Three’s a crowd. Bad luck comes in threes. Three strikes and you’re out.

Throughout the hundreds of years in which these idioms have developed, one thing has remained: three is not a good number. Unless you are De La Soul.

If you’ve ever encountered the words: ‘we do things a bit differently here, the menu is designed for sharing. We recommend 3-4 plates per person’, then you most likely will have experienced the painful moment of quiet resignation when a plate of three prawns is set down on your table of four.

All conversation ends. Now, one person must volunteer as tribute to divide three, finickety crustaceans between four hungry mouths. You cannot cut a prawn in half so that someone gets the head and someone gets the tail — that is quite literally a bum deal — and what if both people want to suck the brains out? If the heads are left on, you can’t cut in half lengthways. Lord knows a prawn is not the easiest thing to cut with the head off, let alone on, and you can’t manhandle it lest you be deemed rude for having touched the food. Either way there ends up with someone cheesed off, someone being too polite, someone having got the best bit and several pieces still left on the plate.

So what do you do? Order two plates? For a plate of prawns these days you’re looking at about £12-14, maybe more. You can’t be spending near £30 on prawns before any other dish. That’s lunacy.

What’s worse is bread. I have sat at tables of four when three pieces of bread have been brought over. I look up, bewildered. This is not complex maths. There are four people at this table. Most of the time, the slices are halved before serving, which means the misers in the kitchen now have half a piece of bread knocking around, meanwhile out here we have been thoroughly short changed. Do you presume that we are so well acquainted at this table that we are happy to spend the next five minutes dividing each piece of bread into four to end up with a more suitable number of crumbs, or simply just pass it around for everyone to take a bite?

The absurdity only worsens with chicken wings, ribs, cobs of corn, lamb chops; all of which are indivisible. Couples ending up volunteering to share a shrapnel of chicken, it’s fine as their mouths have already touched — putting their relationship in peril for the sake of avoiding faux-pas at the table.

Then there’s always one greedy you-know-what that pretends they cannot see this problem and helps themselves straight off the bat to a prized specimen, leaving even fewer to be divided between the remaining crew.

I’ll tell you what the solution is: restaurants should sell things individually, or in multiples of two, and nothing else. I am more than happy to pay the difference between what it costs to serve a plate of four prawns rather than three, to save me from this faffing. If I have to cut another three arancini into four only to then have a lonely quarter left at the end, I am going to scream.

After all, how often have you been at a table with two others? It’s rare, is it not, to go out as a three. I’m all for a third wheel and have been one myself many a times, but most of the time it’s me and my partner, or the two of us with two more. Hell, sometimes we’re even a five! What do you do with three prawns then?

I ask the restaurants — if tables of three are so proliferous, why are all your tables always laid up for two or four people? Where are all the round tables of three? If everyone is going round in groups of three as you’d have me is believe, why aren’t M&S doing a ‘dine in’ meal for three? Where’s the three seats next to each other on the bus? Why don’t you say your sharing steak is ideal for three?

Pricing by item allows for way more flexibility, and in lieu of that, two, four, or multiples thereof are nice, divisible numbers. And it means that the conversation around the table can continue, without the rude interruption of maths and tweezering. Three may be a magic number elsewhere, but it’s not welcome on my table.

All words and photos by Meg Houghton-Gilmour

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The Bristol Sauce is an AI free publication — all our work is written and edited by humans.

If you had been sentenced to death for some heinous crime, what would you choose for your final supper? I ask because I recently took the day off to saunter round Sherborne and stumbled into imaginatively named The Sherborne, a grand Georgian building-cum-art gallery which is currently home to Mat Collishaw’s ‘Last Meal on Death Row’. A profound, thought-provoking series of shadowy still lives replicating the final meals of prisoners in Texas.

In such a grave situation, would you pine for comfort? Or would you be inclined to go all in with one last hurrah, plate overflowing with caviar and truffle? Would you ask for a can of spinach and pray for Popeye’s strength for one final fight? Or order Jamie’s Italian and tell the executioner to bring it on?

If I ever found myself in such a predicament, my final meal would start with bread and butter, which seems fitting; austere, repentant, enough biblical significance to maybe convince any higher powers I could have believed. A tart to end would also be non-negotiable. In between? Maybe the tomato and peach salad with goat’s curd from Bell’s Diner, or lobster with garlic butter and chips from Wallfish Bistro. Dishes that are in parts nostalgic, comforting and, most of all, down right delicious.

As per the rules, no alcohol is permitted, though if possible, I’d start with a Negroni. Then Guinness and champagne. Not together, mind you. Having now dallied with a Black Velvet (£8) for the first time at freshly-opened Mon Plaisir in Clevedon, I can safely say the two entities are best kept apart.

For many, a French-leaning main, le plat principal, might be their choice — if the current renaissance of French restaurants has any bearing on reality. I won’t list all the new openings in London and beyond in the last few years. I’ve got a World Cup to watch. But the fact the recently-awarded Best Restaurant in the UK is a Lyonnaise bouchon above a pub in Farringdon says assez.

