Sussex Gastro Pubs Series: The Lewes Snowdrop Reborn

Lately I've been trying to expand the circuit of pubs, cafes and restaurants that we frequent, rather than sticking to the same old places. There have been a few good discoveries this year, though I'm afraid we haven't branched out as much as I'd hoped. So last Sunday, in an attempt to broaden our horizons before the end of the year, we re-visited an old haunt that had gone gradually downhill in recent years but was reported to be back on form.

The Snowdrop in Lewes was a favourite back in my Sixth Form college days, when it was a bit of a crusty/biker/wicca hang-out, serving hearty vegetarian food and pints of Snakebite and black. I hadn't been for years until I started working down the Cliffe end of Lewes earlier this year and popped in to find it a shadow of its former self and barely able to scrape together a sandwich, let alone a decent Sunday lunch. I am delighted to say that this sorry situation has now been rectified by the pub's latest landlords, who have restored the place to its former glory - albeit with a few (pleasant) changes.

In place of the old bric-a-brac stage-set style decor, the inside of the Snowdrop now sports an array of homely canal boat style furnishings, while the exterior has been painted in a fetching shade of pale green. It is back to being a freehouse for the first time in ten years, serving an impressive range of local ales, Bavarian beers and posh ciders on tap, as well as a good selection of bottled booze.

But the most exciting development at the all-new Snowdrop is the all-new menu. The veggie roast I had there on Sunday was one of the best I've ever eaten at a pub - only my own home cooked roast would top it, and even then it would be a close thing. The nutroast was moist and flavoursome and packed with tasty ingredients like capers and sunflower seeds. There was a wide selection of veg including red cabbage, parsnips, peas, broccoli, roast potatoes and cauliflower, all cooked to perfection and packed with flavour. The only (very slight) criticism I could possibly raise was that I would have liked more of the delicious gravy - but then that is probably just me being greedy.

At most Sussex country pubs you'd wait at least half an hour, sometimes up to an hour, for Sunday lunch. Ours came in about ten minutes, even though the place was bustling. Unlike the previous landlords, the staff were friendly and chatty and justifiably proud of their efforts to transform the pub from seedy dive to cosy gastropub.

I'm looking forward to going back to the Snowdrop again for the C&M Christmas lunch next week, when hopefully I'll get to see what the upstairs looks like these days. Let's just pray that my colleagues behave themselves during the festivities, because I'd hate to get barred so soon after re-discovering this once again fabulous joint.

Another Year, Another Mixtape: The Annual Christmas Compilation

With the end of every year comes a string of essential rituals - some imposed by religious and historical tradition, some of our own making. For me one of the best year-end ceremonies is to sit down between Christmas and New Year's Eve to go through all our photographs from the year and put the best ones into an album - something we've been doing as a couple almost since the beginning.

Another rather more self-indulgent custom is the making of the annual 'Ant & Ro' CD - a compilation of our favourite and significant music from the year, usually dominated by bands we've seen live. These are distributed to friends and family who visit over the festive period and sometimes posted to other musically minded comrades.

As our tastes have grown more and more eclectic over the years, it's become trickier to compile a fluent mixtape of accessible music. Whilst my motivation is to share cool new discoveries and inspire musical exploration, I appreciate that not everyone cares as much as I do for the more esoteric Freakzone-ish end of the listening spectrum.

A couple of days ago I started thinking about this year's mix and jotting down some ideas for what might go into it. The hardest part has been whittling it down to just one CD's worth of tunes, from what has been an outstanding twelve months of musical enlightenment; what with four festivals and plenty of local gigs in between, my musical cup literally floweth over with bands that I want to shout about.

The other difficulty is actually tracking down recorded versions of unsigned material, which usually involves various emails to band members and ordering homemade CDs recorded in bedrooms and sold from dubious looking websites, hoping that they'll materialise. But this is all part of the ritual, and gradually the mixtape has started to take shape. It's not 100% finished yet, but what with the impending festive frivolities, I may not get another chance to share my annual compilation here.

