The Independent Magazine - Tracey Macleod
For Metcalfe’s first solo venture he has headed south, and is cooking modern British food for modern Brighton people
Crest of a Wave.
Cheaper housing than London, friendlier locals and now, finally, quality dining. Tracey Macleod tries not to be eaten up with envy at Seven Dials in Brighton.
One of the perennial complaints of restaurateurs outside London is that it’s difficult for them to get coverage in the national press. The chef/proprietor of Seven Dials in Brighton, Sam Metcalfe has had no such problem, thanks to a CV bristling with stints in fashionable London kitchens, from the Belvedere in Holland Park to the Michelin-starred Pied a Terre, by way of The Groucho Club. For Metcalfe’s first solo venture he has headed south, and is cooking modern British food for modern Brighton people.
My lunch guest Marina has recently joined their ranks trading her one-bedroom flat in London for four floors of Regency Terrace. And boy, is she pleased about it. “The people here are so friendly” she raved. Our neighbourhood is like one big happy family. And everything’s so much cheaper!” I tried to interrupt her eulogy by asking her to cast an expert eye over the Seven Dials wine list- she works in the wine trade. “Well it’s incredibly cheap” she began. “I mean you’d never get this range of wines for the prices in London.” Yes, yes, I get the picture, I snapped, snatching back the menu.
Even Marina has to admit that Brighton isn’t oversupplied with interesting, adventurous restaurants (though apparently there are loads of really great brasseries, blah blah blah). So she was delighted to discover Seven Dials, occupying a corner-site building opposite Dyke Road- no Brighton in-jokes please. The wedge-shaped dining room was instantly appealing, with sunlight pouring in through tall windows on both sides, and dramatic blood-red oil paintings adding character to the conventionally fashionable scheme of dark wood and brown leather.
In fact the only incongruous note in the room was the pale pine of two gleaming new highchairs specially purchased in honour of our visit (“You’ve given me a reason to go out and get them” said the friendly cha who took our booking). Given the conformity of modern restaurant design, some enterprising manufacturer could surely clean up by making special baby chairs in cherry wood veneer and chestnut leather, possibly with a little etched glass tray around the edge. The Seven Dials menu strikes a balance between crowd pleasers- char-grilled rib-eye steak with wild mushrooms, for example- and slightly more challenging dishes, such as grilled Spatchcock quail on celeriac coleslaw, or marinated rabbit loin with broad bean pie. Prices are fixed at £18.50 for two courses £21.50 for three, and there’s also a good value set-lunch menu for £10.
While our junior companions got stuck into bowls of vegetable puree, voluntarily whizzed up by chef, and destined to form a sticky mulch over his floor, we applied ourselves to the adult lines. Veal sweetbreads came pan-fried to caramelised crispness, their distinctive aerated texture taking on the stronger flavours of char-grilled baby leek and a salad dressed with just enough truffle oil not to be overwhelming. A salad of shredded confit duck was slightly underpowered, but a sprinkling of chopped gherkin and a warm balsamic dressing boosted its credentials.
Marina was tempted to follow her duck with rabbit but decided that might be a little too Disney. Her eventual choice of pan-fried scallops and black pudding was the star of our lunch- the juicy flesh of the scallops set off beautifully by the melting softness of the black pudding, and given added zing by a vibrant puree of garden peas. My decorously rolled fillets of poached plaice were underseasoned, and gained most of their interest from a saffron-scented broth, laced with mussels and tiny cubes of tomato; thin home-made egg noodles were fine, but I was glad of an extra dish of mashed potato to soak up the aromatic broth.
A carpeting of toys and, eventually, the infants themselves joined the vegetable puree on the floor, but we encountered no hint of reproach from our sunny waitress, whose smile not only reached her eyes, but threatened to engulf her whole face. Like the ideal neighbourhood restaurant, Seven Dials seemed to extend an equally warm welcome to singletons popping in a closing time as to us three course stalwarts. Three o’clock came and went without any sign of impatience to hurry us away. Still as Marina was keen to point out, “that’s Brighton for you; the restaurants are so child-friendly here!” Her dessert of pan-fried caramelised pineapple served the dual purpose of gluing her mouth shut and putting a smile on her face. Of my own pudding, all that needs to be said is that crème-caramel is not a natural pairing with rhubarb, in the way that orange juice isn’t a natural pairing with toothpaste.
With a couple of glasses of wine and service, we paid around £70 – which, if Marina is to be believed, could practically buy you a nice studio overlooking the sea. Despite some inconsistencies in our meal, we left brimming over with warm feelings for Seven Dials. And best of all, this family- funded enterprise has opened in what used to be a branch of Burger King. One down, a couple of hundred still to go.