Closer to home, Toby Gritten, who recently departed The Pump House after many heroic years, and Alex De Salengre (ex-Pony & Trap, Noble Rot) decided Clevedon could do with a French bistro of its own. The pair reutilised the tricky corner site that previously housed Puro and turned it into Mon Plaisir. De rien, Clevedon.

To call Clevedon gastronomical purgatory is probably overstating it, but it’s hardly the first place you think of when it comes to dinner, whether coming from Bristol or, as we were, Sherborne. Such is the draw of Toby Gritten. I’m not calling him Jesus, even if he does now have a beard.

The meal had to begin with bread. We ordered sourdough but were told it was presented to tout le monde on the house, so we decided to spend our winnings, so to speak, on a little ramekin of pickles (£4). Cornichons, naturellement, armadillo-like ridged carrot slices, and ultra crunchy whole shallots.

There has been a tendency in restaurants for some years to whip foods into oblivion, be it in parfaits of liver or fungi, soft cheeses or fish eggs. We opted for two dishes with the potential for such tinkering: duck liver parfait (£9.50) and cod’s roe (£8.50). The parfait went resolutely old-school, a smooth, dense block, lined with golden butter on one edge and scattered with salt. A chef recently told me too many liver parfaits are fairweather (my words, not his) examples; meek, gentle, feeble. Too subtle. Not what he wants from a parfait. He wants a proper tang of offal and a heavy hand with booze. He would have happily snuffled this. It came with toasted sourdough, more of those cornichons and a tangle of sweetly jammy strands of red onion. So far, so classic. And so French.

The roe was much more on the fluffy, subtle end of the spread spectrum. It had been described as whipped on the menu, so we knew what we were getting ourselves in for, although the dungeon-like, windowless qualities of the downstairs dining chamber didn’t altogether rule out a less benevolent form of whipping. A whirl of emollient, emulsified smoked cod eggs was the ghostly pale pink of a Brit on the first morning of their all-inclusive beach holiday. It was sprinkled with a few chilli flakes the bright red of same Brit after a few hours in the sun. Perky radishes, leaves intact and sprightly, brought their characteristic peppery bite.

At this point the promised slices of sourdough body of Christ turned up. A little later than ideal, but apparently deliberate. And almost perfect. Chef thought the crumb could have been holier, but couldn’t we all? Personally I’d have liked it cut a bit thicker to better appreciate its spongy, porous texture and brittle crust. The Pump House used to knock out incredible sourdough, squishy and nutty, warm from the oven if you were lucky, and serve it with house-cultured butter. The best I had was the summer before they closed. Made, in fact, by Toby’s son. Immaculate. This version was cut from the same cloth, and a decent amount of generously salted butter was put to immediate use.

Pork and shellfish were both forbidden in the Old Testament but thankfully Jesus put paid to that prohibition (or not, depending on your beliefs). At Mon Plaisir the combination is very much on the table. Three podgy scallops (£14) shared a shallow white bowl with a thick plank of pork belly, fat rendered and sticky, moistening and flavouring the muscle around it. One of the bronzed bivalves sat glistening atop the pork, as if addressing the other two. A mound of squeaky peas, sweet as a toddler dressed as a shepherd in a school Nativity play, separated the parties. A winning combination, summery and with something of Iberia about it, a not unwelcome geographical tangent.

Fish wouldn’t feature as part of my final hurrah, but we were persuaded into ordering the Brixham skate (£23), which we did on the condition we also got fries (£5.50) (very thin, very crisp, very French). With our proximity to the coast, hot as hell atmospheric conditions and streets flowing with rosé, Clevedon was virtually Provence, if you drank enough Black Velvets. Fish felt right. The fillet, rolled up on itself like a startled woodlouse, was soft and subtle of flesh, pulling easily apart into thin strips. Beneath was a double whammy of tomato: a moat of sauce vierge — fresh, clean, herbal, acidic — surrounding a slump of ratatouille. As we recounted stewed veg horrors masquerading as the aspirational Provencal sludge of our respective childhoods, we were shown what we could have won; lusciously oily, vibrantly flavoured chunks of tomato and aubergine, softened without being pappy.

From a biblical list of desserts — cherry and almond tart, chocolate mousse, garden rhubarb pavlova, sticky toffee pudding, the last definitely one for another, colder, day - we eventually landed on mousse (£8). I had to allow it since I was not on death row, but the decision was to my slight chagrin. As if turning water into wine, the man himself appeared before us, resurrected from his Bristol days, bearing not just our mousse but also the tart. He must have sensed a man in need of salvation, preferably in the form of a perfectly angled wedge of pastry.

Seldon Curry of Wallfish Bistro used to make the best chocolate mousse I ever had in Bristol — broodingly dark and rich, thoroughly suffused with bubbles but not overly aerated, like a nice foamy Guinness, dolloped with salted caramel and crème fraîche. If he fancied it, he flung a few peanuts over the top almost as an afterthought. This didn’t reach those heavenly heights, but was a noble offering. Quite light for its dark billing, it was creamy, airy and classic, topped with a gently salted caramel ice cream and a hazelnut tuile.

