Smith and Western Horsham

The first time I walked into Smith and Western, I wasn’t in Horsham anymore, at least, it didn’t feel like it. The lights were dim, the music was pure country and western, and everywhere you looked were cowboy hats and wagon wheels. For a moment, you could almost forget you were stepping into a restaurant on the edge of town. It felt like a Wild West set, a kind of Horsham time machine.

What made it stand out wasn’t just the décor. It was the theatre of it. The waiters clanging cowbells, the families squeezed into booths, the sheer noise and joy of it all. People came dressed up as cowboys and cowgirls, and no one thought it odd. It was part of the charm.

I’ve eaten at plenty of places over the years, but very few weave themselves into your story. This one did. From birthdays to late nights with friends, the Horsham saloon has been part of my life for decades. And while restaurants come and go, this one has never lost its way. It’s still the place you take people when you want them to walk out grinning.

Before Smith & Western, there was Cromwells in Kingsfold. If you were out in the early ’90s, you knew it. Packed, loud, always the place to end up on a Friday. Jamie and Troy Cox ran it like a well-oiled machine , and when the Cox family opened something new in Horsham, you paid attention.

That “something” was the original Smith & Western on North Parade. Not just a pub conversion, but a proper Wild West makeover. Saddles on the walls, Stetsons behind the bar, wagon wheels used as room dividers. It wasn’t subtle, but it didn’t need to be. It was fun.

Back then Horsham was still a small town. Options were limited: a handful of pubs, a curry house or two. That was your lot. Then suddenly here comes this cowboy saloon, bringing burgers the size of your head and staff who clanged cowbells every time someone had a birthday. You couldn’t ignore it.

The Cox brothers knew what they were doing. They had that Cromwells energy, knew how to pull in a crowd and keep it buzzing. And it worked. Within months, everyone had been, or was planning to go.

For me, it set a new standard. This wasn’t about fine dining or food snobbery. It was about theatre, atmosphere, and nights you remembered. The Cox brothers didn’t just build a restaurant. They built Horsham’s answer to the Wild West. And it’s still riding strong.

The first Smith & Western I knew was the one tucked away on North Parade. Dark inside, always noisy, and absolutely dripping in cowboy kitsch. It didn’t look like much from the outside, just another corner location in Horsham, West Sussex, but the second you pushed the door open, you were in the good ol Wild West.

Lanterns hanging low. Wooden booths. Staff in cowboy hats ringing cowbells for any excuse. It was rough round the edges, sure, but that gave it a friendly atmosphere. You felt like you’d stumbled into someone’s party, not just a restaurant.

I dragged plenty of friends there over the years. Andy and Insi. Vicky and Andrew. They all reacted the same way — wide eyes, laughing at the noise, plates too big for the table.

And then there was family. My brother brought his kids over from Australia once, asking for “something very English.” I ignored him and took them here. Cowboy hats on, ribs bigger than the kids’ heads, and a sundae that should’ve come with a warning label. His son’s grin said it all. His mum just shook her head at the sugar rush she couldn’t stop.

That old saloon wasn’t polished. But it was welcoming in the way only places with creaky floorboards and too much noise can be. It wasn’t about the food, not really. It was about walking out fuller, louder, and a bit happier than when you walked in.

After twenty-six years, the old saloon shut its doors and Smith & Western shifted into the middle of town. August 2021. New address: East Street, right in the heart of Horsham’s restaurant row.

I’ll be honest, walking into the new restaurant for the first time felt odd. Everything was brighter, more polished, more space between tables. The bar gleamed, the décor was fresh, almost too fresh. Like new boots that hadn’t been broken in yet. I missed the creaky floorboards of North Parade.

But then the cowbells went off. Someone shouted Happy Birthday across the room. A wagon-style booth had kids climbing in and out, and suddenly the soul of the place was still there. Just bigger.

The real difference? Capacity. You can see how much easier it is for staff to handle large groups now. Plenty of room for guests, no one queuing awkwardly by the bar waiting for a table. And the new kitchen means they’ve expanded. Breakfast service at 9am on weekends, pancakes stacked like towers, breakfast burritos that could knock you flat before noon.

It didn’t take long for the new saloon to feel lived in. Different site, same heart. That’s the thing with Smith & Western: the building changes, but the spirit doesn’t.

If Smith & Western is known for anything, it’s the birthdays. They don’t just light a candle and mumble a tune. No, they stage a full-on celebration. Staff clanging cowbells, triangles ringing out, the famous Belly Buster sundae carried high with sparklers fizzing. The whole room stops. Everyone claps. Everyone sings.

The first time it happened I cringed, praying it wasn’t for me. But when it was, I got it, it’s supposed to embarrass you a bit, make you laugh, pull the whole place together. That’s the genius. Total strangers get swept up, and you watch tables of people you’ve never met join in like they’re part of your night.

Over the years, I’ve booked that wagon booth for all sorts of events. My dad’s birthday was the standout. Sitting under the canvas arch with the lantern glowing, he looked about ten years younger when the cowbells started. Belly Buster arrives, sparklers going, and there he was, grinning ear to ear.

Then there was my nephew Nic. We ordered him the Belly Buster and a pink cowboy hat.

That’s the thing about Smith & Western. You can measure it in calories if you like, but what you’re really counting is memories. I’ve seen it happen hundreds of times now, kids, grandparents, mates dragged along for a laugh. The ritual never fails.

And yes, I’ll admit it. Sometimes we even claim it’s someone’s birthday when it isn’t. Because why not? It’s too much fun to miss out on.

Smith & Western isn’t subtle with food. It’s all about the bbq. Sticky ribs, smoke in the air, sauce running down your fingers before you’ve even reached for a napkin. My order hasn’t changed in years: Southern Comfort–glazed ribs with fries and slaw.

