I didn’t set out to review South Street Kitchen. Not at first; not even at second. I had a booking at another Dorset restaurant, but after schlepping where the train lines don’t go, I turn up to find out they were having a nice holiday. Panic-stricken, and with a pre-paid B&B, I cast about for another suitable case for treatment, ending up in a tiny place that plunges me into such an existential gloom that I shall never write about it. They seem like lovely people, but if Samuel Beckett ever went into the restaurant business, it might end up looking like this. To review these poor souls – with their flat fizz, their Christmas decorations still up, bottles of brown sauce and Brobdingnagian “tasting menu” – would be like taking a piledriver to an ant. So, no, don’t even ask me.
Gibbering by now, I hit the foodie grapevine like a dervish. It leads me to an outfit in Gillingham that’s doing a startling imitation of something you’d find in Haggerston or the Northern Quarter, rather than just off a high street much given to charity shops and the kind of pub that holds meat raffles. It’s hidden away, but you can smell it before you see it: a seductive veil of fragrant smoke hangs in the air.
The exterior is painted darkest, stormcloud grey, with nothing to brighten it other than a large, stencilled cleaver. Pure dead butch. Inside, too, has a certain swagger: a long, windowless space, all huge blackboards and filament lightbulbs, lined by button-back banquettes, much of it inherited from previous incumbent, The Shed, whose owners returned to their previous baby, The Old Inn in Holton. Beardy chaps lug hefty bagged chunks of meat to the open kitchen at the end of the room. Enormous, juicy burgers are served pinioned with steak knives, cocktails come in jars (I love their version of a Moscow Mule, made with marmalade vodka). The menu is US-accented smokehouse in flavour.
Wait! Stop! Come back… You might roll your eyes at that bunch of inner-city restaurant tropes, but for this part of the world, it’s as radical as a pontiff in stiletto-heeled pumps. Plus, these guys know what they’re doing: the meat that’s packed into a fat burrito is local brisket, slow-smoked for 12 hours until it has a wonderfully smoky, languorous quality without losing any of its beefy substance. Piled on top are sparky green and red salsas, and sour cream. On the side, proper potato skins; by proper, I mean not simply peelings, but ripped from the flesh of actual baked potatoes and deep-fried: something I haven’t seen for years. Proust may have had his madeleines, but these – crisp, earthy, alluringly oily – are doing it for me.
There are flatbreads, cooked in a wood-fired oven; mine is laden with smoked chicken, chilli and salad leaves, all slicked with good oil. And a somewhat random fritto misto served in a sheet of scrunched-edge greaseproof paper: prawns, calamari, whitebait. Perhaps this could have been fried for a shorter time at a higher heat, but I forgive them for providing homemade aïoli and a chargrilled lime for seasoning. And the chips – from a billycan, like we’re all I’m-A-Celebrities – are blinding: double-fried (but not into impenetrable roastie-style logs à la Heston), crisp and lacy outside, floury and fluffy when bitten into, scattered with salt and parsley. These chips are, quite simply, glorious.
What’s particularly refreshing about South Street Kitchen is that it’s a local place for local people. I don’t mean that in a sneery, League Of Gentlemen way, but it’s entirely untroubled by tiresome “aiming for the stars” or “chef’s philosophies”. Nor are there desserts strewn with foraged weeds or a kitchen full of dehydrators and Thermomixes.
If you insist on getting all fancy, they offer a “chef’s tasting table” at dinner – five courses, including the likes of pigs’ cheek yakitori with Asian slaw, with matching wines. The place buzzes with appreciative customers: families with small children, grizzled ramblers, all being looked after with equal care and attention by smiley staff.
Yes, the menu might not be breaking any ground (unless you count venison sushi), but it’s all done with an eye on the things that matter: good produce, proper smoking technique, a sense that they’re genuinely pleased to see you. My initial plans may have been spectacularly derailed, but we find the sweet spot in the end.
• South Street Kitchen, South Street, Gillingham, Dorset, 01747 824648. Open lunch Tues-Sun, noon-2pm, dinner Tues-Sat, 6-9pm. About £25 a head, plus drinks and service.
Food 6/10
Atmosphere 7/10
Value for money 8/10
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