Surprise! Ventnor's a culinary hotspot on the Isle of Wight

Given the Isle of Wight's "stuck in the past" reputation, the one thing we weren't expecting was much of a food scene. I was braced for a week of old-style pub fare, from the era before anyone outside of the medical field used "gastro" as a prefix. How delighted I was to be proven wrong. Ventnor and surrounds can deliver on the pub, chippie and tea room traditions, if that's what you're after, but it also has an interesting range of options for people with more adventurous tastes.


FOR ROMANTIC FRANCOPHILES Our evening at Le Tour du Monde was my favourite of the trip. This small restaurant is only six months old and very much a labour of love from a couple who've decided to change careers and channel years of travel and adventurous dining into a new business. She works front of house while he cooks. The results are fine dining quality with the atmosphere of an elegant yet informal French bistro. They're in a striking building in the centre of town that reminds me of French colonial facades in New Orleans. Bay windows look over a high street that grows remarkably quiet at night. The interior is an eclectic mix of artwork, crisp white linens, crystal and silver, yet despite the formal trappings it never took on the stuffiness that let down the Royal Hotel (described below). Mid-century jazz and crooner classics play softly in the background. Diners seemed to be skewed more towards locals than tourists. (Indeed, this is the kind of "local" I keep hoping one of our neighbourhood pubs will morph into.)

The menu is mostly classical French and Italian, though influences creep in from around the world. Salt and chili calamari sit beside a classic duck salad. Vegetable tempura or beef carpaccio? Mains take advantage of the island's rich larder, with local beef and lamb sharing pride of place with fresh seafood. We were tempted by duck breast with pepper sauce and a melange of sea bass, scallop and king prawns, but ... probably because we'd been commenting on how fine the cows looked in their verdant fields earlier that afternoon ... we both opted for local fillet. I started with the lobster bisque while my husband went for the prawn and smoked salmon salad, an elegant update on the classic prawn cocktail. All was cooked to perfection, not always assured when your husband prefers "bleu". There was a fine balance of flavours on sauces and seasoning. Accompanied by choices from a thoughtfully compiled and surprisingly diverse wine list. We ended by sharing a cafe gourmand, that magnificent French innovation for the greedy dessert lover who can never settle on just one thing. If you judge a French restaurant on the quality of its crème brûlée (as some people do), then you'll be happy here.

FOR ON-TREND LONDONERS With a minimalist interior of pale woods and house plants, a chalkboard of unique cocktails, a bustling young staff and a heavily Japanese-influenced menu that mashes the expected up with the new (soft shell crab "sliders" in squid ink bao buns, anyone?), Smoking Lobster feels like it should be in Shoreditch or Bermondsey. It's quite a surprise to find it on

the Ventnor sea front, rather unfortunately positioned next to a derelict amusement arcade. A good look inside at the innovative daily specials tells you this is not your standard British seaside chippie. Indeed, this was the only restaurant I overheard tourists talking about in other locations during our visit. Those sliders seem to be on their way to fame.

We discovered this place for lunch. A beguiling range of starters makes it ideal for mid-day, tapas-style grazing. A king prawn uramaki dragon roll ... beautifully prepared so the head and tail brought the "dragon" to life, beef tataki with deep-fried beef bon bons and salt & pepper squid were fantastic. And the sliders? Unctuous buns, the touch of ink giving them a hint of umami, pillowing the crunch of tiny soft shell crabs packed with crustacean flavour (rather than the usual dominance of deep-fried coating). No wonder people were talking about them. We booked immediately to return for a dinner later in the week. To the already sampled starters we added a delicious mixed ceviche of seared scallops, yellow fin tuna and yuzu. My Asian-spiced pork belly with accompanying spring rolls was a wonder, but my husband's steak was the one disappointment of our two visits. The fillet at Tour du Monde was better. If you're going to come here, don't bother with the traditional.

FOR MARPLE AND POIROT FANS We thought we'd splash out for a more upscale dinner at The Royal Hotel. I had stayed there when I visited the island in 1989 and was curious to see how it had changed. We were intrigued to learn that it's one of only 30 restaurants listed in all the Michelins (currently with a "plate", not a star) since the Guide's inception. It also benefited from being almost directly across the street from our hotel. With every other dining option requiring a fairly strenuous walk or climb, I think my husband wanted a night off.

