The Sportsman

Each time I returned, The Sportsman got better, even though the
bar was pretty high in the first place. Stephen (he’s one of the very
few chefs I know IRL, as our internet chums would say, so I feel I
can call him by his first name) is the classic autodidact, pushing his
creativity and enthusiasms further and further, reaching forever for
some kind of perfection. He’s a magpie, and a super-creative one:
he travels to the world’s greatest restaurants, absorbing their
influences and – I’m aware I run the risk of coming across like an ‘X
Factor’ judge here – making them very much his own. His
‘Rockpool’: the clearest, sparkling broth, rippling with the umami of
dashi, in which bob the sweetest fruits of the sea, both animal and
vegetal. Or a play on René Redzepi’s notorious ‘Flowerpot’, but
entirely Kentish. Or Michel Bras’ ‘Gargouillou de jeunes légumes’
reinvented as ‘Salmagundi’, a horticultural extravaganza of seasonal
vegetables and freshly picked herbs. He’s not one of those chefs you
suspect might need to get out more. But in recent years he has
drawn his horns back in, thrilling to the joys of simplicity and locality.
Stephen’s kitchen now delivers food that tastes quite bracingly of
itself, with a revelatory purity and brightness. It’s the sort of cooking
that looks simple, but is, in fact, fiendishly difficult to achieve.