The menu is pure American grill. Burgers stacked so high you need a plan of attack, sizzling fajitas arriving loud and proud, nachos spilling off the skillet. Proper hearty portions. The kind of meal that makes you loosen your belt before dinner is even over.

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve told first-timers the same thing:

Not that it’s all meat sweats. I’ve gone lighter too, Cajun salmon with rice, or a chilli-topped salad. Always something fresh to accompany the heavier dishes. And they lean into the seasons. I once had a Christmas quesadilla stuffed with turkey, brie, and cranberry. Sounds wrong, tasted right.

Since the move to East Street, they’ve stretched the menu further. Breakfast on weekends: pancake stacks taller than your coffee mug, breakfast burritos that wipe you out before noon.

And the drinks, dangerous in the best way. Happy hour in the saloon has done me in more than once. Margarita Mondays especially. Order a meal, get a complimentary margarita, and suddenly Tuesday morning doesn’t look so clever. They lean into cocktails with the same energy as the food, playful, generous, never shy.

That’s the rhythm of Smith & Western’s food. It’s not just what’s on the plate. It’s the theatre of sizzling fajitas, the mess of nachos, the cocktails you shouldn’t have ordered but did anyway. Every bite comes with a story. And that’s why I keep going back.

Smith & Western’s always been stitched into Horsham life. Not just feeding people, but showing up outside the saloon too. I’ve spotted their name on the rugby club boards, seen raffle vouchers at school fairs, even watched staff handing out tasters during town events. It’s not marketing fluff, they actually get involved.

One memory sticks. I was at a charity fundraiser for St Catherine’s Hospice and there it was: Smith & Western giving away meal vouchers, staff in cowboy hats rattling buckets. It wasn’t a huge deal for them, but it mattered. They’ve always paid attention to the community that kept them going.

Even the décor in the East Street spot shows the same care. New site, but the old quirks came with it, wagon wheels, memorabilia, cowboy hats for kids. That kind of detail tells you it’s not just a chain rolling out cookie-cutter interiors. It’s still run with heart.

And here’s the thing. For all the fanfare, sparklers, cowbells, the rest, it’s still good value. Not cheap, no. But you measure it differently. In memories. Birthdays your kids won’t forget. Evenings when your dad looked ten years younger in a wagon booth. Nights where mates laughed until their ribs hurt as much as yours. By that measure, it’s a bargain.

That’s why it lasts. Not just because the food’s decent, but because it’s part of the town’s rhythm. Post-match pints, family dinners, charity nights. Smith & Western knows how to root itself. And that’s why it’s still great after thirty years.

I’ve read plenty of reviews about Smith & Western over the years. Some of them bang on about noise levels, some moan about wait times, and a few argue it’s pricey for England’s south coast. Fair enough. It’s not the cheapest meal in town, and yes, when there are six birthdays in one night the volume shoots through the roof.

But here’s the side you don’t always hear: the people. The friendly staff are what glue the whole thing together. I’ve had nights where the food took longer, but the waiter cracked a joke, kept the drinks topped up, and suddenly no one cared. I still remember Michelle, made a chaotic Friday night feel easy. You don’t forget service like that.

The noise? For me it’s part of the show. You don’t walk into a Wild West saloon expecting hushed tones. The clatter, the cowbells, the sparklers, that’s the good ol Smith & Western experience.

Among western restaurants in the South East, Horsham’s has always felt like the flagship. Maybe that’s bias, it’s where the whole thing started in 1995, but I’d put it up there with the best. The décor alone makes it a must-visit, and the food delivers what it promises: hearty, messy, American-style fun.

So yes, I’ve seen the same flaws people type up online. But I’ve also seen families walk out with cowboy hats on their kids, laughing the whole way. And in my book, that outweighs the odd grumble.

Looking back, my time with Smith & Western has been a proper journey. From those first dark nights on North Parade to the shiny new saloon on East Street, it’s threaded through so many chapters of my life.

I’ve had birthdays there, dragged mates along for their first Belly Buster, even taken my brother’s kids for their own cowboy hats. Every time, it delivered the same mix of laughter, chaos, and BBQ sauce on the table. That’s what I love about it, you don’t just eat, you make a story to carry out with you.

There’s always been a heart to the place. Whether it’s sponsoring local clubs, raising money for the hospice, or just a waiter making sure your dad feels like the sheriff for a night, you feel looked after. Not polished. Not perfect. But real.

Thirty years on, it still holds that spark. Other spots come and go, but this one sticks. And that’s the mark of something great.

Three decades on, Smith Western isn’t just a restaurant. It’s part of Horsham’s DNA. You can’t talk about eating out in West Sussex without someone mentioning it, usually with a grin and a story about sparklers or ribs.

The new address on East Street gave it more polish, but it didn’t lose its heart. The cowbells still ring. The margaritas still flow. And families still pile in for birthdays like it’s the wildest show in town.

Among western horsham memories, this one runs deepest for me. Plenty of places in the South East have tried themes, tried stunts. Most fade. But this one stuck, because it made people feel part of it.

That’s why I’ll keep going back. Not for perfect plates, but for the noise, the laughter, the feeling that somehow Horsham has its very own Wild West saloon.

I’ve shared my Horsham story, now I’d love to hear yours. If you’ve got a memory tied to Smith & Western (or a local spot that means the same to you), get in touch and let’s swap stories.

Address
26 East Street, Horsham, West Sussex. RH12 1HL

Telephone
01403 264927

Website
https://www.smith-western.co.uk
https://www.smith-western.co.uk/menu
https://www.smith-western.co.uk/book-now