"Pebble Beach, far away in time," you find yourself adapting Martha and the Muffins as you park the car on the clifftop drive. "Pebble Beach, far away in time, Pebble Beach..." And as you push the door, you feel you've stepped back 20 years in time, to a kinder, simpler age when all restaurant menus came in floppy leather (with photos of the shellfish platter), all dining-rooms were on a split level, with fleshy-orangey chairs, tables and curtains, and a wrought-iron fence as a "feature".
The owners have tried to modernise this old-fashioned seaside eating house – there's a small bar area and an 'oyster bar' where you can perch on a stool to watch the chefs in action – but they're both empty at 8.30 on a Wednesday night. All the action is in the restaurant, which is packed out with chattering trippers.
Then you venture outside, and all your ignorant metropolitan carping evaporates. The view from the terrace is wonderful: you're looking at the western tip of the Isle of Wight, and the trio of chalk rocks called The Needles that poke out of the sea and used to be a menace to shipping until they stuck a lighthouse in front of them in 1859. It's a beautifully tranquil scene, with Barton beach on your left, Poole to your right and the millpond of Christchurch Bay in front of you. Gulls fly overhead, barking discreetly, as though reluctant to disturb the calm. We ordered cocktails from one of the pretty waitresses, sat on the black chairs beside the patio heater and thought, ooh yes, we could stay here for hours...
Read more at http://www.independent.co.uk/
Read more at http://www.independent.co.uk/
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