There was a time when restaurants were for eating and pubs were for drinking.

As a measure of how confusing things have become, restaurants are going all informal, drinks-led and Continental - see Market and the incoming Polpo for evidence.

Meanwhile in a bid to stave off the annihilation of their trade, pubs have been going foodie for years, to the widespread indifference of grimacing locals.

These blurred have to be a Good Thing for us eaters, stuffy restaurants getting much-needed refreshment, like an Aperol Spritz on a balmy night.

The Foragers was a forerunner, in the city at least, of how a pub could become a little bit fancy but retain its roots in the heart of the community. Its local, organic shtick is a now well worn trope but it has been regarded as a popular gem in an area struggling to catch up with Brighton since it opened in 2008.

While its foraging credentials are not exactly clear, the menu feels very much country pub rather than neighbourhood bar, with pigeon breast and lamb rump mingling with pricey rib-eyes, and obligatory promises of locally sourced produce.

Yet despite its good reputation, past awards and AA Rosette, on the latest visit, The Foragers has suffered a startling lapse.

It started well enough with confit chicken and baby onions. The savoury broth hummed with hours of patient simmering and would have made a great main; the type of collagenous comfort that could cure the most wretched flu. By comparison a scallop dish with pea, mint and cucumber was as fresh as the ingredients suggest, but too fey to leave any lasting impression.

Bigger disappointment came with a mackerel main course, which took a Mediterranean and greasier turn. Fennel and carrot were cooked into an oily mulch, with the naturally oily mackerel sitting in a reservoir of excess olive oil from the confited veg.

The sea bass with mussels saw the two main elements in a doomed fight for supremacy. Essentially a bowl of moules marinière with fried fish plonked on top, the heavily seasoned cream was tasty enough but far too rich and voluminous. The bass felt lost and was difficult to eat off its plate of shells. The conception wasn't the only the only regrettable aspect, with no bowl for shells or spoon mussels.

These were not the only oversights, with sticky unwiped tables and a lacking presence in the unloved restaurant. More attention was reserved for the boisterous Friday night crowd, who regularly bumbled through looking for the toilet. Stretched between two rooms, our waitress did her best, but was not particularly informed on food while her colleague running the bar seemed outright disinterested.

Desert did little to make amends. The chocolate pot was reasonable, gooey in the middle, but no different from supermarket Gü puds. Meanwhile a panna cotta was supple and correct, the plate garnished with some gruesome but tasty fruity smears, and served with jug of beurre noisette - a nutty brown butter usually served on fish or used in pastry batter. Now The Gourmand is all for some experimentation, but when poured over the desert this was simply a jug of melted butter. Not browned, not sweetened - just melted, savoury butter. Coagulating on the ceramic it made the pudding inedible. Back to the kitchen it went, though no explanation was forthcoming.

The Foragers is clearly a decent pub with good food credentials. It has that elusive community clamour that can’t be confected. But times have changed, and The Foragers is no longer a singular haven in a sea of mediocrity. Plenty of other pubs offer high quality, imaginative food at cheaper prices. And for a special night out, £75 was too much for a disappointing feed.

Overall it appears to be living off past glories. Perhaps this downhill trajectory can be arrested. But at the high-end prices, such carelessness at front and back of house is not good enough.

The Foragers, Stirling Place, Hove.

Food: Two stars (out of Five)

Service: Three stars

Restaurant: Three stars

  • The Gourmand pays for all their meals.