When is a pub not a pub? In a tiny village, five miles to the east of Canterbury, sits a pub that has a fiercely creative kitchen, yet is still gloriously, defiantly a proper pub.
The name Stodmarsh derives its meaning from the Saxon words for mare (stode) and marsh (mersh), and was once a hunting forest owned by Bishop Odo, half-brother of William the Conqueror – this pretty village has a quiet ancient aura with the only other public building being the 13th-century church of St. Mary. It is a quite unexpected spot to find a kitchen team swaggering with such confident élan: chef/owners Morgan Lewis and John Young are a fizzing, fire-cracking team, furiously curing, fermenting, foraging, butchering, and knocking out the kind of eye-poppingly exciting menus that demand repeated visits.
I’ve been here before, several times, and each time stepping through the door feels like a homecoming. I have had a remarkably classic Sunday roast here, featuring a ‘three cornered garlic’ stuffed partridge, as well as a ‘quail kiev’. Another that remains bright in the memory are the goose liver parfait profiteroles with a Peruvian black chocolate sauce: sounds bonkers, yet absolutely heroic. The big, open fireplace is crackling away, and another co-owner, the wonderfully exuberant Mark Winstone, ushers us in: “You can eat at the bar if you like”. Monty the cat, a regal legend of the pub, is snoozing by the fire. We pull up a stool, so often the best seat in the house.
This casual drop-in for lunch kicks off with a ‘little taster’ from the kitchen, a beautiful nugget of satin-textured venison loin, a thrilling statement of intent: an opening salvo that would be quite at home at a swanky Michelin-starred joint. We adore the couple of small courses too, some delicately smoked monkfish with the subtlest whisper of smoke, a fine counterpoint to the fish, perked up with the sharp pop of pickled bilberries alongside the crunch of fermented and fried leaves of purslane: the dish shows off the meticulous and detailed obsession of the kitchen. The next dish knocks us for six, a real wow moment. A chunk of confit rare-breed Oxford Sandy and Black pork belly, a sliver of latticed and grilled squid, fermented radish, a reduction of squid ink with Kentish Pip cider giving the plate dramatic, Jackson Pollock-esque fork smears as we eat. The combination is a beauty, popping with contrasts, sharp and sour, sweet and fatty, a rat-a-tat-tat of flavour bombs.
We share some Longland Farm goose breast, with a sprout top croquette, and a zingy chutney/jammy smear made with the medlar fruit – the meat is blushing pink and juicy, the skin scored and grilled until the fat has just rendered, a fine bird that has led a good, well-fed life. More pitch-perfect cooking, as good as you’ll find in any restaurant in the UK…but we’re absolutely still in a pub. Apple and liquorice root meringue pie is a happy flourish to end, the cutest little thing, buttery short-crust encasing a sharp dice of apple, with a grating of liquorice root with skilful, cheffy meringue peaks topping it off.
The ingenuity carries on in their plethora of house-infused spirits, from banana rum to horseradish gin, as well as making use of wood ants in some of the dishes, currently on show with their home-made wood ant gin. We’re offered a little taster of the ants in their unadorned state: very citrussy, sharp, compellingly complex flavour, if you were wondering. They also use winter chanterelles to make kombucha, foraged from around Stodmarsh: there’s always new experimentation going on. There is excellent Cava poured by the glass, and a tight selection of wines with a strong value/quality quotient, and on this occasion we enjoy a sleek Chianti Riserva 2018 from Uggiano, cracking stuff for less than £30.
The creative collective of owners of The Red Lion describe themselves as an ‘unconventional dining pub’ cooking food ‘inspired by the wilds of Kent’ – this neatly sums up the ethos, although there’s also an alchemy going on between all the elements that make this place such a draw.
This is a pub to the very core of its DNA, with a dazzling sprinkle of magic from the kitchen, a riotous and playful celebration of Kentish ingredients – unique, quirky, joyful. It’s a true gem.
Reviewed by Zeren Wilson