They get points for effort. The food is tasty and well presented, the dining room grand and elegant. But it all had an aura of trying too hard. This was actually the time I felt most acutely that the island was living up to its "trapped in the past" reputation. Though the hotel had certainly moved on from my visit, when it was all faded grandeur and good value for money. Now the rooms are £300+ per night (there's a reason we stayed across the street), the lobby gleams with marble and a man in a white DJ plays classics on a baby grand. The dining room appears to have been redecorated recently, but the style ... with its striped wallpapers, grand curtains and old masters art reproductions ...  is solidly fin de siècle. It feels like you've fallen into an Agatha Christie mystery set in Cannes. The menu, however, feels like London five or 10 years ago. Remember when everything was built up from a precise rectangle down the middle of the plate, with a paint brush of sauce beneath? Remember when every meal seemed to have beetroot and whipped goat's cheese?

We have no regrets about ordering the tasting menu with matching wine and champagne flight, and found its £82 price tag good value compared to similar on the mainland. (I'd expect to pay around £120 for similar anywhere in the orbit of London.) But we were surprised at the almost Fawlty Towers reverence we got once we ordered, as if nobody ever really went in for the tasting menu. The beetroot was preceded by a creamy soup and followed by cured salmon and a dish of pork three ways before a palate-cleansing parfait, a cheese plate and a rhubarb crumble souffle that was delicious. The last was probably the dish of the night, but took far too long to arrive at the table. Service was fantastically genial but not terribly informed. Nobody could tell us much about what was on our plates beyond the name of the dish, and we flummoxed not one but two waitstaff with the not-unusual question of what order they recommended we eat our cheese in. But most irritating was uneven pacing of the courses with vast gaps between a few that meant we finished much of our promptly-poured wine pairing before the food ever turned up. (A good sommelier would have been coordinating with the kitchen, or topping up when the delay got excessive.)

If you're feeling celebratory and want the multi-course pomp, it's a bit of a giggle at a decent price point, and the wine pairings are surprisingly good. But on pure quality of food I'd go to either of the restaurants above first.

FOR A TWEE TEA After moving to England, I was somewhat distressed to learn that the English dismissed much of what I had treasured while sightseeing as twee: excessively or affectedly quaint, pretty, or sentimental. Well, sorry ... we can all use a bit of childhood-channeling, fairy-believing, pastel-coloured twee in our lives sometimes. The Old Thatch Tea Shop in Shanklin Old Village is the place to find it. It's no accident "old" appears in that description twice. It's the whole point. I don't think this place has changed at all since I visited 30 years ago. The tough-but-kind, white-haired ladies running it even look the same. Maybe they're Westworld-style robots.


There's a thatched roof. Lace doilies. Shelves of novelty tea pots and miniature British cottages. Roses twine on china. The garden is infested with fairy figurines. There's a lot of pink. They also serve a damned fine tea. Sometimes, tradition is beloved for a reason. Three tiers of goodies. Loose leaf tea in a proper pot. Lovingly cut sandwiches generously filled with fresh ingredients. Light and moreish Victoria sponge. Fluffy scones with clotted cream and home made jam. Of course, the first time I was here, there was no Englishman raising his eyebrow at my "incorrect" sequencing of the toppings on the scone. You can call me an ignorant American, and I'll just keep putting the cream on first, thank you.

FOR PROPER PUBBAGE If there was only a coral reef off shore, the Spyglass Inn would pretty much be my perfect seaside pub. Inside, a warren of cozy, nautically-themed rooms. A venerable old bar that serves a range of modern brews and alcohols that belies its darkened wood. (The local Mermaid Gin has a pop-up party space on site.) Two levels of terraces wrap around the building, offering outdoor seating hanging over much of the southwest edge of the bay with views down a long stretch of sand. Dogs are allowed. Jolly Rogers fly from flagpoles and a few novelty pirate statues offer classic beach holiday photo opportunities. We ate here once. Burgers perfectly respectable, clearly mass-produced patties bought in bulk, with a pile of tasty chips too big for most appetites to finish. It's what I was expecting on the Isle of Wight, and had we not discovered better options we could have been content here every night, working our way through pies, curries and fish and chips.

But the food isn't the point. This is a place for drinking a pint in the sun while listening to the waves and dreaming of a a lottery win that allows you to spend the rest of your life circumnavigating the globe (or maybe just the Caribbean) in a luxury sailing yacht. Of course, you'd turn up on the Isle of Wight for Cowes. The Spyglass accommodates that daydreaming admirably.