Better still, and more my thing, was the tart (£9.50). Just out of the oven, it was liberally cratered with warm cherries surrendering their juices into a nutty, moist frangipane. It was all contained in a biscuitty, properly-bronzed crust with more than a mere suggestion of salt. The thick wedge sat in a pool of silken vanilla-freckled crème anglaise so fragrant it could have been used in place of incense. I purposefully left myself an apotheotic bite on which to end. Ideal ratios of pastry to frangipane, a particularly juicy looking chunk of cherry and a nice lick of custard. A bite so perfect that, if it had been my last on earth, I’d have swanned smugly off to the afterlife.

But before I could say “mais non” Meg swooped in and nabbed it. Quelle horreur. I suppose the German expression about stolen food, “die ­kirschen in nachbars garten schmecken immer besser”, must indeed be right. Looks like I’ll have to live a little while longer, then. Sorry.

All words by PXandTarts, photos by Meg Houghton-Gilmour

Mon Plaisir, rear of 32, 34 Hill Road, Clevedon BS21 7PH

The Bristol Sauce is an AI free publication — all our work is written and edited by humans.

1. Laura’s Pizzas, Totterdown and Bishopston

Though it’s delivery only, Laura’s Pizzas has become such a beloved beacon in Bristol’s slice scene that last year Laura opened a second site to serve more of the city. These pizzas are Neapolitan; so expect slowly fermented dough, thick blistered crusts and toppings — all of which are gluten-free — imported from Italy. Laura’s gluten-free bases are prepared completely separately from the regular dough, and are cooked in the same oven but always on a tray. They use dedicated cooking utensils for gluten-free pizzas too. The arancini are also gluten-free, and there’s no risk of cross-contamination as they use a dedicated fryer.

lauraspizzas.co.uk

2. Creamberry Artisan, West Street

After a successful six years touring markets with their coeliac-friendly goods such as pasteis de nata and empanadas, Bristol’s first completely gluten-free bakery opened a permanent bricks-and-mortar site just last month on West Street in Old Market. Every single item is gluten-free and many are dairy-free too. Shoppers can visit the store to see the full range or order a haul online. The basque cheesecake has won a Great Taste two star award, which is no mean feat.

creamberryartisan.com

3. Cord Kitchen, various

Cord Kitchen can now be found serving an array of delicious pub grub at a host of drinking dens across the city; including The Pump House, Junction and The Barley Mow. On the menu are burgers, loaded fries, fried chicken and cauliflower wings — all of which are gluten-free and cooked in a coeliac friendly manner. The seitan burger is the only thing that the gluten intolerant should avoid, though menu items vary from site to site and it’s always best to check with the staff. Cord Kitchen’s roasts can also all be made gluten-free, with Yorkshire puddings being swapped out for a salt and pepper parsnip crisp. All of Bristol Beer Factory’s beer is gluten-free too — so you can indulge to your heart’s content without a care.

instagram.com/cordkitchen

4. Zena’s Bistro, West Street

Zena’s Bistro is run by a one-man-band, Medhi, who makes Neapolitan pizzas, arancini, fresh ravioli, burgers and avocado toast in this Sicilian bolthole in Bedminster. Only the chunky cigars of cannoli are imported directly from Sicily. He asks that if you’d like one of his famously good gluten-free bases for a pizza, ring ahead to let him know so he can prepare the dough to order. It may not be coeliac friendly as it’s a small kitchen, but for the gluten intolerant this will be a sure treat. Read The Bristol Sauce review of Zena’s Bistro.

instagram.com/zenasbistro

5. Frankie’s, Bruhaha

Frankie’s, run by 2023 MasterChef semi-finalist Adam Ball, serves two things: chicken and waffles. Actually that’s a lie, there’s battered halloumi bites too, mac and cheese and frickles. Yes, fried pickles. Adam’s wife is coeliac and so when setting up Frankie’s he decided that every single item on the menu would be coeliac safe — so you can enjoy your Nashville chicken sandwich without worry.

instagram.com/frankies___

6. Pukka Peacock, Brislington

The Pukka Peacock is no ordinary curry house. These Indian-inspired dishes are elevated and infused with nods to other cultures, and the result is a curry quite unlike one you’ll find anywhere else. The menu at Pukka Peacock clearly states which items are suitable to those with gluten allergies, which is almost all of them. Coeliacs are very welcome and will be well-catered for. Read The Bristol Sauce review of Pukka Peacock.

thepukkapeacock.co.uk

7. Seven Lucky Gods, Wapping Wharf

It’s not terribly easy to find gluten-free Japanese and Korean cuisine due to the prevalence of gluten in soy sauce, but at Seven Lucky Gods those avoiding the gluten can enjoy about 60 per cent of the menu; including all the sushi and grilled items. The gluten-free items are also suitable for coeliacs as the station is cleaned down ahead of any gluten-free prep and separate utensils, boards and fryers are used — though as with many entries on this list, as it’s a small kitchen they can’t guarantee no cross contamination.

