20 hours Ago By The Guardian
Not many dinner reservations require me to check the tide tables first, but getting to Stark , a small, tasting menu-only restaurant on Mersea Island in Essex, on a full moon or a new moon when the Strood causeway is flooded can be a bit tricky. But don’t let that put you off; in fact, I found the jeopardy rather exciting. Stark by Ben and Sophie Crittenden is the latest reprise of the pair’s former 12-seater in Broadstairs , Kent.
The couple, seeking a better work/life balance, upped sticks here to the Côte d’Azur of Colchester, to open this brand-new Stark, which has slightly more covers (20 or so) and is, frankly, about as “independent” as a restaurant can get. We made the trek one Saturday evening, and were originally booked in for 6pm, until the Crittendens called to ask if we’d not prefer to eat later, because we’d be dining alone, a sweet attention to detail that only small operations such as this have time to pick up on (see also the Troublesome Lodger in Marlow). Stark’s premises are delightfully homespun, and err on the side of a glorified timber gazebo.
There is no reception desk or cloakroom, no art installations, wine cave, private dining mezzanine or other such frippery. And at the back of this prettified shed, chef Ben works solo as an army of one. No sous chef, chef de partie, patissier et al: just a man and his pans, serving six courses methodically.
He used to work at Michelin-starred the West House in Kent and competed on MasterChef: The Professionals in 2014 before opening the Broadstairs incarnation of Stark, which itself quickly gained a Michelin star; just last week, this Mersea Island manifestation retained that star. Expect the likes of pungent, earthy duck liver parfait served in a neat quenelle on a blob of rich onion marmalade, or a bowl of perfectly judged cod with mussels, or sea bass on a perch of caramelised fennel with a dainty prawn toast. Stark’s greeter, server, sommelier and occasional kitchen porter is Ben’s partner, Sophie, a calming, ebullient presence who you’d want on your side during a minor land battle.
“Are you warm enough?” she asked as we settled in. Most restaurants in winter wouldn’t care if you ate in a bobble hat. The menu changes frequently, of course – you can do that when you’re a one-man band – and has in the past featured shh’annu lamb with aubergine, and seared duck breast with apple and hazelnut.
Some will cough that these dishes are more like mouthfuls, but even the most faff-phobic diner would find it hard to quibble with a sublime portion of medium-rare Scottish beef fillet on a rich jus with a single yet exemplary confit potato and a neat blob of whipped horseradish. A bowl of whipped goat’s curd appears towards the end of dinner – but is it pudding or another savoury course? Who can tell? It’s cheesy, certainly whiffy, with layers of thinly sliced grape, micro herbs, pistachio cake and chopped pistachio. It’s also quite unlike anything I’ve ever been served.
Crittenden makes fine produce the star of his show, then plates it up in curious, delicate, punchily flavoured pieces of art. There is a wine pairing for an extra £55 a head of French, Italian and Austrian wines. A grüner veltliner to match with the cod dish and a pale, sticky moscato to go with an artichoke and chocolate dessert.
After a trying experience with an artichoke millefeuille, Charles has a vehement dislike of the annual winter “artichoke as pudding” season, but I adored this bowl of chocolate creme with candied artichoke, praline truffle and a scattering of chopped hazelnut. That was our final course of six, which we’d whistled through in about 90 minutes. The place was by this point full of Mersea Island’s great and good, many of whom were tackling the wine flight like troupers.
“I bet the gossip that goes down in here is terrific,” I said to Charles. Stark is a gem. Some will scoff at its lack of airs and graces, at its minute team and at the fact that it’s a bit like eating in a summer house.
But this very much feels like a restaurant opened on the Crittendens’ terms, in pursuit of that quasi-fantastical dream harboured by many hospitality veterans: how about if we opened a tiny place, and took away all those fussy, stressful bits of restaurateuring such as staffing, posh fit-outs and lengthy menus? Those things still feel necessary to climb ladders and grace fancy lists drawn up by tyre companies, but they can also turn a restaurant into a behemoth that gobbles up lives and turns the owner’s children into strangers. Stark is a lesson in simplicity. Check the tides, take an open mind and give it a go.
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