Margate is a funny place.  It would like to think it is as genteel as Deal, but it has the kerbside appeal of Southend and an occasional air of menace that is 1970s New York, honed in Hastings.   You can often tell how run down a town has become by whether its centre contains a Tesco Express or equivalent.  It most definitely does not, and the counters in the “convenience stores” are all behind Perspex.

But all of that said, it has some real high spots.  The beach is a beauty, and the old town maintains a lot of its charm, but best not to stray too far, unless you are legging it down the coast to Broadstairs or Ramsgate (*don’t* go to Herne Bay).   I wouldn’t bother with the Turner:  If whoever built it honestly thought it was a tourist draw, they were sadly mistaken:  Go to the Towner in Eastbourne if you want to see art on the coast done well.

Margate: More Caterpillar Than Butterfly

Those local residents not off their head on spice might object to the above characterisation, but I was a bit shocked.  The PR is of a seaside town reborn, but it is still a lot more caterpillar than butterfly.

However, Mrs Nigel and I did have a most excellent couple of days, and so I’d like to signpost you to the best of Margate, some of it, actually, the Best of Britain…

Where to stay:

The Reading Rooms.  Tucked away in a Georgian Square with awkward parking, the Reading Rooms is a small, like tiny, boutique hotel with very, very grand rooms indeed.  Decked out in white, with floor to ceiling windows, it is one of the best rooms I have ever stayed in. I tried super hard to find any fault, but it was virtually impossible. 

Ok, so the original shutters don’t close properly, but I’ve told you that now, so bring an eye shade.  One of the shelves in the beautifully appointed bathroom was a bit wonky and things slid off: Use the other shelf.  I mean that was literally it.  Loads of cupboard space, comfy bed, huge bath and shower, a decent supply of drinks and biscuits, a mini fridge and one of the finest breakfast arrangements anywhere, which turns up in a hamper at your door.  I don’t generally eat much bread, but I ordered toast every day, because it was that good.  And owners who clearly understand that people who come to these sorts of places just want to be left alone:  Friendly, efficient and great value.  It may just have pipped the Ravilious in Eastbourne as my favourite seaside stay.  5 star, ££ prices.

Where to eat:

Over the road from The Reading Rooms there was once a school (which I discovered from the excellent before and after Margate book in the room).  But in the 1960s, it was knocked down to build what might once have been described as a shopping centre, but not a lot of shopping goes on anywhere in Margate now.  Fortunately, the local beatniks moved in and have opened a number of eateries.

Coffee and Beatniks at Curve and Pomus

For coffee, try Curve, which has some great outdoor seating.  We didn’t have any food there, but the reviews are good, and the coffee was excellent, so I would give it a go.

Literally 10 feet away is Pomus, which is a wine bar cum restaurant.  The food was mostly excellent (don’t have the cheese, though, which was a disappointment, and waffles do not belong near taramasalata), but there were a few transcendent dishes, such as the courgette and tahini with the flatbread, and the chicken hearts:  Never had them before, and I think I was pissed when I ordered them, but glad I did.  The wine by the glass was a bit of a disappointment, but we had a bottle of the Moldovan Jumi-Juma, which was superb, and what a find.  Moldova is  the only country in the world with a National Wine Day when all the wineries open to the public:  Nuff said, surely?

It’s also a good place for a post-dinner drink, but it starts winding down by 10pm so don’t be too late

Sargasso: All the Plates, All at Once

Better known is Sargasso, which is on the Harbour Arm.  It is achingly trendy, and clearly aimed at the younger crowd (uncomfortable high tables and seats at the bar), but who under 40 can afford the prices?  I was so annoyed with the service and attitude that I had wanted to write a full review entitled “Sargasso:  Putting the Sea in See You Next Wednesday” (channelling my inner John Landis…), but Mrs Nigel nixed it. But while a lot of the food was good (the anchovies and chickpeas stood out), quite a lot of it was average (a very expensive, not very good tomato salad and a pointless squid sarnie), and the entire meal felt like a race with the chef and the staff.  A proper small plates restaurant is good at judging what food to serve when, to balance portion size and clutter on the table.  Not so Sargasso:  It was Everything, Everywhere, all at once.  And the waitress was lucky to keep her fingers as she kept trying to whisk bread and half-eaten food off the table.  The experience was unrelaxing, and it just didn’t need to be

Angela’s: Possibly Britain’s Best Restaurant

But I am saving the best until last.  Angela’s might now be my favourite restaurant anywhere in Britain.  It is small, unpretentious, serves amazing food, has very good service, and if it was in London, would be completely unaffordable.  Fortunately, you can probably Uber back and forth from Charing Cross, eat at Angela’s, and still have change for the bus fare home

The menu changes frequently, but I hope you get what we did.  Scallops and capers for me, and smoked prawns for Mrs Nigel.  Simple, but honestly outstanding.  I don’t do food description words because I don’t work for a national newspaper and need to fill column inches, but take it from me, it was perfect.

To follow, we both had the skate.  It’s great that it can now be sensibly fished and is back on a lot of menus.  It came with chorizo, but it turns out was “fish” chorizo:  Sounded odd, but it was better than the real thing.

I risked the cheese, after my disappointment at Pomus, and almost jumped up on the table and shouted “I told you so” at the whole restaurant after I tried it.  It was flavoursome and cheesy.  Even Mrs Nigel, who was basically telling me I was an idiot at Pomus and it tasted fine because she didn’t want me making a scene, had to admit it was super delicious.

Wine-wise, nice to see English wine on the menu (good for the food miles, and a massive enculez-vous to the French is never unwelcome), and we had the Chartham Bacchus.

It’s small, and you have to book.  Make sure you get a seat “upstairs” in the top part of the restaurant.

A Broadstairs Bonus: Forts and the Best Turkish Eggs

A final honourable mention to somewhere not in Margate, but in Broadstairs, which we found while we were walking the coastal path.  Forts is on the outskirts of town, and honestly a bit off-putting from the outside.  Broadstairs was a hard place to get the sort of lunch that we like, and Forts was our very very last chance, having got kicked out of the wine bar over the road.  Per Mrs Nigel “The best Turkish Eggs I have ever had”.  And remember, she is the brains of the family…

Verdict: Why We’ll Be Back (Under an Assumed Name)

Will we go back to Margate?  After this review, we may have to use Mrs Nigel’s maiden name, but yes, we will.  Once you step round the crowds, the dog poo, the dogs off leads and the random nutters, there is a lot going on.  Clearly, a bohemian crowd has inhabited the centre in a middle-class Christiania-style takeover, and is refusing to budge.  There are other places I want to try, and one of the most blissful moments of my whole life was sitting on the steps of the harbour, pint in one hand, watching the sun set over the distant offshore windfarm:  Beats having a pint of Courage Best down Margate in the rain…