7luckygods.com

8. Root, Wapping Wharf

Much-lauded (and rightfully so) Root was making vegetables the centre of attention before it was cool, and around three quarters of their seasonal, locally-sourced small plates are gluten-free too. Again, it’s a small kitchen so there’s risk of cross contamination, but the team are well versed in catering for coeliacs and those with all manner of allergies, so you’re in good hands.

rootbristol.co.uk

9. Box-E, Wapping Wharf

At Box-E they do things proper — and so naturally they bake their own gluten-free bread and crackers to serve on both their modern-British tasting menus and the a la carte menu too. They’re delighted to cater to coeliacs, who will find warm hospitality, considered plates and excellent value in this small shipping container.

boxebristol.com

10. Nutmeg Street Kitchen, St Augustine’s Parade

Part of the group that incorporates Nutmeg and Nadu, around three quarters of Nutmeg Street Kitchen’s Indian small plates menu is suitable for those that don’t eat gluten. The only things to avoid are — you guessed it — the breads. Everything else is coeliac friendly and kept separate, so tuck into your paneer makhani and lamb bhabhra without concern.

nutmegstreetkitchen.com

11. Caper and Cure, Stokes Croft

Caper and Cure is a truly exemplary neighbourhood restaurant; one that deserves far more credit and attention. The modern-European small plates are consistent and among the best in class — the crab butter especially. On the gluten-free menu you’ll find almost all their menu items, including gluten-free bread. Though the pasta is not free of gluten, many desserts such as crème brûlée, chocolate cake and ice cream are. There’s only one fryer so some things are unsuitable for coeliacs; but the team will always be thrilled to offer an alternative such as new potatoes instead of chips.

caperandcure.co.uk

12. Pasta Ripiena, St Stephen’s Street

I have always found the Bianchis Group to be a great option when it comes to catering for those with allergies or dietary requirements — with enough notice the team seem to be able to cater to absolutely anyone. Pasta Ripiena is the place to go for excellent stuffed pastas and silky sheets laden with ragùs, seafood and sauce. All the Bianchis Group sites can cater to those with gluten allergies and they serve gluten-free pasta to boot — though it’s always advisable to let them know when booking so they can prepare accordingly.

pastaripiena.co.uk

13. Nadu, Stokes Croft

Similar to Nadu’s sister restaurant, Nutmeg Street Kitchen, the majority of the menu at Nadu is gluten-free. But unlike at the other sites, the focus here is on Sri Lankan and Tamil Nadu specialities, so expect lots more coconut, fermented flavours and bold spices. Again, if you avoid the breads, the menu is almost entirely gluten-free and coeliac safe, with the restaurant using chickpea flour for most fried and battered goods.

nadubristol.com

14. COR, North Street

COR is sunshine on a plate; a restaurant dedicated to showing off seasonal Mediterranean ingredients in their prime and pairing them with great hospitality and show-stopping drinks. COR has a separate menu which is completely gluten-free and can cater to coeliacs. The same can be said of their sister site, RAGÙ in Wapping Wharf, if you want something a little more Italian-leaning.

correstaurant.com

15. Condesa, Whiteladies Road

Though they don’t shout about it, Condesa is accidentally an entirely gluten-free restaurant. As the menu is Mexican, all the tortillas and flour are made with corn, and so this is a super coeliac friendly spot. They do have gluten on site for staff food — so they can’t guarantee zero cross contamination — but nothing on the public-facing menu contains gluten. What it does contain is some excellent Mexican flavours and a great mezcal selection. Read The Bristol Sauce review of Condesa.

condesabristol.co.uk

16. Loki Poke, Wapping Wharf

A bowl of Loki Poke goodness feels genuinely nourishing for the soul. These Hawaiian creations are usually sushi-rice laden with fish, meat, vegan proteins and a whole load of brightly coloured veg, all tied together with a piquant sauce. I hunted down Loki Poke halfway through Glastonbury last year and it was the injection of vitamins I needed to keep me dancing ‘til the early hours. Almost everything served here is gluten-free, with only the vegan chicken and Satan’s gravy containing traces of gluten.

lokipokeuk.com

17. The Pancake Man, Wapping Wharf

A relative newcomer to Wapping Wharf, The Pancake Man is probably best known for his pancakes. No surprises there. He’s also known for being entirely, utterly, completely and totally gluten-free. Well maybe he isn’t, but his shipping container shack certainly is. Head here for a gluten-free sweet treat such as pancakes, loaded waffle bites, waffle churros and even chicken-topped waffles.

thepancakeman.co.uk

18. Wilsons, Chandos Road

God I could wax lyrical about Wilsons. I could write books, poems, speeches. But we are limited on time and space and so I won’t, I’ll just tell you this: Wilsons is my favourite restaurant in Bristol. If you want your gluten-free feast in the form of a Michelin-starred tasting menu this is where to get it, but don’t be put off thinking it’s super fancy and silly and pretentious. I’ve never met a more down-to-earth couple than owners Jan and Mary, who grow almost everything on the menu on their nearby farm. It’s a very small kitchen (you won’t believe they can produce that in there) so they can’t guarantee there’s no cross contamination, but they can do a whole menu gluten-free and frequently cater for coeliacs.

