The Fordwich Arms opened in December and is owned by head chef, Dan Smith; pastry chef, Tash Norton and sommelier, Guy Palmer. Recently they were voted one of the top 100 restaurants in the UK, Jodie Nesling went to visit.

English summer is good isn't it? All boating bliss and whimsical wanderings through fields, cream teas and cricket, pub gardens and wicker basket picnics.

But so often when chasing this elusive midsummer night's dream of Jerusalem the harsh reality presents sad old salads, Strongbow, rubbish weather and the occasional punch up.

The Fordwich Arms, however, plays a very strong summer game.

Our table is set beside the river Stour. I'm with my friend, Pam and feel all Wind in the Willows as boats chug slowly by and we sip excellent gin which is made by nearby Chatham Dockyard. At the next table a Labrador is slouched over its owners feet and nobody appears to be prattling on about house prices.

We choose the set lunch menu which at £35 for three courses proves an absolute bargain considering the quality of the food. Amuse bouche sets the tone: light and airy cheddar tartlet that melts in the mouth; crispy, salty chicken skin is wrapped in wafer thin celeriac; both are delicious but please we need to talk about the cod roe - subtle and soft oozing out of crunchy thin potato discs.

Freshly baked bread with butter and wait for it, whipped fat with a hint of marmite - an modern ode to bread and dripping arrives - light but unctuous and miraculously leaves plenty of room for the main event which bread rarely does, for me at least.

A starter of quail with its little leg cooked in hay on the side was a thing of beauty, rich sauce offset by the earthy, verdant smear of broad beans; an equally delicious hay-smoked confit trout, its pink flesh gleaming, as soft as butter, delicate and not overwhelmed by peppery horseradish snow.

I'm snapped out of the tranquility of my surroundings by a couple of shirtless wags, raising their beers and sounding a sort of comedy horn from their boat. Our waiter from nearby Broomfield leans in and whispers, "In the evening a man plays nautical-themed music from his boat. I think it's to entertain the diners,"

"Brilliant!" squawks Pam who knows it's quite possibly the best type of passive-aggressive revenge for bringing all those pesky London folk down with their hipstery, house-ridden ways.

In any case it's comforting and I realise I quite like my Strongbow summers - you need the mix of quality food with a carefree atmosphere for your midsummer session. Once in Claridge's the austere atmosphere made be involuntary ask the waiter in raw, loud Essex for a cigarette - everyone spun around and I waved, oh for a nautical music interlude, or just a boat to sail away in up to 'Spoons.

Meaty turbot is the absolute don of the sea, mine arrived perfectly cooked and joined by vibrant and crunchy Kentish asparagus spears criss cross amongst the last of the season's wild garlic; delicate onions and girolles. All with a white wine sauce which could have had more depth. I may have wanted potato here too.

Pam's lamb (how great does that sound?) was exceptional even after she requested the meat well done; even after I threatened to throw her in the river for crimes against lamb. Where was that horn? But it was still divine, surrounded by a wonderful, rich lamb sauce and wickedly crisp potato, which I had craved.

After a cheese course, which we ordered as an extra, it was all about afters: Where I am from we call pudding 'afters' - an apt title for a course very often deemed an afterthought.

Happily Natasha Norton is an excellent pastry chef and a Fordwich Snickers - who doesn't like a Snickers? - is not too sweet with various textures of crunchy peanut, chocolate and a soft and creamy parfait. I even overcome my fear of dessert wine and sip some of Pam's exquisite grapefruity wine - don't ask me what it was called.

We sat in the bar afterwards which has kept its country pub character, and like a pair of '70s throwbacks ordered Irish coffees with whiskey chasers; evidently not caring whether it was June or January. Good God we were happy and I didn't even ask anyone for cigarettes.

www.thefordwicharms.co.uk