The above YouTube playlist contains all the tracks that I could find in a reasonable format, but by the nature of the platform is of varying quality. Below is a complete tracklisting with download links and an Amazon preview widget that lets you listen to snippets from each song (if you want to hear more, go to the band website). The only one missing from the widget (because it's not available from Amazon) is Quack Quack, which I strongly recommend you listen to here (but only if you are into rambling energetic contemporary prog).

Ant & Ro 2009
1) Charlie Darwin by The Low Anthem from the album Oh My God Charlie Darwin
2) There is No Light by Wildbirds & Peacedrums from the album The Snake
3) Purée Hiphop by GaBlé from the album 7 Guitars with a Cloud of Milk
4) I Always Hang Myself with the Same Rope by Birdeatsbaby from the album Here She Comes-a-Tumblin'
5) Stone in my Shoe by Boo Hewerdine from the album Toybox no.2
6) The Wanting Comes In Waves/Repaid by The Decemberists from the album The Hazards Of Love
7) No Flies On Me (Ballad Of The Jam Head) by The Witch And The Robot from the album On Safari
8) Black Tambourine by Thomas Truax from the album Songs From The Films Of David Lynch
9) Kathy Ray by Joe Gideon & the Shark from the album Harum Scarum
10) Beggar's Prayer by Emilana Torrini from the album Me and Armini
11) Boat Behind by Kings of Convenience from the album Declaration of Dependence
12) Manty by Sebastien Tellier from the album Sexuality
13) Frida Found A Friend (Live) by Efterklang from the album Performing Parades
14) In the Upper Room: Dance V by Philip Glass form the album Dancepieces
15) Aeon by Antony & the Johnsons from the album The Crying Light
16) Mars by Quack Quack, available from Run of the Mill Records
17) Night Terror by Laura Marling from the album Alas, I Cannot Swim
18) Join the Dots by Tim and Sam's Tim and the Sam Band with Tim and Sam from the album Put Your Slippers On

If you would like a copy of the final CD, leave me a comment and I'll see if I've got one spare at the end of the festive season.

Sussex Gastro Pubs Series: The Lion & Lobster Has an Upstairs (Who Knew?)

Things are always changing in Brighton & Hove - it's one of those towns where cafes come and go and pubs change hands in the blink of an eye. It can be disconcerting to discover that somewhere you've known and loved has changed beyond recognition, but then again, sometimes you can be pleasantly surprised.

Last night I went on a nostalgic walkabout with Jo around some of my old haunts in Hove borders - the Cooper's Cask (which hasn't changed a bit) and the Lion Lobster (which has). Back when we were living in Bedford Place, the Lion & Lobster was our local and has remained a favourite watering hole whenever we're in those parts.

It's been over a year since I last popped in for a scoop and I was surprised to discover some substantial developments had occurred in that time. Having already been extended to include a row of cosy booths off the back room, the pub has now doubled in size with an upstairs bar and restaurant and even an upstairs beer garden. The sectioned off cosy restaurant - with its higgledy-piggledy pictures and homely lamps - has the atmosphere of a private members' club, and though we were too late to sample the standard cuisine, we did indulge in a pizza from the late night menu (available til 2am Fridays & Saturdays) so that we could sit in the swanky bit. I'm looking forward to going back for a proper meal in due course - but do let me know what it's like if you have eaten there yourself.

Photo of the Lion & Lobster by Koschi on Flickr / CC BY-NC 2.0

A Rainy/Sunny Weekend in South Devon

Having tried living in Sussex (Brighton, then Beeding) for a short while last year, my dear friend Harriet decided she needed to be somewhere more rural and departed for the rugged and windswept South Devon coast. She bagged a job at the Field Studies Centre in Slapton, and now resides on site, just a stone's throw from Slapton Ley National Nature Reserve (it's the biggest lake on the South coast, you know) and the nearby sparse shingle beach and rocky shore.

Now I love the countryside, but I could never possibly live somewhere so remote (unless of course I had a little pied-à-terre in Town as well). I've always loved Sussex for its pleasing balance between the bucolic and the urban and have grown to take for granted having certain amenities on tap. Knowing this about me, Harriet has always been at pains to stress the abundance of activities on offer in her new adopted home territory in an attempt to coax me away from my cosy townie existence for a visit.