wilsonsbristol.co.uk

19. Soukitchen, North Street

Soukitchen is a rainbow of a restaurant — the menu is chock full of colour, flavour and Middle-Eastern inspiration. It’s a dinner out that manages to feel both indulgent and healthy at the same time. Approximately 75 per cent of the small plates are free from gluten and the fryer is gluten-free, so it’s coeliac-friendly too. The only dishes that aren’t gluten-free on the current menu are the flatbread (which will be swapped for crudités), the taramasalata, the prawns and the trifle. Other than that, dig in. Read The Bristol Sauce review of Soukitchen.

soukitchen.co.uk

20. Pizza on the Park, Park Street

Pizza on the Park have gone to town on making their restaurant a gluten-free haven. There’s a separate menu which is entirely gluten-free and safe for coeliacs, featuring pizzas, obviously, plus salads, sides and small plates. They’ve got a local gluten-free beer in the form of Arbor Mosaic to wash it down with and the gluten-free pizzas are cooked in an entirely separate oven. Fair play POTP, fair play.

pizzaonthepark.com

21. Noah’s, Bathurst Basin

I don’t think there’s a fish and chip shop award in existence that Noah’s hasn’t won. It’s a fish and seafood restaurant that serves superb fish and chips as well as more adventurous items such as whole Cornish sole in brown butter. Unlike Fisk and Frite it’s not entirely gluten-free, but they can cater to those with gluten allergies and coeliacs.

noahsbristol.co.uk

22. Gambas, Wapping Wharf

Gambas and Bravas are two of my favourite spots for tapas — they’re consistent, the hospitality is great and the aubergine with molasses is a dish that could stand up and represent Bristol. At Gambas, a couple of menu items are no-go for those avoiding gluten, but most are completely coeliac-friendly with the team using separate equipment. Make sure the team know about your requirements and you’ll be very well looked after.

gambasbristol.co.uk

23. Marmo, Baldwin Street

Few conversations about Bristol’s best restaurants happen without a mention of Marmo; a restaurant dedicated to the art of combining local and seasonal ingredients with Italian flavours and inspiration. Marmo has a Michelin Bib Gourmand in recognition of its excellence and value, and a generous chunk of the menu is gluten-free. Sadly the pasta is not, but they can offer substitutions, and though all the items are cooked in the same kitchen they do use separate equipment when catering to those with gluten allergies.

marmo.restaurant

24. Fisk and Frite, St Werburgh’s

There’s two things that don’t even cross the threshold at Mina Road’s premier fish and chip shop Fisk and Frite: meat and gluten. The entire menu and therefore the entire kitchen is gluten-free and suitable for coeliacs. The fish and chips have quickly become established as some of the best in the city, but the menu extends far beyond just things-in-batter, so take friends and order widely. Read The Bristol Sauce review of Fisk and Frite.

fiskandfrite.com

25. Prime by Pasture, Redcliffe

As mentioned in the introduction, it was burgers that got this gluten-free dough ball rolling. I’m pleased to report that Prime by Pasture — the burger offshoot of the eponymous steak joint — is very gluten-free friendly. The restaurant has gluten-free buns, gluten-free breading for fried chicken and everything is cooked in a separate fryer. Though they can’t guarantee zero cross-contamination as it’s a small kitchen and the fryers are next to each other, great effort has been made to make these burgers safe for everyone to enjoy — and enjoy them you certainly will.

primebypasture.com

26. Mangosteen, Cotham Hill, North Street and Gloucester Road

Mangosteen is all neon lights and bright colours and good times. The food is purported to be Thai tapas but they are quite happy to take inspiration from most of South East Asia. It’s not the most authentic, but it is delicious and very good fun. 90 per cent of the menu is gluten-free and all of it’s available with gluten-free soy sauce. Sadly the spring rolls are off the table, but everything else is cooked in separate woks so is suitable for coeliacs. Read The Bristol Sauce review of Mangosteen.

mangosteenbristol.co.uk

All words and photos by Meg Houghton-Gilmour

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While attention has been focused on the catastrophe unfolding in Iran, Bristol’s Persian scene has come up with much happier news. Sam’s Master Grill has been reborn, sloughing off the old, tatty vinyl frontage and emerging gleaming new just down the road. Gleaming new and much bigger, taking over two adjacent shops. Sam’s is writ large, literally: the new sign would easily be legible from the M32 if St Werburgh’s didn’t get in the way, and there’s another huge version on the wall inside for good measure.

The patron himself is, of course, not of diminutive stature. Kurdish-born Saman Tav, chef, political activist, spice merchant and catering entrepreneur in one imposing figure, patrolling the floor marshalling his expanded team — 12 people now — via their secret service-like earphone sets.

