The Hand and Flowers

The restaurant review

For a fan of the program The Great British Menu, a visit to Tom Kerridge’s pub is the stuff of dreams. The big man has won two main courses, two series in a row. Not only this, he also came across as the only contestant you would invite out for a few jars of Barnstormer. His restaurant is the only pub in the world to be awarded two Michelin stars. When you equal Raymond Blanc star-wise, you can expect to be taken seriously. Even if you are a perpetually smiling man from the west-country, and built like the bear in the big blue house. Not only this, but the online menu reads like a shopping list of ingredients you crave once you finish watching Masterchef and realise you need to settle for tuna pasta bake.    

 We arrived at the Hand and Flowers at 7pm, already in a pleasant mood from the charming surroundings provided by Marlow. The pub itself is an unassuming little joint slightly away from the high street. Pleasant of course, as an impeccably turned out British pub will always be, but also whiffing of quality (partly down to the awards that fight for wall space outside). A birthday card greeted my dining partner Helen on arrival. It was her birthday, but how they knew was another matter. The atmosphere was great. A couple of recent reviews had complained about the clientèle the place attracts; either two rowdy for a restaurant or two stuffy for a boozer. I guess we got lucky, sensing freedom of volume, and minimal hooligans. The room itself was furnished nicely, possessing the unmistakable essence of the public houses of old. One noticed a local perched at the bar; only instead of nibbling on scampi fries he was enjoying a bowl of the most famous chips in Buckinghamshire.

After immediately ordering a bottle of Pinot Noir, and a pint of beer, the waiter (who was to prove himself almost slave-like in the hour to come) presented us with a board of rather fine sliced white and brown with seasoned butter. There was also a dainty cone of Whitebait, mercilessly free of any throat scraping bones, inserted into the customised bread board. What a nice thought? Especially for a bait-lover like myself. 

I ordered the Crispy Pigs Head with Artichokes and Pancetta. It was essentially what I had expected from Mr Kerridge; and I kind of knew it would be. Slowly cooked head meat, meticulously removed and woven together inside a cube of breadcrumbs. The result was a little crisp die of salty pork flesh: doubling up as a stand for a wand of brittle crackling. It was served with the artichoke garnish and a little nugget of black pudding which was a welcome note. I suppose if my jaded palate noticed the salt then others may cringe, but if you don’t like salt then don’t order pig’s head. Highly satisfying overall, and I imagine many would agree.


Helen had the Braised Pearl Barley with Smoked Poultry and Foie Gras. From what was immediately visable, there was a bed of the titular pearl barley with what looked like a sizable chunk of chicken breast, accompanied by a modest piece of the controversial goose liver. Once we realised the reverse was true, both of our moods improved (I was secretly expecting a forkful). The dish was a very generous piece of crowd pleasing. It was what so much good food is: three elements simply prepared with thought and intelligence.

After the promising opening we were rather looking forward to our mains. We had made a deal that one of us would order the Slow Cooked Duck Breast with Savoy Cabbage, Duck Fat Chips and Gravy. It was a champion on the aforementioned Great British Menu, and the chips were a mainstay of any potential order from us. Unfortunately they are only available with the duck dish, and not as a side. However, standard chips are on the side menu so we sought to compare both and promptly ordered both. I got lucky with the main, but Helen had previously been eyeing up the Whole Lemon Sole with Fine Herb, Smoked Puy Lentils, Bacon, Pistachio and Swiss Chard, so I didn’t feel too guilty when she was left with this as her top choice.

As far as I could tell, the duck breast had been rendered, slow cooked, pan-fried, brushed with a sweet glaze, and finally served on a wooden board alongside two pots of side dishes, and a gravy jug. The result was a very tender breast, with all the effects of those cooking techniques ringing through every mouthful. Again, they are liberal with salt in there, but it is little crunches of sea-salt; nothing from the same planet as your ready meals. I poured a little of the gravy into the pot containing savoy cabbage and realised it was also riddled with scraps of crisp skin. I noticed more of the bird had been used to make a little meatball, or perhaps a faggot, which was clearly offal heavy and considerably up my street. The last of the duck (the fat) was used to fry the chips. I would not trust Oscar Wilde to describe these in any better way as: the greatest chips ever. This is a filling main course, a whole duck breast with trimmings. Perhaps the faint of heart should opt for my partner's choice.  

Helen’s lemon sole was presented as very much the centre point of the dish. I was hoping it would, recalling Rick Stein’s sadness when he was told: ‘you’ll never get a Michelin Star for grilling a fish’. It was nice to see some counter evidence. The flesh flaked apart effortlessly, and the quality of the fish itself meant the flavour survived the smoke in the bacon and lentils. The side order of chips was incredible too; maybe the second best portion ever. Again, it was a decent size plate, and made us feel rather stupid for forking out for a side of vegetables. The portion control (ours’ not theirs’) was leaving us in a dilemma. We soon found ourselves contemplating finishing after two courses. A little sip of wine makes all things better though, and before we knew it we had ordered Tonka Bean Panna Cotta, with Poached Rhubarb, Ginger Wine Jelly and Rhubarb Sorbet, and the Passion Fruit Soufflé with Kaffir Lime Ice Cream and Warm Toffee .

They soufflé greeted Helen as though it was trying to escape, it had risen so successfully. The colour was fresh and light, which proved to be a forecast for the flavour and texture respectively. Once the initial burst of passion fruit had fled the taste-buds, the lingering feel of candy floss was still delivering a tingle. This may sound like it was overly sweet, but that’s the failure of my language, and perhaps you can just about imagine what I mean.

My dish of the panna cotta arrived looking like a small work of art. So many colours competing, and ultimately conspiring to produce a Gainsborough-esque sensation for the eyes. Reds and pinks can be very evocative when you know they are caused by the inclusion of rhubarb. Feeling fairly full when I ordered it, I had really thought of a rhubarb dessert as also serving as a bit of a palate cleanser, but that is being very mean. Each mouthful was an explosion of different combinations of freshness. Texture was supplied by little crunches of meringue and honeycomb. The meringues were a welcome interruption to the softness of the rest of things, but the honeycomb was one flavour too far in my view. Everything was so harmoniously sweet and fresh, that a bitter piece of crunchy was a bit like being nudged everytime I took a mouthful. That really is a minor criticism though; some people like honeycomb.

A rave review is hardly ground breaking for a two-star restaurant, but this is more than that really. It’s a two-star pub, in England, with a lovely bloke behind the stove and quality service. All that for £150 including: service, wine, two beers, and some unnecessary side dishes. Come on, treat yourself!

The Hand and Flowers,

126 West Street  Marlow, Buckinghamshire SL7 2BP
01628 482277