have chosen the peppered kind and served it with a few carrot sticks, a handful of crisps and maybe a squirt of salad cream.

In contrast, the salmon tartare and smoked trout with sesame and cucumber was a real looker, but what it gained in finesse it seemed to lose in flavour and would have benefited from the same judicious hand with the seasoning that had been let loose on the tomato juice for the bloody marys. 

Scallops were spot on (and should be for nine quid); classically grilled with garlic and parsley and served in the half shell, needing nothing more than a crust or two of bread to dip in their buttery juices.

Sunday afternoon calls for roast beef and their meat while not very pink, was commendably tender and came bathed in generous amounts of good gravy. Cabbage, with bacon and cream, was good, as were the spuds and yorkie. Nothing to worry Mum, but a solid effort. Roast beef also calls for red wine and, after sampling three bottles of it, I can recommend the pinot noir.

The towering Boathouse burger with texas sauce and jalepeno slaw was also more than serviceable; while not up there with the best it was a valiant effort with the well-seasoned meat topped with properly melted cheese and crisp bacon that the photo does scant justice to. They also let me swap normal spuds for fluffy sweet potato fries, which made me very happy.

The lowlight of the afternoon was finding out my favourite, the summer pudding, was off the menu. But they made up some ground by offering sticky toffee pudding instead, and gained another bonus point by letting us swap vanilla ice cream for blackcurrant and clotted cream flavour, The Ewing was close to the 'single wafer-thin mint moment', but still manged to scoff two scoops of passion fruit sorbet to herself.

We also had coffee - in the form of espresso martinis. Three rounds of them. And while they weren't quite a match for my friend Emily J's, a caffeinated cocktail maestro, these were commendable - even if every round came adorned with a confusingly different configuration of straws/coffee beans/cocoa powder decoration. 

At some point, after the Ewing went to visit the loos, a dog - Max the terrier - appeared at our table. Which proved an entertaining distraction, even if he was just as intelligible as we were by that point.  And our waitress, with the patience (and personality) befitting a saint, later turned up in several selfies - after she had kindly cadged a roll up for us from one of the bar staff.

And, as by now it was already well past dinner time, we ordered our first pizza of the evening; a hawaiian for the benefit of the Ewing and the Monkey, washed down with a round of pornstar martinis, complete with champagne shot.

Which lead to calling for the (not unsizable) bill jumping in a taxi (almost accompanied by our new buddy Max) to Walkabout, followed by Jaegerbombs, vodka, Grindr and an abortive attempt to break in to a roof-top party through someone’s kitchen, the Ewing falling asleep, a kebab, a pizza, a group hug with the Ewing’s new friends and a cab back to watch the X Factor on catch-up. Which is right back where our story begins…

Many thanks for the Monkey and Uni for making this story happen. Don't ever change.

Prawns, Steak and Strawberries

Prawns steak and strawberries; a disparate selection of ingredients that sounds like the reply if you make the mistake of asking a five year old what they want for dinner - I still fondly remember my best friend from primary school answering 'smoked salmon' when his mum asked him what he'd like in his daily sandwiches. He was descended from a prime minister, so clearly he had refined tastes.

Lunchboxes aside, I'm still no clearer on the rationale behind the spring set menu being advertised for at the Kings Arms in Christchurch, or even if there was one. But if the combination sounds incongruous, these remain some of my favourite ingredients and my inner-five year old was very excited.

I have eaten at the the restaurant, found in an imposing Georgian building in the centre of the town, before. Although that occasion - with a large group of friends, well lubricated with plenty of wine - ended up with a wedding being crashed, some impromptu magic with a bowl of sugar cubes and an unfortunate incident with a frying pan.

This time was far more staid; a quiet weekday afternoon with just me and the wife and a couple of other tables occupied by ladies wot lunch. We didn't completely pass up on the vino though - cunningly picking a large glass of rose each, to pair with both the seafood and beef and to usher in the beginnings of summer, where having a chilled pink drink in hand in the middle of the day is pretty much the rules.

My starter was the Poole Bay shrimps, described succinctly as 'small prawns with toast'. Like their more famous cousins from Morecambe, these were sweet little commas of crustacean served bathed with their sweet herby juices on hot buttered toast. A simple plate of food that sung through the quality of the local ingredients.

The 'light vegetable crab and ginger and broth with spiced prawn dumplings' was more like the gloopy chicken and sweetcorn soup that comes as part of the meal for one at every old school chinese takeaway - which is no bad thing in my book. It was also mined through with a generous helping of springy little seafood stuffed dumplings. A solid start.

Bavette is one of my favourite cuts of steak although, as Rowley Leigh so succinctly put it, it turns to sisal carpet if overcooked. Here, although it was advertised as being served rare, someone hadn't read to the script and it was pushing past medium when it arrived. No matter, it was a decent piece of meat, served bathed in an even better sauce infused with garlic and thyme.

Unlike the steak, the chips were verging on underdone, although they were just on the right side of pale and interesting and were compared, favourably, to Maccy D's by the Ewing, a connoisseur in such matters. And, although not up to the standards of breadcrumbed onion rings and sauteed mushrooms my mum used to make to go with a steak, the classic watercress and grilled tomato garni were good.

A classic pairing in America, strawberry and rhubarb is still pretty novel combination on these shores. While I can see its potential - sweet berries complimenting the sour rhizomes - here my crumble filling was sadly wan and watery. Thankfully, the dish was redeemed by the crisp, crunchy topping and a masterful strawberry-infused custard, like a kind of grown up angel delight, which I was happy to just spoon from the jug.

Having been spoilt for mille feuille after visiting Jacques Genin in France earlier this year, this strawberry and cream version was always going to have a lot to live up to. And whilst it couldn't scale the dizzy heights of the Parisian pastry master, it was a more than passable effort with commendably flaky pastry, good creme pat and plenty of strawberry sauce.

And yes, while it probably wasn't as much fun without the jaeger bombs and the smuggled boxes of exploding fun snaps, what in life is, and at least I could still remember it the next morning.

You can also catch the menu, alongside the complimentary glass of fizz, during the Christchurch Festival - from 1st to 21st May - at the Christchurch Harbour Hotel. Although the last time we were in town, for the Festival Street Market, I was very happy lazing in the sun with a couple of pints of raspberry cider and a curried lamb pasty.