The new interior is bright, white and minimal, a total departure from the dark rustic look of the old place, and the grill — sorry Master grill — occupies a long kitchen area at the rear rather than the front window as before. Sam’s kitchen is a compact engine room of state of the art stainless steel machinery from Iran, America, China and the UK, assembled with fanatical precision and cost efficiency by Sam himself and powered by gas and super-fast induction heat. If you’re imagining bags of charcoal and bellows, you’re way off.

The kitchen turns out excellent grilled meat — it wouldn’t be Master if it didn’t — marinaded and brush-basted, mostly lamb and all halal (in case that influences you for or against). We had a good mixed grill of chicken and minced lamb kofta (£20).

Skewers of mixed liver and heart (£10) made a nice starter, as did a delicious dish of mirza ghassemi (£8), a rich, oily mix of smoked aubergine, garlic, tomato, and scrambled-in egg, a bit like a Persian piperade, served, like everything, with voluminous circular sheets of thin naan for scooping.

The starters were very good with an unusual Italian rose, Chiaretto di Bardolino — ours as Sam’s isn’t licensed, but does charge extremely modest corkage: £3 for a bottle or £1 a can. We took along some Bordeaux for the mains. You might think it logical to go for Shiraz, but though the Iranian region of Shiraz did make wine in pre-revolutionary days, the grape now known as Shiraz, or Syrah, didn’t originate there. There’s an interesting wine made by the Khaledi family, expatriate Shirazis in California, but unfortunately it’s not available in the vicinity of the railway bridge on Cheltenham Road.

I have to mention Sam’s other new gadgetry extravagance; high tech but retro entertainment gear. We were startled out of our contemplative Bordeaux sipping by a number of coloured lights we hadn’t noticed suddenly beginning to revolve and flash, followed by booming music from camouflaged speakers. Just a birthday of course — a bit of cake and clapping. Order was soon restored sufficiently to get on with the eagerly anticipated main course of dizi.

Apart from the grills, Sam’s does an interesting range of more unusual stews and braises, in addition to the common beef and sour herb ghormeh sabzi and lamb and yellow split pea gheimeh. Dizi (£22), also known as abgousht, a rich stew of lamb, potato, onion, chickpeas and white beans flavoured with turmeric and dried lime, is a dish rarely encountered in the UK, at least in its full version.

Sam’s staff do it properly, beside the table like a steak tartare: pouring off the liqueur from the granite cooking vessel — the dizi — holding it with big iron tongs, to serve as a bowl of exquisitely savoury broth. The meat and vegetables are then pounded with a pestle to make a delicious gooey mash, which you wolf down with scooping naan and bowls of pickles and salad.

I’ve eaten full-dress dizi twice in my life. The first was in Qom, the Ayatollah Khomeini’s stamping ground, and I have to say the clerical version was marginally richer and smoother, but Sam’s is still an absolute treat. Not content with dizi, I had to go back the following day to try the whole stewed lamb neck (£25), another dish left overnight in the oven, in this case in a mixture of oil and water, making it a little like a French confit. A huge portion served with barberry-strewn rice; succulence dialled up to eleven — I can hardly bear to imagine how delicious the Ayatollahs’ version must be.

There’s only one dessert, a smooth saffron ice cream (£7), but it’s really good, made in-house of milk, vanilla, saffron and rose water. It would be great with a slosh of Armagnac, but walking in clanking two bottles of wine seems louche enough without adding a third of spirits.

After that there’s Persian tea, served on a tray with swizzle sticks of crystallised sugar to stir in and dates (£8). All in all, a very smart new location for Sam’s masterclass in Persian cookery, and one continuing to attract parties of Iranians over from Swindon and Cardiff, though maybe one to avoid on your birthday if you’re of a nervous disposition.

All words and photos by Philip Sweeney

Sam’s Master Grill, 203 Cheltenham Road, BS6 5QX

The Bristol Sauce is an AI free publication — all our work is written and edited by humans.

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Do you remember what came before Wapping Wharf? A car park. A gurt big, ugly car park. Isn’t it incredible that that same space — which I have a picture of thanks to the wonders of Google, to jog your memory — is now the home of tens of independent

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Marco Pierre White is perhaps the greatest chef this country has ever produced. Chef-patron of legendary Harvey’s with its renowned tagliatelle of oysters. First British chef to earn three Michelin stars and, at the time, the youngest worldwide to do so. Mentor to one Gordon Ramsay, who he famously made cry, albeit without admitting to. “I didn’t make Gordon cry, he made himself cry”, the Yorkshireman once claimed. Which is like mowing down an old lady at a zebra crossing and saying “I didn’t break her leg, she broke her own leg.”

In these post-Hell’s Kitchen days Pierre-White has a string of terrible steakhouses, an ambassadorial role for Knorr stock cubes — probably not featured in his oyster tagliatelle — and some restaurant opinions that are, at best, questionable. “McDonald’s offers better food than most restaurants” is one. “Trust me, there’s no better place in Bristol and which represents better value”, is another, and I don’t think any reader of The Bristol Sauce would have guessed Finzel’s Reach Lamaya for that one.

