“Well, that’s just great,” my husband grumbled under his breath as we trundled towards the A12, homeward bound after a night out.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ribbed, guessing it was the fact he could see traffic cones being lifted and put in place on the slip road ahead (he hates diversions, doesn’t everyone?).
“Whenever we find somewhere really really good to eat, it’s so far away. Can’t we just, I don’t know, airlift the pub back home with us?”
Sigh. Well, you can’t win them all.
The pub in question was The White Hart Inn on Mersea (West Mersea to be exact).
After 10 years of sitting unloved, the inn was snapped up by the folk behind the much-respected and revered Sun Inn in Dedham, and Church Street Tavern in Colchester, and has been transformed – standing out like a newly polished gem along the island’s main street.
Mersea has a magical quality – one I’ve enjoyed since I was a tot. I had many an adventure flying kites, eating slabs of cake and sandwiches, and exploring the craggy shoreline on the eastern side as a kid. As an adult, it’s the seafood, and glowing amber waters at sunset that lure me back.
And now Mersea has another feather to its bow, because we’ll surely be returning (and very soon, despite it being an hour door-to-door from our house), and likely staying in one of the rooms.
We arrive early mid-week, a few days after launch night, to a trickle of glamorously-dressed locals winding their way into the pub, via the spacious outdoor dining terrace.
Clad like a New England beach house, in off-cream, the exterior of The White Hart is twee and charming, giving little away of what lies within.
And that is a staggeringly cavernous dining space, with a pitched ceiling, modern pendant lighting, dining booths and banquettes, and a genteel aqua and sage colour scheme.
There are nods to the water (which is just a moment’s walk away). Brittany-esque striped linens. Pastel-shaded menus harking back to vintage seaside posters.
And stonking menus they are too. The drinks list highlighting local beers and interesting wines – many by the glass or, pleasingly, by carafe.
For drivers, there’s a wide selection of Fever Tree tonics, Mother Root’s tangy ginger drink, and kombucha as well as the usuals.
Mr J’s Island Bitter, made, as implied, on Mersea Island, is a soft, malty easy drinker with just a pop of bitterness.
And my Cuvee Marine Dom de Menard slides down beautifully, being bright on the nose with white grapefruit and a hint of peach, opening out on tasting with stone fruits, and a lingering sherbetty tang of mango.
As we try to whittle down our choices, there’s very good focaccia bread, with pots of fruity olive oil, and a delectable tapenade for dipping. Honestly, if they sold it in jars I’d snap it up!
I begin with a bowl of deep, savoury, almost sweet, warm dashi broth, with chestnut-hued nuggets of soft smoked eel, al dente leeks, and a buttery, chilled kombu custard freckled with caviar. A hot and cold combination that gives the old palate food for thought, being all at once comforting, rich, and sparky. There is though, just a tad too much custard. Once the eel and leeks are savoured, nowt is left to scoop it up with.
We’d been advised our other plate of chicken and pork terrine, was something “a bit different” by staff. Its point of difference is that, rather than arriving at the table as a cold hunk of meat, the terrine has been cubed, battered and fried. Each one bursts open under a knife to show off tender shards of meat, leaving a sheen of juices on the plate to mop up. A mustardy puree, smoky, almost bacon-like egg dressing, and a tumble of pickles set this starter on fire.
And now I pause. To remember, quite honestly, without a doubt, the best seafood dish I've eaten to date.
The plate, of gently coloured plaice, buttery caper sauce, split dill oil, potatoes and a smattering of brackish samphire appears pretty enough. Simple. But pretty. But, my God, the taste. The texture.
This plaice has been cooked with the deftness only a very skilled chef can pull off. The flesh of the fish is soft as the just-poached white of an egg. Tucked within is an insanely-good, slightly spicey, café de Paris mousse, made with plaice trimmings.
A dish I could eat over and over and over again, and never tire of. I am begging you, if you go here and it’s on the menu – order it!
The downside of the plaice is it does rather make our other plate, of rare breed sirloin steak, pale in comparison – even though this too is exemplary.
The flamed steak’s fatty heart and edges have been rendered to melting point. Mushrooms are chopped finely and dosed with herbs and plenty of seasoning (rather than being a rubbery afterthought). In place of the omnipresent hard-as-you-like half a tomato, the kitchen has introduced a soft, caramelised onion shell, filled with tomatey-braised beef and melting blue cheese. And, on the side, a ‘bucket’ of salty fries. Oh, not forgetting a punchy peppercorn sauce. Very nice too.
Unsurprisingly, despite the generosity of our previous courses, there’s room for pudding. Mr J raves about the barrels of whiskey and raspberry parfait on his side of the table, accompanied by crumbled oat biscuit, fresh berries, and a slick of Whiskey Sour glaze.
But I think it’s my own pud that takes the prize for innovation. It is, I think, their lighter, fresher take on that perennial British classic, the trifle. There’s a camp who get positively riled up when chefs start ‘mucking about’ with recipes so deeply ingrained in our cooking culture. I am not in this camp. And I applaud this refreshingly not-too-sweet homage to the strawberry.
From the bottom, my spoon finds a zippy, almost fizzy party of poached rhubarb and fresh, daintily cut strawberries, tumbled with a dollop or two of mint puree. Over this, a couple of spoons of toasted almonds, a ‘blanket’ of soft strawberry jelly, and, as a final flourish, a rectangle of deep-fried custard, which collapses over the whole thing, reminding me of the soothing, nursery puds and fried custards of Spain. Just gorgeous.
We leave The White Hart mightily impressed, and singing its praises well into the weekend a few days later. Good wine and beer. Food the likes of which I usually encounter in three AA Rosette restaurants. Genial service. A big, open, buzzing dining room. And a short walk from the wilds of West Mersea’s shoreline.
Get yourself a table immediately!
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