Date: 3rd August 2024

Now then. Rockwater had been on ‘the list’ for a while, ever since we’d come to realise the extent of the scarcity of nice, informal, quiet spots for a bite overlooking the sea closer to home in Brighton; we just had to wait for an opportunity that would justify the trip. Confusingly - off-puttingly for research-shy, decision making-averse people-pleasers - the venue is made up of a roofed terrace and a ground floor split into a bar & kitchen area and a ‘lodge’, each offering a different menu further subdivided by hour of day - and that’s not to mention the several food and drink shacks that sandwich the main building. For Mich and I, a prospective bill at the terrace would easily run into special occasion territory, whereas the remaining options hadn’t quite tempted us into a weekend booking (required!) that would divert us from a blessed unstructured weekend. Nor had the kind of serendipitous moment in which you pleasantly amble the two-plus miles up the seafront from Palace Pier, starting to feel those pangs just as an outdoor or window table becomes available, yet materialised. And so we needed an opportunity.

That came on the Saturday of Pride weekend. We’d had a friend we didn’t want to reschedule due to visit that day for ages - before we realised - but it worked out well. Laura’s not a big fan of big crowds, and so Rockwater allowed us to kill two seagulls with one pebble (not literally if you’re reading this RSPB - I’m as au fait with the Wildlife and Countryside Act 1981 as the next man). Mich and I walked there along the route of the Pride parade in the opposite direction of travel, which meant we got to see most of the floats, dancing and outfits - the outfits! - that it comprised, and by the time we’d passed the iSore and met Laura we could swing cats again, too. Happy days.

Rockwater was busy enough that we had a coffee in the lodge while we waited for our table. Because of the whole multiple options thing, I’d left the arrangements to Mich, and as someone for whom the first in-depth study of a menu is one of the joys of restauranteering, all I knew was that we were having brunch. Because of that, I was put slightly out of kilter by the unmistakeably delicious aroma of mozzarella wafting over from the in-house pizza oven. If I’d known, I could have planned by having breakfast (hot fresh pizza can’t be the first meal of the day). Also, then I wouldn’t have been so bloody hungry.

It was with such thoughts swirling that I disregarded the ‘plates and bowls’ (12-4pm - burgers, salads, fish & chips) and pizza (available for an extra hour) sections of the menu and went straight to ‘all day’ brunch (8am-4pm) after a suggestion that “we could just stay here for all day” was met with dismissive, unamused laughs. It wasn’t meant to be funny, actually. The dinner menu starts at 5. Hunger defeated adventurousness, with no-one in the mood to risk a crab benedict or halloumi harissa hash and all three of us opting for quantity via the fry-up (Mich) or the steak and egg singular (Laura and me). The former did what it said on the tin, which was great, because sometimes they don’t; the latter had mixed reviews. I really enjoyed mine, the garlic aioli suiting the tequila and lime, though it was served on top of an uncuttable flatbread and so essentially turned into a cheeseless version of what I had resolved to avoid (ask for extra hot sauce in advance, before everything goes cold); Laura’s steak was chewy though. I know, because I ate most of it in the end.

The window table, extensive drinks list and all the catching up we had to do meant that we very nearly did stay long enough to get hungry again. It was ridiculously easy to while away the hours looking out beyond the drizzle to the green green sea, but I’m not sure we’d have been as lucky on a nicer day when everyone else wasn’t dancing away down the beach in sequins and rainbows. Eventually we did leave, not getting far before stopping for generous ice-creams at one of the shacks, before heading back to Brighton to join the celebrations.