Gravetye Manor

Had a great lunch here in the restaurant today. The gardens are looking beautiful as the spring weather has finally turned up. I think the quality of the food is getting better and the new owner continues to put his heart into the business.

Jolly Good Time
It’s been a while since our memorable visit, but I’m writing this review of GRAVETYE MANOR in the memory of my mother who passed away just three months ago. Having her own colorful English-​style gardens in suburban America for most of her life — on a much MUCH smaller scale, of course — and being an exceptional cook— Gravetye was one of the particularly wonderful highlights of our road trip. That, and seeing the Queen. (Later, below.)
It was while looking through my photos of England and Scotland, that I came across those that I’d taken of our visit to Gravetye. Wondering if there might be reviews of this country estate from anyone on Unilocal,I found not even one. The «press» link on their site showed several accolades from a number of publications, so I decided to write one, too. I’m sure that this magnificent manor is well-​known throughout the U.K., but by probably only a handful of visitors from across the pond. Gravetye deserved a least a single Unilocal mention from a smitten Yankee.
Our schedule that day was to arrive before nightfall at a destination further south, but heading down the M23 I spotted a highway sign reading that the East Grinstead exit was just ahead. That name rang a bell. Quickly scanning my notes, sure enough, it was where Gravetye Manor was located. «Anyone ready to eat?» My husband and my parents were all enthusiastically in favor. «Well, be prepared for one heck of a meal. Turn off here.» (I wasn’t driving. Yikes, no !)
Traveling plans included 4 to 8 points of interest to visit each day on a leisurely, un-​rushed day-​time road tour. I also noted little side-​trips, and only if it might fit into our schedule, would we detour. Gravetye Manor was one of those. (Per Gourmet magazine it was one of the finest country inns/​restaurants in Great Britain and Europe. This would be one unforgettable experience. It was.)
Taking country roads, we arrived at the entry. Like driving through a park, with lawns, trees and shrubs lining the winding drive, after half of a mile the circa 1598 manor comes into full view. This is one old house. Already decently attired — but for comfortable road touring — we hoped we’d pass inspection. Greeted with approving smiles – whew — we were graciously welcomed and led into a spacious wood-​paneled, vaulted-​ceiling dining room.
Every course was perfectly prepared and perfectly delectable — starters, salads, and entrees of two beef, one chicken, and one rabbit. (Not me. I’ll never eat bunnies.) And desserts? Almost too beautiful to eat. But, of course, we did. And the wines were excellent recommendations.
Something that we’d never experienced before, however, but one that left a delightfully lasting impression, was the line of probably eight white-​shirted and black-​slacked or skirted servers standing along the wall near our table. Quiet as church mice, facing straight ahead and about a foot apart with hands behind their backs, at-​the-​ready and providing anything needed for luncheon guests at the seven or eight white linen-​covered tables. I couldn’t help but imagine that this is what it must feel like to be an aristocrat or a royal, famished — and ready to dig in — after a morning of polo matches (ah, yes), or a hunt (uh, never).
The manor, the food, the gardens, the lush inviting grounds — all spectacular and highly recommended. To stay here is a bit pricey, however, so having had previously arranged and paid for accomodations elsewhere, we saved ourselves a quid or two. (tee-​hee)
Now, on to the Queen.
(And Queen Mum, too.) There we were — like typical tourists doing what typical tourists are obliged to do — waiting to observe the «changing of the guard» at Buckingham Palace. …wait… Is this part of it? Two 1940-​ish shiny tone-​on-​tone gray luxury motorcars — each one nearly as long as a schoolbus — pulled into the courtyard and drove slowly along the wrought iron fencing, past the crowd of us commoners. Crikey! HRH waving from the window. Mum, too, from the car just behind. Unprepared, I quickly snapped a few pictures. But because this ceremony «bonus» was a total surprise — and I hadn’t set my camera for closer shots — I could only hope they’d turn out. Not. All out-​of-​focus. WE know who these obscured images are, but to anyone else looking at these photos, they could be just two blurry-​faced British ladies in big fancy hats.
Oh, well. ..