EATING OUT

A seafront seafood h aven in Brigh ton triggers a deliciously welcome trip down memory lane

Brighton, on the first searing day of summer. And as we wander down the hill, dodging skateboards and electric scooters alike, there’s a merry spring in our step. In the distance, the Channel glitters beguilingly, while beneath the fug of chip fat, candy floss and fag smoke, is the bracing tang of salty sea air.

Sure, there are prettier resorts, and more salubrious streets, but despite the tourist tat and faded grandeur, I love the place. Anyway, it’s half-term, and my son Freddy’s first visit, and our only dilemma is whether we eat first, then hit the arcades. Or blast a few zombies before lunch.

Greed, as ever, wins out. And so we stroll down to the seafront, and The Salt Room. Here, in the most civilised of rooms, with the most civilised of staff, we slurp Maldon oysters, bracingly briny, and gaze out over the old iron bones of the old West Pier.

Starters show a kitchen of some talent. A snowy pile of pristinely fresh crab, lovingly picked, sits in a puddle of refined ajo blanco, all elegantly soft, almond-scented whisper. There are small cubes of sharp apple, and slivers of radish,

Plump scallops, fat prawns, squid: this is a feast to sate Neptune

adding fresh bite and acidity to a truly subtle dish. Seabass crudo is equally assured, the slivers of sweet fish wearing charred peach, avocado and a decent jalapeño kick. Both are far more than mere pretty plates.

Things get a little less refined, but no less joyous, with the ‘surfboard’, which is not, thank god, served on some Rip Curl longboard, rather a large white plate of char-grilled, garlic-butter-drenched generosity; plump scallops, fat prawns to be undressed and devoured; curls of deep-fried squid, a surfeit of mussels. The langoustines may be a little woolly, but this is a feast to sate Neptune. Brighton is always a fine place to eat, and The Salt Room is up there with the best.

After lunch, we wander down to the Palace Pier. It’s hardly changed since my youth. We blast those zombies, waste two-pence pieces on the cash cascade, eat hot, sugary doughnuts and, miracle of miracles, actually win a toy on the grabber machine. ‘I like Brighton,’ says Freddy as we trudge back to the station. Me too, my boy, me too.

About £40 a head. The Salt Room, 106 King’s Road, Brighton; saltroom-restaurant.co.uk

What better to accompany the tang of salty summer sea air than bracingly briny Maldon oysters?