Most recently he has made murmurs by announcing the long-awaited Ridley Scott film based on his life will not go ahead, and caused genuine uproar in his hometown of Bath by snapping a photo of some, admittedly carbonised, pizza at Landrace and plastering it all over social media, like a grandad who has just graduated from TripAdvisor to Instagram. The result was a pile-on from locals, stock cube stans and, most tellingly, some of the pioneers of the New Haven style pies that Landrace were trying to ape. I feel bad for Landrace — their upstairs restaurant and bakery have never been anything less than excellent in my experience — but that pizza was, to coin a technical term, fucked.

But one restaurant that has received love from Marco, however, is Chilli Family Noodles, which he claims is his favourite restaurant in Bath.

Chilli Family Noodles is, as the name suggests, a family-run restaurant, with lots of noodles and a penchant for Sichuanese cuisine, with the odd unagi don or chow mein thrown in for good measure. Slap bang next to Bath Spa bus station, it is ideal for visiting Bristolians trying to spend as little time as possible amongst the meandering hordes of lost tourists flitting somewhere between the spa and the Jane Austen museum.

I say next to the bus station, but it is actually inside the same building. A little corner section of what could once have been the waiting room or ticket office has been repurposed into a no-frills canteen-like space. A turnstile leading to the toilets is situated somewhat jarringly at one end of the room, while the decor, if you can call it that, consists of a small screen attempting to segregate the bathrooms from the dining room and another cutting off the kitchen. So far, so promising.

Chongqing xiaomian, that irresistible spiced noodle soup from Chongqing, a municipality that was, until the late 20th Century, part of Sichuan, is a sterling litmus test of any Sichuanese restaurant.

But first, mouth watering beef, which sounds much more appetising than the other translation ‘saliva beef’. And it was an excellent thing. Slices of fatty meat, the once impenetrable connective tissue broken down to a mere jiggle, made piquant with vinegar and the lightest nudge of spice with a few peanuts in their reddish skins and some fresh coriander strewn over the top.

A bean sprout and seaweed salad followed within seconds, both elements similarly crunchy and juicy, such that when you got both in one mouthful they melded into an inseparable whole, like Ant and Dec. The same sparse trickle of peanuts and coriander anointed the slightly salty, vegetal hillock.

If you have a matinée to catch of Urinetown: The Musical at Theatre Royal, you could even consider a pre-show meal research given the toilet situation. Similarly for a Stewart Lee gig at Komedia, Chilli Family Noodles would be an excellent option to ensure you didn’t miss the beginning of “Keir Starmer’s let himself go”, as only four minutes later, the xiaomian materialised as a large, round matt black bowl full nearly to the rim with the characteristically thin noodles. A generous chunk of boned out duck leg, a little trickle of chilli oil and — you guessed it — a couple of peanuts and a leaf of coriander completed the bowl. The broth was pleasantly sapid with soy and sesame, but curiously gentile. We had been asked beforehand whether we wanted it spicy or not spicy, and affirmed the former, so we were expecting the white heat barrage of red chilli and Sichuan peppercorns.

I once ordered a dish of live shrimp on a wooden platform jutting out into the crystal clear lake of a Chiang Mai mountain range. What were brought over were not just dead, but fully cooked. “This idiot doesn’t know what he’s ordering”; the server’s clear train of thought. This was that, but in Bath, so even more embarrassing for me. Scoville would have been sent scrabbling around for a smaller unit of measurement.

Apart from that, the dish was pretty damn good. But apart from Reform, Labour were victorious in the local elections. Okay, so the crispy duck wasn’t exactly crisp. I have had crispy duck in a noodle soup, in dry noodles, and as a standalone dish so many times. To receive properly lacquered, crisp skin is as vanishingly rare as a chef handing back their Michelin stars. It’s one of those things you have to catch at exactly the right time, the skin starting to sag as soon as it is out the oven, as was the case here. The meat underneath, however, was undeniably delicious; cooked through but with no hint of dryness, and more tender than Keir Starmer’s ego on Friday 8th.

“Meat dumplings” came as a group of 10 or 15. 10 proved more than enough. Pop one in your mouth, pop the skin, and, if you’re not careful, a gush of scalding, fragrant juice spurts out. The pork meat below, the greyish pink of a bashful elephant, has been formed into small balls with the addition of a few herbs and possibly a suggestion of ginger. A soy dipping sauce was simple but effective.

So, are Marco’s gems still worth heeding? Or is he becoming increasingly obsolete? I don’t think he’s quite there yet — after all, he’s still a semi-frequent judge on MasterChef Australia. And on Chilli Family Noodles he’s more right than wrong. To quote the man himself once more, “perseverance is the key to success in the kitchen and in life.” I’ll probably find myself back in that bare dining room again. And hopefully I’ll get my spicy xiaomian, and Marco will get his biopic.

