It’s all too corporate and slick, overproduced and soulless, safe and anodyne: an M&S cashmere of a restaurant
Sandbanks, despite its location in an area of natural beauty, is deeply unattractive. That it has one of the highest land values in the world, just behind Tokyo and Manhattan, seems further evidence that the rich have the oddest taste. The drive from Bournemouth is lined with bloated McMansions squatting behind high, prole-repelling hedges – Bishops Avenue-sur-Mer – before finally giving way at the waterfront to ranks of equally ugly modern flats pockmarked with luxury estate agents’ boards. Come the revolution, I’m pretty sure it won’t be stirred up from Sandbanks.
Anyway, right next to one of those luxury estate agents is where Rick Stein has chosen for the latest outpost of his burgeoning empire, a sprawling, pack-’em-in, 200-plus-seater, formerly Cafe Shore. At front is a greige hotel chain of a room dedicated to bar and walk-ins; the rear, past an open kitchen, is a more attractive, duck-egg-blue-and-blond-wood-furnished space with massive windows looking out over the yacht club and Poole Harbour. Legions of staff scurry hither and thither, brandishing enormous menus, a collection of piscine greatest hits (smoked salmon to Dover sole à la meunière), the odd touch of exoticism (seared scallop succotash, barbecued sumac chicken), with a steak or two for the golf club.
Related: Sexy Fish, London W1: ‘The food? It’s entirely forgettable’
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