Suffolk

‘On the left, just before the turn off to the UFO site’. In the middle of nowhere that means, but with directions as intriguing as these (not to mention plaudits coming out of their ears) who could resist the porcine charms of a bit of Unruly Pigging. Sadly, no little green men the day we trotted into town but this area of the Suffolk & Essex Coast & Heaths National Landscape (a name as descriptive as it is long and unpoetic) is certainly the sort of wild and lonely place that ‘Visitors’ might choose. The reality is, of course, a little more prosaic: a great gastropub just outside Woodbridge. Hardly area 51 ...

A regular in the Estrella top howevermany Gastropubs of the UK and Michelin-lauded, it is pleasingly low-key inside. Avoiding the difficult balance of pub and restaurant (the downfall of many), it votes clearly and decisively for the latter. This is a place to come and eat, a ‘destination’ in fact – which is just as well being on the road to the, albeit very pretty, nowhere of Orford Ness.

Evening service is slick and welcoming even to those of us looking slightly bedraggled and ‘nautical’ from a few nights aboard a Dutch barge moored up the road at Snape. Once we’d divested ourselves of peg-legs and parrots, we snuggled into our booth to watch the show of well-choregraphed staffers dancing lightly between tables holding aloft steaming plates and glittering glasses. 

Don’t be tempted to skip the ‘nibbles’ section. They are the highlights of the show, given as much care and attention as the more showy courses. Good arancini (such a rare phrase), a delightful smoked cod’s roe tartlet, lardo, anchovy butter, all the sort of sweet-nothings you want whispered of an evening. We barely resisted ordering the whole darn lot. Sacrificing the terrines and veloutés of the starters, we dived straight into a main course of 40-day aged sirloin tagliata with bone-marrow sauce and double-triple-quadruple-cooked chips. Broccoli, black garlic, smoked almond and pecorino represented a half-hearted but utterly delicious stab at veggie health. The chorizo and 'nduja mac 'n cheese made no such pretence. Ditto a dark-and-dangerous choc tart that went so well with the last sips of San Silvestro Piemontese Barbera.

Reviewing my notes from a Sunday-lunch visit sometime later, I’m alarmed to see that I plumped for pretty much the same again. Professionalism obviously being trumped by muscle-memory (or its gastro equivalent), we set about a selection of oysters (accompanied by a nice Catalonian white) followed by an enormous platter of roast rib eye, 50-day aged this time. Mercifully plain-ish veggies came with more of that wonderful bone-marrow concoction (now, appropriately, a gravy rather than a sauce) and an enormous tureen of exceptional ‘cauli cheese’. There was an option to upgrade the Yorkshire pud to an ox-cheek-stuffed version … hardly an option. Nice to see a peach melba on the pud menu but we’d been defeated by that point so it remained a whisp of a thought. Likewise the pukka cheese board.

Left-overs made a doggy bag of distinction: two roast-beef sarnies the next day and scraps for the dog (who’d already enjoyed the bowl of water and plate of treats presented by the slightly ‘morning-after-the-night-before’ staff on arrival). Two- and four-legged guests left replete and happy.