The Clove, Luckwell Road, Bristol, 15.06.09

I had read some rather slanderous material about the Clove on the internet before this first trip. It described a lack-lustre place with arrogant staff, but with a recommendation from a trusted friend I threw caution to the wind. Indian takeaway on a balmy summer evening- well, there was certainly no evidence that anyone had decided to sit in. Even stepping through the door the eager waiters beckoned us to sit down and read the menus. I got the impression they had been kicking their heels for some hours.

Here comes the disappointing bit. A cursory head count revealed a roughly correct number of dishes in the carrier bag after an unnervingly quick preparation time. Unfortunately our chicken and lamb dishes had transformed into vegetable and tofu curries by the time we got home (I know south Bristol is green, but surely there isn't a meat destroying spell cast on us all?). The rice had turned into two vegetable samosas and the poppadums had done a disappearing trick to make Houdini proud. A quick phone call revealed their unapologetic side and they were apparently unable to save us another 20 minute round walk and jump in a car to deliver the correct food. The offer was four free poppadums if we wanted to walk back and swap it. No chance. Actually the food was between standard and good, but their unhelpful attitude left a bitter pill and not one that I'll go back again to swallow.

The Old Rectory Hotel, Martinhoe, North Devon, 12.06.09

Everyone knows the southern bits of Devon- Torquay, Fawlty Towers, Plymouth, Sir Francis Drake, and so on. Cast your eyes to the north coast and you might get a pleasant surprise.  A flying visit to the Old Rectory Hotel in Martinhoe was the ideal antidote to a particularly poisonous Friday evening  on the M5.  Tucked away beyond Ilfracombe, even your satnav might not locate this little retreat. This hotel changed hands less than two years ago and the new owners have tastefully furnished the eight bedrooms. Other bits still feel like a work in progress, but then they'd happily admit to that.

However, it is food that owner Huw Rees is passionate about, so passionate in fact that he dons a navy-striped apron and cooks it himself. The dining room is spacious but filled with the current cohort of hotel guests. The combination of "Il Divo" (or similar) piped music and lurid carpet of a previous decade sets a curious tone, and the atmosphere is dictated by a somewhat mature audience of diners. A risotto starter with leeks and pancetta is well-seasoned and confidently runny. The rack of lamb is split open to serve, and is accompanied by a simple red wine reduction. It grew up in a field a few miles away and the result is a full-flavoured meat which is left pink and easy on the knife. The vegetables are plain- boiled potatoes and broccoli, plus a rather mushy courgette, white wine and garlic melange that doesn't work. The treacle tart isn't bad, but the cheese portions are a little light. 

Overall the experience is pretty good. On the one hand it's home-cooked fayre with locally sourced meat and fish. On the other, there are confused vegetables and good but homesick risotto wrapped up with an awful CD and a lairy carpet. There's a slight inflexibility in the approach to service, but these are early days in what could be a successful little venture.