Rainbow Trout, Broad Oakback to pub details please note - reviews on this site are purely the opinion of site visitors, so don't take them too seriously.
We had a lovely meal in the newly re-opened Rainbow Trout on Sunday 4th March 2012.
The roast was cooked and presented perfectly with plenty of selection on vegetables and meat.
Overall the pub offered a warm and friendly atmosphere.
We shall certainly look forward to further dining here!
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The Rainbow Trout is now open again for business, we will be serving food as soon as we can so please bear with us.
We are open 7 days a week, from midday onwards.
Come and try our Real Ales, Harveys Best is our mainstay, with a guest available too.
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Quite a pleasant pub in a hamlet a few miles west of Rye. Very quiet for a Sunday lunchtime but clearly the after effects of the Christmas break. Harveys on handpump. Large car park.The food also looks good too. We shall be returning on Sunday for a get-together of Citroen Specials owners.
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Having visited this establishment over a period of years in fact every time we come to England, which is maybe every year for the last 16 years, I have yet to have a bad meal. The current owner is great, food excellent, beer cold and different varieties. I travel from Beckley just because of the owner and staff. Keep up the good work. Mick and Denise
Dee69 - 22 Feb 2010 00:59 |
interestingly enough this pub is genuinely haunted,particularly the conservatory out the back.Clothes are tugged by invisible "children"the doors lock and bolt themselves,very,very weird.Other than that,pleasant atmosphere,no complaints.
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I have never written a review about anything in my life but I feel I musr redress the balance here, this is a lovely pub set in a very rural location, the food is still very similar to what it always has been for many years, it has never been gastro (I am glad to say) the wines are good and the beers are well presented, all pubs have off days and people always seem to be more inclined to moan than praise in general, try this pub, it really is good, I should know, I travel 15 miles every week to dine here.
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I had a small family luncheon here a few weeks ago, food was absolutely fine, wine was perfect and my dad swears his beer was wonderful, top that off with friendly service and you have a winner.
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The trout may not be what it was under Trish and Bob but it is better than under the last "owners" they are the ones who destroyed the place as a food venue, maybe the current landlords cuisine will improve over time? much like a good wine or single malt. I will try it again soon.
anonymous - 3 Nov 2006 08:34 |
I drove a long way to dine here for lunch and found that it has changed aa lot, the lack of customers sine the last time I was her five years ago should have set the alarm bells ringing, previously I had trouble getting a table, now I had them all! it wasn't terrible though just averagely bad, it used to be superb, another one bites the dust.
anonymous - 26 Oct 2006 09:51 |
I don't know where the chef of the highest standard was when we visited two weeks ago, hard veg, lifeless wilting salad, tasteless steak and horrible lumpy sauce! maybe it was his day off and the stand in couldn't be bothered, top that off with the fact that the food is overpriced and you have the end result of 2/10 in other words don't bother.
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It's a family gathering in a pub. You know, Christmas and all that. A number of us gather in the bleak mid-winter Sussex countryside in a carpark that could double as the parade ground for a gulag. The chill oozes out of the soil and leeches the colour from the recycling and bin bags tastefully stacked behind the kitchens.
Because we are a group bigger than four, the pub asked us to save Chef from the insuperable task of preparing meals from orders at the table. We have, as requested, pre-ordered two weeks in advance and my wife has a copy of the menu with initials beside who has ordered what, because of the absolute certainty that no-one will remember.
My choices were a mistake: Let me run you through the dismal smorgasbord:
To start with, chicken goujons. Unlike the dictionary definition, which specifies "narrow strips" of fish or chicken, these goujons were stale lumps of armour-plated, deep-fried battered chicken. Lukewarm. Tasteless.
Oh, who am I kidding? They were Chicken Dippers. The reconstituted, emulsified, mechanically-recovered meat that people grill for their kiddies' tea. They serve it in bowling alleys as a attempt at fast food.
There was a small ramekin of inappropriately sweet sauce of the sort the pizza company gives away free. At the side of the plate sulked a desultory mound of vegetable peelings. A ring or two of red onion. Some grated carrot. Something else perhaps. A lettuce leaf? No mayonaise, just raw.
I ate the vegetables, and left the rest of the dish.
The next course was another poor choice on my part. A cauliflower and broccoli bake. You know how you fancy something light and healthy from time time time? So shoot me.
The cauliflower and broccoli had been boiled artfully from September. Such was Chef's skill, that every molecule of taste and most of colour had been eradicated, while leaving the shape and form of a vegetable intact. It had a sprinkling of what resembled sawdust on top. It tasted like sawdust and added the only flavour i could detect to the whole sad slop. It may have been baked as long as you interpret 'baked' to include boiling. I was able to mash it with a fork and turn it instantly into something a baby would spit out. The water the vegetables were boiled in would have carried more flavour than this insult.
The accompanying vegetables were, if anything, worse. The baked parsnips were rubbery. The cold carrots were overcooked by a week or two. The roast potatoes were utterly dreadful. Iron clad and chemical-spill orange, the interiors were a tasteless mush.
I left the entire dish.
Which left cheese and biscuits. Even my wife hissed, "Come on, how can they get cheese and biscuits wrong?"
Let me explain how they managed to get cheese and biscuits wrong.
The three handsomely proportioned offcuts of cheese were some sort of Camembert, a Cheshire and Red Leicester. The last two are the blandest cheeses known to man, devoid of flavour and bite. The Camembert lookalike was a perfectly white, immature, fresh-out-of-the-chill-cabinet lump. The rind was a quarter of an inch thick and the flesh as firm and fresh as the day it was made. Which was probably yesterday.
The biscuit selection consisted of one each of a Jacob's cream cracker, a Ritz, a sweet Hovis thingy, and a handful of other offerings with all the appeal and yumminess of a Ryvita.
I left the entire dish.
The other members of my party may well have dined on the food of the gods with a nectar coulis. Though judging from the sauce on my wife's duck, which oozed up the plate like a massive meniscus, thick as an oil spill, brown as diarrhoea, I doubt it.
The worst meal I ever had in my life was, by comparison, tasty, nourishing, well cooked and delightfully presented. But for the dysentry, it could have made the top ten best in my life.
As I was under written instructions from my wife not to make a fuss and spoil the mood, I just pushed every appalling dish to one side and sat there playing hits from the 1970s in my head until I was given permission to escape.
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