Last weekend I finally succummed and went to see what all the fuss was about. I've been to Devon many times before - on childhood holidays and camping with Ant in the early days before we could afford jaunts to California and the like - but never to this particular area. As we were driving down the A303 on Friday night in the howling wind and rain, we began to wish we'd arranged something sooner and come in the summer months like any sane person would.

Opening the curtains to reveal a stunning panoramic sea view from our cosy B&B the next morning, we watched a lone dog walker struggling against the elements and resigned ourselves to a weekend of indoor activities. The first thing Harriet did when we arrived in Slapton was to take us down to the beach. In the rain. And the wind. Oh and did I mention the rain? Luckily I had my wellies and waterproof with me, but this didn't stop me from getting wet knees when the waves crashed up more energetically than anticipated. After a "walk" that basically involved us staggering about getting soaked for five minutes, we decide to cut our losses and head for civilisation.

The nearest 'happening' place to Slapton is Totnes, which is a lot like Lewes, only slightly less haughty. Inland, the weather was less severe and a few patches of blue sky had even started appearing. I was right at home amongst the endless hippy shops and lush organic delis, but my ultimate shopping nirvana materialised when I followed a glimpse of sequins spied through a dark doorway into a vintage clothing and costumery cavern the like of which I have only ever dreamed of before. I could easily have spent several hours and many hundreds of pounds indulging my fancy dress habit, but there was a carpe to diem and lunch to be had.

You can't go to Devon without having at least one cream tea and so when we found ourselves in Dartmouth later that day, we made it a priority to find one. We also took the opportunity to stock up on local cider and ale, some of which we drank by the pretty riverside right there and then, as day sloped into evening. Back in Slapton, Harry's boyfriend Ben cooked us up a hearty pie, made with hand-gathered chestnuts. When the booze supply started thinning out we walked around the corner to the pub for a scoop or two before closing and found ourselves surrounded by a bizarre mix of rowdy university students and chatty locals.

Thankfully I was not at all hungover the next day, because Harriet had optimistically booked us onto a guided geology walk at 10am. I haven't been on an organised walk since the days of Girl Guides night hikes but clearly they are popular in those parts, because we weren't the only group assembling in the car park in Prawle. Our enthusiastic steward was flagging down anyone in hiking boots, asking them "are you here for the AONB walk?" to which one grumpy lady disdainfully replied "no, I hike alone". She didn't know what she was missing, because not only was it a stunning tour of a truly dramatic bit of coastline, but I actually learned a lot about rocks along the way.

It had been a packed weekend of activities as promised, and I was sad to have to go home again so soon. I'm looking forward to going back in the spring when I'm assured there will be even more natural delights to see, perhaps even a seal or two. If you are passing down that way any time soon, I can highly recommend Frogwell B&B in Strete, who were friendly and accommodating and entirely free from chintz. And if you happen to be sinking a pint at the Tower pub in Slapton, say hello to Harry from me - because she's bound to be in there.

* * * * * * *

Unfortunately my camera was stolen just after we got back, complete with all the film I'd shot over the weekend. So the above photo of Slapton Ley comes courtesy of me'n thedogs' on Flickr / CC BY 2.0

The Best of Breakfast in Bed

I was reading the latest post on Simon Hickson's excellent blog, Mummified Fox, when the idea struck me (or rather, I shamelessly stole it) to do a roundup of my favourite posts from the last four years of my own blog. I set up Breakfast in Bed around this time of year in 2005 and finally got round to publishing my first post in January 2006. It makes me slightly sad to think of all those stories languishing in the archive, so I have compiled a list of what I consider to be the best ones in the hope that they will be read and enjoyed once again. So without further ado, here they are:

March 2006 - I Love Taj. A hymn to my favourite Brighton food shop.

May 2006 - Neil Innes at Komedia. One of the first ever Breakfast in Bed gig reviews, this write-up was also published (in a slightly edited version) in the Independent.

May 2007 - Djinn of the Tin. A bizarre and very Brighton episode in which I acted the part of genie to a random stranger via SMS.

