In which Larry finds Michelin-calibre cooking and a cellar to match inside a Regency townhouse in Arundel, owned and run by a couple who never once let the effort show…
Last week, doom-scrolling Instagram past the usual moody plating shots and hotel infinity pools, I stopped on a clip of perhaps the most recognisable front-of-house face going, Fred Sirieix, talking about what marks out the best hotels and restaurants. For him, it’s two things: a sense of place, and the welcome. Every property claims both, of course, but few pull it off without it feeling a little forced, contrived. The Town House in Arundel manages it effortlessly, like being greeted by an old friend. Which makes sense given it’s owned and run by a couple who’ve made it not so much their passion project as their home.
The story behind the Town House is one of those inspiring, almost enviable tales of finding one’s calling: a chance drive-by, a For Sale sign, and the ambitions of a chef-host couple taking on their dream project. He’s the chef from Sorrel in Dorking (via a spell at The Vineyard in Stockcross); she ran the ship at The Pig in the South Downs. The building itself — a Regency townhouse, once a wine bar, then tired, ignored and up for sale — they walked in and immediately saw the potential.
But that’s just the backstory. Perhaps more remarkably, it’s just Matt and Jenni running the whole operation. Mrs L and I were staying the night; we were met by Jenni, then found Jenni behind the bar. Matt played chef and waiter, and washed up. The morning we left, it was Jenni turning down the beds. Like Dennis Lawson in Local Hero, at every turn they were every staff member the operation required. Apart from wondering quite how they manage it, you can’t help but become part of it. And that’s the welcome, and the sense of place, personified.
Just three months open, it’s already gathering a head of steam. The dining is all about what Matt can do in the kitchen; a seven or ten-course tasting menu, seventeen covers, single sitting — once you’re in, you relax. This is yours for the evening. What you notice first is the ceiling, a sixteenth-century Venetian wooden coffered installation the the house’s original owner brought back from a grand tour. It draws the eye immediately, and lends the room a sense of grandeur without ever upstaging the intimacy. You sit, settle in, and let the evening unfold.
Snacks kick things off in a flourish: a sourdough crumpet with black garlic and summer truffle, a duck consommé with fennel pollen and porcini (foraged by Matt himself) oil, a nori cracker with whipped smoked cod’s roe and wasabi, and a soy meringue with confit beetroot, apple and birch syrup. Poured alongside, Digby’s 2014 Vintage Reserve, structured and crisp but with real warmth underneath. More importantly, they’re just a few doors down – there’s that sense of place again. It’s an exquisite overture; a statement, in this little Sussex market town, that we’re in for something special.
First course is a Nutbourne tomato salad, paired — curiously, but rightly — with a fino sherry in a beautiful Riedel tulip stem. It’s as off-piste as the dish itself, which arrives with elderflower, marigold and a smoked tomato “tea.” It’s exquisite. “That is delicious,” Mrs L quips, and asks to have it again when Jenni returns with the bread.
Bread doesn’t play the supporting role here — it’s a course in its own right, and rightly so. The sourdough comes from Juniper, a bakery two streets away, run by Matt’s former sous chef; alongside it, Brittany butter with chives, and a wagyu render – “Bread and dripping, essentially”, as Matt puts it – that’s rich and umami, something like marmite.
Chicken and duck liver parfait follows, with a gingerbread and cocoa nib granola and preserved cherries. I’m a parfait man at the best of times, but the synergy here is something else — this trinity of duck, cherry and chocolate. It transpires it’s the only dish Matt has carried over from his previous kitchens; on this evidence, you understand why he couldn’t leave it behind.
“Prime catch” turns out to be John Dory — literally the catch of the day — plated with fermented corn, Morteau sausage, maitake and a kombu cream. It’s paired with a barrel-aged white Rioja, the kind of Viura that trades its youthful citrus for something more savoury with age. It’s a canny pairing; enough weight and a faint saline grip to sit comfortably alongside the sausage without ever upstaging the fish. I find myself still marvelling at how I’m enjoying this quality of execution in what it is, essentially, someone’s home.
Dessert is Matt’s own take on his childhood favourite, raspberry ripple, complemented by peach and white chocolate. And I spy a herb I don’t recognise — meadowsweet, a cross between aniseed and mint, not unlike tarragon, foraged that same morning. Alongside it, something else new to me to pair with: a Botrytised Riesling from Wairau River, it’s rich, opulent, showing apricots and honey, that glides over the ice cream.
Over petit fours and a mint tea, I glance at my watch. Three hours have passed in what feels like half that; the other tables are all still there, too. It’s not just been about the food and the ambiance — what’s made the time compress, what’s made this so memorable, is the engagement. Their hospitality isn’t intrusive, nor obsequious; it’s convivial, warm, effortless. Dining here is like being invited to a dinner party with good friends, your hosts passing to and from the kitchen, keen to show off the latest from the cellar or enthuse over a new dish.
And after a meal like that, the ability to retire upstairs, in this glorious historic building — there’s that sense of place again. The rooms, in fairness, need work; they’re comfortable, and they meet the need for now, but listen to Jenni’s ambitions for five minutes and you know this corner of Arundel will look rather different in a matter of months.
But it’s the smaller, unbilled gestures that tell you the most: a joint dinner recently hosted with their neighbours, Digby. The sourdough, carried two streets from Matt’s old sous chef. The fennel pollen and the sorrel he’d been out foraging that same morning. Sirieix’s two qualities, in other words, aren’t something Matt and Jenni perform for the dining room — they’re just how they run their lives, and Arundel happens to be where they’re doing it. Book a table. Book the room too, while you still can, before the desirability Jenni’s clearly building towards catches up with the price.
The Town House Restaurant with Rooms, 65 High St, Arundel BN18 9AJ. For more information, and for bookings, please visit www.townhousearundel.com.
The Town House has recently announced its new Dine & Stay offer, running every Wednesday to Friday until December 18th 2026, offering a discount on the room when dining in the restaurant. The package for two guests totals £290 which includes the 7-course tasting menu and the best available room for one night.
