Forty-eight hours just us, temporarily living our absolute best lives at the luxurious Pig hotel, down in Kent. It was perfect.
The Pig hotels have been on my bucket list for a long time now. If you’re unfamiliar, they are a small collection of hotels dotted about the country with an emphasis on local, homegrown food, comfort and indulgence. They are not cheap but damn, you get what you pay for.
We headed to the Kent hotel, just outside of Canterbury, purely because it was the closest to us. I would have loved to have gone to the Dorset one which is basically on the beach, but this was the longest we had ever left Alfie so we a) wanted to make the most of the time and b) not be a four-hour drive away, just in case. (Ironically, we got stuck in hideous traffic on the way down and it took us four hours anyway but that obviously was not part of the plan.)
An old school country manor house, beautifully decorated with woods and velvets and rich, moody colours, and full of lots of nooks and crannies. Absolutely nothing about it felt like a hotel. More like a collection of very cosy snugs where you could properly relax. Imagine a very rich person had invited you to come stay for the weekend and was a really extravagant host who would have been mortified if you were even momentarily peckish. The staff gave you the impression that you were joining them for the weekend; they seemed relaxed and chatty and yet never missed a detail. I’m always interested with how things work behind the scenes and found it fascinating to experience a team working so cohesively. Just little things like being wished happy anniversary casually by more than one person, as though they know you, and the realisation of the organisation that must go behind such small details to make you feel like you’re having a truly special experience.
We stayed in one of their comfy luxe rooms with standalone bath, sage green panelled walls and beautiful countryside views. The team had also provided a card wishing us happy anniversary, freshly baked cookies and a beautiful wooden decoration with a ‘G & K’ carved into it. Such a lovely touch.
We had dinner reservations in the restaurant and, of course, the food was what I was most excited about. The restaurant was airier than the rest of the house, with large glass windows overlooking the gardens and grounds, and an open kitchen where you could see the chefs doing their thing in a way that felt homely. The connection to the kitchen garden seeped through in every aspect, from the shelves lined with huge jars of pickled goods, to the plant pots on the tables with real food growing in them (we had a brussels sprout plant). There was lots of greenery, wooden crates serving as furniture decor and a number of giant squashes in one corner.
The Pig famously promises that at least 80% of the menu will be from within a 25 mile radius, meaning the menu can change daily. There’s even a map on the back of the menu, showing all their local suppliers and how far away they are. Even the small amount who were over 25 miles away were often only just; 27 miles for example. I also liked how the coasters and napkin rings were made out of old menus so even though new menus were being printed all the time, they were finding ways to re-use the paper.
We began with a few ‘bits’ – wild garlic & pea houmous and honey & mustard chipolatas. Served alongside fresh sourdough, sprinkled with herb oil and smoked salt. A part of me could have just kept eating that sourdough and smoked salt, not going to lie. Starters were chargrilled ‘0 mile’ mushrooms with watercress and pickled rhubarb for Gary and boltardy beetroot with goat’s cheese and pumpkin seeds for me. Gary had the Tamworth pork loin for main, and I had the Broxhall Farm beef rump with peppercorn sauce. Not one single bite disappointed. Everything was delicious. I had been eyeing up the rice pudding for dessert (I can’t not order rice pudding if it's on the menu) but they had sadly run out by the time we got round the ordering. Gary joked to the waiter how I’d been looking forward to it all meal and within three minutes one of the managers came over and promised to reserve one for me tomorrow. How bloody lovely this place was. So, dessert was the strawberry blancmange with strawberries and oat crumble, and Gary went for the lemon balm choc ice with rhubarb. And, hey, that blancmange was exquisite.
Afterwards, we rolled to bed and lay down to digest for the night before coming back for more.
Guys. *Lies down dramatically*. The breakfast table. I have never had a hotel breakfast as nice as this. Two huge tables, full to the brim of delights. Freshly baked sourdough, fresh, sugary cinnamon cruffins from a local bakery, The Pig’s own harvested honey, poached apricots, chunky fruit and nut granola (my personal highlight, can’t stop thinking about it), freshly baked carrot & poppy seed muffins and fig & walnut energy bars, gooseberry compote, earl grey prunes, yoghurts – both diary & vegan, aallll the preserves, hams, cheeses, an egg boiling station… and that’s what I can remember. It was breakfast heaven.
When my belly resembled that of Winnie the Pooh, I headed off to The Potting Shed for my spa treatment. Cosy wooden rooms (fully heated), out in the gardens where you can lie on a heated massage table and try not to fall asleep. I had the ‘Upper Body Unwind’, which involved a back exfoliation, back, arm and hand massage followed by a facial and scalp massage. Dreamy. When I returned with a shiny face and oily hair, I found Gary in a comfy corner, fresh coffee beside him, reading the paper and looking like a man who was actually relaxed.
Heaven forbid we should actually get hungry, so after a quick hop in the waterfall shower to de-oil myself, we decided to have lunch in the garden restaurant where you can sit in the heart of the walled kitchen garden and munch on flatbreads made on the wood-fired oven. Something special to be sat eating a mozzarella and spring onion flatbread and be sat right next to the spot where the spring onions were still in the ground that morning. We had a gentle explore of the garden; it was so interesting to see all the food they were growing. Amazing how much more interested in gardening I become when it’s all about food.
And then, quite frankly, we spent the rest of the afternoon on the sofa. Shoes were off, someone brought me a hot chocolate and I had a whole two uninterrupted hours to read my book. The only reason I got up was because it was time, of course, for complimentary cake hour. Remember when going on holiday used to involve happy hour at the bar? I can absolutely confirm that this is much better. Honestly, I bloody love being in my thirties.
After languishing in the large bath in our room (me) and lying on the bed listening to a podcast (Gary), we leisurely had another drink in the bar before going for dinner round two. We were very full the night before so decided to just stick with the ‘bits’ for starters this time. Three courses instead of four, gotta think of the waistline you know….
The menu had changed since the night before with additions such as ‘Folkstone market lion of Monkfish’ and I loved the idea that someone had popped to the market that morning. We want back in for the wild garlic & pea houmous along with crispy chard stalks (seen growing in the garden that afternoon) and hock eggs. I think I could have quite happily had a whole meal of these little plates; they were all so good and it felt like a great way of trying as much of the produce as possible. For main, Gary went for the monkfish and I had the hand rolled ricotta ravioli with sage butter. I got my rice pudding for dessert (served with homemade jam), and Gary tried the chocolate mousse, piled high in a lovely-looking moussey heap on a china plate.
After-dinner drinks was, not going to lie, a cup of tea in the bar and then it was back to bed with my book.
Sadly, parenting duties called in the morning so after indulging in the breakfast table again, sneakily taking a photo of the granola recipe in The Pig’s book (family members note – Christmas present idea for Kate), one last look around the kitchen garden and buying a jar of The Pig’s own honey, we were heading back home to our baby. Within a couple of hours, we were back changing nappies, playing with tractors and dealing with tantrums. I had missed him, but it was nice to escape reality, just for a little bit. Now, someone help me persuade Gary that we absolutely can afford to make this an annual trip…
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