August 2007 - Thoughts Like Bubbles. How I went from melancholy to philosophical to down right jolly all in one day through the power of people watching.

January 2008 - An Obsession Explored. A classic fancy dress adventure with me as Karen Carpenter and a look back at how the whole costume fetish began.

February 2008 - Life Through a Lens. My journey from film to digital photography.

July 2008 - A Cup of Tea and a Cake. Some of my favourite places in the world to go for a freshly baked bun and a brew.

November 2008 - A Smile Restored. The end of a fairly miserable and physically painful chapter of my life.

May 2009 - San Francisco, You Stole My Heart. Bit of an epic this one - all about our wonderful holiday in California.

August 2009 - Bring Back Trevor & Simon. A gleeful "welcome back" to my ultimate comedy heroes, whose genius podcasts have been tickling me rotten these last few months.

September 2009 - A Sparkly, Spangly Place. The best music festival of 2009 was undoubtedly End of the Road. Good food, great company, outstanding music and sparkly woodland groves made for a brilliant finale to the summer.

So that's it - some of the highlights from an eventful few years as brought to you by Breakfast in Bed. Thanks for reading and do stay tuned for further adventures coming very soon.

A Family Holiday in Brittany

When you are five, life is a confusing mix of alluring fantasy and half-learned reality. Little wonder then that until witnessing proof to the contrary, my little nephew was convinced that sharks did not exist - a fact about which he corrected me repeatedly whenever the subject was raised. Presumably he perceived them as a mythological creature in the realms of dragons and unicorns - the likes of which he is now emphatically grown up enough to refute.

It was the most charming experience to observe my nephew's little face as we entered the shark tank at Saint-Malo Grand Aquarium during a recent holiday in Brittany. "Wow" he exclaimed - much as one might upon encountering a real live pixie during a walk in the woods - "sharks really do exist". The magic of the moment was magnified by its resemblance to a certain scene in The Box of Delights in which the hero Kay Harker (played in the classic 80s BBC version by my nephew's father, my brother Devin) cries "A phoenix! I've really seen a phoenix!"

This was one brilliant moment in a holiday full of memorable firsts: for us, the first time taking Isaac away, for him the first time properly abroad (Guernsey family trip notwithstanding), plenty of new foods sampled and the beginnings of new language skills introduced. It was a completely different kind of holiday for Ant and me, who usually spend our days thinking about where to eat in the evening and our evenings eating and drinking too much. Because there was no chance of a lie in and I was struggling with a grotty cold for the first few days, we tended to be tucked up in our four poster with a good book before 10 o'clock.

The medieval cottage we rented in Dinan - much like the town itself - was like something out of a fairy tale. A huge stone fireplace, crooked beams and a rugged spiral staircase all made for a wonderful atmosphere that infused our days and nights. Isaac was in awe of his huge attic playroom and looked tiny curled up in the corner in his bed at night. Apart from the odd drunken student staggering loudly back towards the Youth Hostel at night, it was serenely quiet - despite being in the heart of town. I relished the lack of television and internet connection which gave us the rare opportunity to actually read books and have lengthy conversations.

Besides the awesome aquarium adventure, we explored many of Brittany's other delights including Dinan's castle ramparts and picturesque riverside, the sprawling sandy beaches of Saint-Malo and Dinard and the rockier coast further West. Isaac seemed to grow in confidence as the days went on - swinging form the trees in a fantastic adventure park, clambering over rocks at the seaside, ordering his own pudding - 'une glace du chocolat' - in French at a restaurant and steering the little motor boat we hired to explore the river. There was so much inspiration in the way of castles and knights and boats and pirates and the like, that we barely heard mention of the dreaded Spiderman or Optimus Prime and instead fostered Isaac's growing interest in all things Asterix.

While we were entertaining their Son across the Channel, Isaac's mum and dad (my brother and his girlfriend) were enjoying their first holiday away alone since he came along - in the pictureqsue but apparently sodden Isle of Mull. So I like to think I can take at least part credit for the engagement that ensued as a result of this rare romantic break - about which you can read here. Congratulations to the future Mr & Mrs Stanfield - and thanks for the loan of your boy, he really was a treat.

