The Gingerman
Drive West on Sunset to the sea…
The thunk of opening drum and bass from Steely Dan’s 1980 swan song and ode to the Californian lifestyle throb out through the twenty-odd speakers in the spiffy German convertible…
I’m not in Los Angeles but a passenger on the A27, carving through the South Downs after the team have snatched a sketchy added-time point at the Falmer Stadium with a quite beautiful piece of choreography involving McNeill, Vydra and that technically-perfect drive from Hendricks. But after the refereeing/VAR atrocity at Molyneux two weeks previously, I can’t dredge up any sympathy for the home team or supporters, as it’s usually Burnley that gets their pocket picked in the dying moments.
For the second time this year, I’ve observed the spectacle from the lofty perch of the Amex Hospitality Suite, to the right over the away supporters enclosure. The location is a curious decision as it’s rather too tempting for visiting supporters to hurl abuse at this motley collection of home-supporting VIPs and smug nonentities. On this occasion, a band of whey-faced urchins below us spent the match flicking V-signs and making gestures like mixing a vinaigrette in a jam jar to us, oblivious that one of their comrades might have blagged it into the posh seats.
To bag an invite, you need an Amex Black Card and to give it a right spanking on a regular basis or, in my case, know someone who has one and who does just this. Given the obvious privilege, one might expect a certain bonhomie amongst such fortunate souls - regardless of team affiliation - born out of shared gratitude that life has been kind to them.
But no. Committed Seagulls fans in here are a pretty stand-offish bunch as they were on my last visit and attempts to make nice are rebuffed. It might have something to do with the pasting Burnley gave them last time and the larceny of today’s result but, putting it bluntly, it really is only a game. Sorry folks, but I really can’t hold with that Bill Shankly aphorism that “football’s not matter of life & death; it’s a lot more serious than that” and a bit more of the generosity of human spirit from the last verse of Wilfred Owen’s ‘Strange Meeting’ might be in order here, chaps:
“I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark: for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now. . . .”
The two other ways of getting in here are to do community-related work as the club have an admirable policy of inviting a decent number of such people in. Last time, we were seated with couple of ladies who cheerfully knew the square-root of eff-all about football but could imbibe industrial quantities of Prosecco without showing any ill-effects, so a good time was had by all. The other way is to be a senior figure at American Express and this time, we sat with a Venezuelan and his Spanish wife who were anything but bland corporate hosts. It turns out they had fled his home country as a result of the intimidation and confiscatory nature of the Hugo Chavez regime and have pitched up in Brighton. Remarkably, there was no bitterness from them: “That’s socialism for you” was his breezy conclusion. Remarkable also that in a few months, such cultured and civilised people may well be barred from settling in the UK as being an EU citizen by birth or marriage may now count for nought.
So after such an excellent day on every level, the evening now balmy with a perfect sunset ahead of us, I had the sudden but inexplicable urge to listen to ‘Babylon Sisters’ as we head into Hove and dinner at ‘The Gingerman’. Part of a mini-group of restaurants in the area featuring the word ’Ginger’, this is the tiny original that opened in 1998 and is crammed into one of the elegant Regency streets that lead up from the front.
A short two or three course, fixed price menu of £35 or £45 is handed as I sip a ‘Sussex 75’ made with a local sparkling wine, gin & lemon. My driver for the evening is happy with his Seedlip alcohol-free G&T. He’s recently returned from two weeks at an Austrian health farm, sleek as an otter and glowing with good health. As a result, he’s off the booze for a couple of weeks and keeping the halo in place while kindly ferrying me around.
We both opt for a crab tagliatelle to begin with and very nice it is too. It may have been made earlier in the day as it lacks a bit of flavour but my palate has been given a right seeing to with the endless bowls of truly excellent, eclectic bits and bobs at the Amex so my taste buds may be the issue here. Notwithstanding my failings, the ingredients are clearly good and it’s accurately made.
The kitchen asserts itself with the mains though. I opt for the Honey Roasted Partridge breasts with Leg & Onion Bhaji, Curried Butternut Squash, Raisin, Coriander Oil and Lentil Dahl which despite the obvious complexity, never collapses under the weight of expectations with every flavour registering. Too often, this level of ambition is not matched with technique and flavours end up cancelling each other out but this is precise and perfect. The Otter opts for the beef (another six quid) and pronounces himself well pleased with his choice, but it didn’t have quite the same level of artistry as mine.
His Cherry Soufflé with Yoghurt Sorbet was the pick of the desserts though even though it takes an extra fifteen minutes to prepare. My Milk Chocolate & Salted Peanut Delice with Banana Sorbet and Soft Toffee set expectations just a little too high and was slightly less than the sum of its parts.
They’ve a nice wine list. Not too outré but not just the same stuff listed in supermarkets. On the advice of the waiter, I go for a Journey’s End Haystack Chardonnay from Stellenbosch which, like the starter dish, was a bit refined for my rustic preferences. But his steering towards a Tuscan Sangiovese (Governo di Castellare) was bang on as it had the elegance and finesse that all the great wines of that region have, while being satisfyingly robust against the spectrum of flavours on the plate. I should have gone with his suggestion for dessert, a sweet red from Sicily (Baccadoro Passito Fondo Antico). He gave me a taste which seemed bit sickly so I was instead tempted back into my comfort zone with a Tokaji from Hungary. This is as good as ever but the red would have been better with the sweet & salt medley of the dish. It’s usually best to trust the people paid to advise you and this was an opportunity to re-learn that lesson.
This is the archetypal ‘local restaurant for local people’ but not in any po-faced, egalitarian sense. The customers here were mainly same-sex couples, neatly-turned out, enjoying a lifestyle of restrained comfort and good taste that two incomes and no kids affords them. And it that sense, The Gingerman is the perfect neighbourhood restaurant for Hove and its fortunate residents: too pricey for when they can’t be arsed to cook midweek but affordable as a once or twice-a-month treat within a short stroll from home.
The Gingerman is also a metaphor for where Burnley and, for that matter, where Brighton are now as football teams: solidly dependable upper-mid table fayre. Not the white-knuckle ride of culinary innovation (or relegation struggles) but nudging Michelin-star territory (the top six of the Prem.) and sometimes, this is a very nice place to be indeed.
The Gingerman, 21A Norfolk Square, Brighton BN1 2PD gingermanrestaurant.com 01273 326688
Three-course dinner for two with drinks & decent wine by the glass for one including 10% service charge was £149.88