Kings of Convenience at the De La Warr Pavilion

Last week Ant and I went one of our rare midweek semi-spontaneous date nights, to go and see Kings of Convenience at the De La Warr Pavilion in Bexhill. Unless you have seen the De La Warr, you may wonder why on earth any band would choose to perform in Bexhill of all places, but even before you step inside this striking Art Deco building, you start to appreciate the draw. Ever since its refurbishment in the early noughties, the De La Warr has been attracting illustrious artists from Goldfrapp to the Penguin Cafe Orchestra and is well worth the 45 minunte trip from Brighton.

Kings of Convenience may not be the most challenging of bands, but they win the prize in my eyes as the most soothing; their dulcet harmonies and expert intricate guitar playing are the musical equivalent of morphine. Way back when Ant and I were first living in Brighton we would often kick back with a glass of red and wind down from the trials of London commuting to their 2001 debut album, Quiet is the New Loud. It's up there with Ben & Jason's Emoticons (just available on Spotify by the way) as a sentimental classic of our 'early years' together.

It felt very special to finally see Kings of Convenience live and in such an atmospheric - and acoustically blessed - venue. The band were in good spirits all evening, playfully bantering between songs and telling us tales of their early days and first ever gig in East Sussex. With their permission I captured the above video snippet which - even though it is only recorded on a basic point and shoot - reveals something of their musical artistry. For the full experience, you will have to go and see them for yourselves.

The new Kings of Convenience album, Declaration of Dependence, was released in the UK this week.

Grab Your Glad Rags Honey, It's The Blind Tiger Club!

Brighton clubbing to many people means the garish seafront strip of venues populated by stag and hen parties and scantily clad teens. Fortunately for those of us to whom this scenario is tantamount to torture, we also have the likes of Born Bad, Da Doo Ron Ron, Dynamite Boogaloo, Vive La Fip, Carnivalesque and Balkaneasca to satisfy our boogie cravings. These are all fun nights, but rarely is there anything on the scale of last weekend's Blind Tiger Club - billed as a "backstreet speakeasy".

If the organisers had wanted it to be a truly clandestine event, they presumably wouldn't have advertised it on Facebook, but the idea was a laudable one all the same. The secret location turned out to be the old music library in the North Laine, an internally dilapidated 1920s building on three storeys, recently opened up for creative community events after years of standing disused. I was right at home in the prohibition era dress code - a vintage style for which flat chests and short hair are de rigeur. Being an "any excuse to dress up" kind of town, most people had also entered into the spirit, with an eye-pleasing array of trilby clad dapper gents and feathered up ladies strutting their stuff.

The faded grandeur of the venue gave the night a suitably speakeasy feel, although the (distinctly un-vintage) security staff and festival style outdoor portaloos did detract from the retro vibe slightly. The irrepressible pedant in me was irked to hear the odd burst of more recent (albeit 1950s) music, as if everything before 1960 should be banded together as "the music of yesteryear". On any other occasion I'd be the first to get up and jive, but in this context found it physically impossible to reconcile Rock n Roll with my flapper get-up. There was also no sign of the promised "live magic shows, cabaret, walkabout performance, grand piano and table service". But mild disappointments aside, I was in heaven - throwing myself around to a jolly selection of swing, jazz and big band and employing all sorts of half-remembered dodgy amdram moves.

Each of the three levels maintained a very distinct vibe throughout the night, with most of the action happening down in the wonderfully seedy basement, where all the more danceable bands were playing. Everyone piled down there for the much hyped Correspondents, but I was non-plussed about them and took the opportunity to enjoy the more easygoing atmosphere upstairs. It was there that I discovered The Roulettes, whose somewhat sinister take on the Puppini Sisters' swing-punk schtick made for entertaining listening indeed.

By 5am I was hoary-eyed and footsore, but still bouncing along as I toddled home - accompanied for part of the way by Matty Mo, who'd been working behind the bar. And the swell thing was that despite the excessive absinthe consumption, there was hardly a whiff of hangover the next day. Copacetic.

Photos from The Blind Tiger Club on Flickr.