All words by PXandTarts, all photos by Meg Houghton-Gilmour

Chilli Family Noodles, 1 Dorchester Street, Bath, BA1 1SS

The Bristol Sauce is an AI-free publication. All our work is written and edited by humans.

The news

The most exciting news from the last month is that the Lloyds buildings, often referred to as the banana and the doughnut, on the harbourside are to be redeveloped. Canons Wharf will retain a lot of office space, but the ground floor of the ‘banana’ looking out onto the amphitheatre is set to become cafes, restaurants and shops. Apparently there will also be a cold-plunge pool, saunas, a gym and a podcast studio. I love that we’re now unable to conceive of a development without a cold-plunge pool and a podcast studio. But new restaurants and cafes is great news, although no timeline for the development has yet been released — and if other Bristol building works are anything to do by, we probably shouldn’t get too excited just yet. Read A Bone To Pick: Bristol’s Harbourside Needs a 180.

On Chandos Road celebrations are in order as One Fish Street has been added to the Michelin Guide. The guide notes: “A wide range of oysters is at its core, joined by other seafood plates such as red mullet with a piquant shellfish sauce. Look out for the selection of high-end tinned fish too”. It seems like the move from St Ives was a good one. Read The Bristol Sauce review of One Fish Street.

Pizzeria-cum-micro-brewery Zero Degrees has new owners — a company called ‘Saffron Sky’. The team will apparently rebrand in the coming months and launch a smash burger menu (just in time for the death of the trend) in partnership with Ruby & White Butchers. We shall be keeping a close eye on the proceedings.

Cocktail bar Milk Thistle has new owners too after its previous parent company Hyde and Co went into liquidation. The new owners are working in partnership with the Spirit of Bristol, who will be distilling Milk Thistle gin — allowing you to both poison yourself and detox in one drink — and vodka on the top floor and offering tastings and tours.

Press

I have joked before about naming this section the Dongnae edit, and, well, they’ve done it again. The National Restaurant Awards took place earlier this month and Dongnae has been ranked the 12th best restaurant in the country. Congratulations also to Wilsons, which climbed to number 32. That’s it for Bristol entries on the list, although Osip in Bruton was awarded joint second!

Mental health advocate and all-round lovely man Dan from Dan Dan’s Coffee Van has been going viral over the last few weeks for his sweet video messages on Instagram. He even ended up on BBC News. Dan’s Instagram is well worth a follow for seriously wholesome content.

Closures

One of the more bizarre reasons for a closure this year is that of the Orchard Coffee Company in St George, where the landlords will be taking back the site at the end of August to turn it back into a church, which sounds like a God awful decision. In a heartfelt video on Instagram, owner Joel shared the sad news and thanked his staff. The Stokes Croft branch of Orchard Coffee will remain open.

After a turbulent few years involving a pest problem and several rebranding exercises, Gepetto’s Pizza — formerly G Bros — has served its last slice. The team shared on Instagram that they could no longer keep up with the rising costs facing the hospitality industry.

Another casualty comes in the form of The Social bar and restaurant on Stokes Croft, which is due to close permanently on 4 July after 15 years. On Instagram the owner Charlie shared that ‘they’ve reached the end of the road’, but also that ‘we've got some killa send off parties to come’.

New openings

The Root team are opening a restaurant within a restaurant in the form of Koji Izakaya on the ground floor of Root Bath. Koji will be open on Wednesdays and Thursdays from 24 June, led by Root Bath’s head chef Joe Fowler who previously ran the much-loved Bushi Sushi. On the menu are skewers, hosomaki, nigiri and gyoza-stuffed chicken wings.

It is my pleasure to announce that new french restaurant in Clevedon, Mon Plaisir, is now open from father-and-son duo Toby and Harry Gritten, who previously ran The Pump House. Review coming soon!

Upgrade your subscription now to read about eight more new openings

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To keep growing, we need to get that number of paying Saucers to 1,000. If you’ve been reading for a while and getting something out of it, now is a good time to upgrade — it’s £4.50 a month or £45 a year.

I know times are tough, and if that’s not for you right now, you can still support us by sharing an article with someone who’d enjoy it. Thank you! ~ Meg.

There are a lot of similarities between a game of football and a meal out. Both last, on average, about 90 minutes. A strong team in the right positions and a solid manager will ensure success on the pitch and on the floor. The French are the current favourites, from wherever you’re sat. Throwing pizza in someone’s face is frowned upon in both cases. England would be useless on both fronts were it not for immigration. Whichever way you look at it, Pep Guardiola was briefly successful in Manchester, and Salt Bae should never be anywhere near the action.

But football and good food are so often mutually exclusive. Last week in his column for Broadsheet, critic Jimi Famurewa posed the question: Is it ever possible to balance serious culinary intent with televised football?

In Bristol, options are scarce, but certainly not absent entirely. There’s Three Brothers Burgers, Cord Kitchen at Bristol Beer Factory, The Sportsman for a Guerrilla Burger, The Pelican in Chew Magna and The Shakespeare in Redland, all of which are showing the football and serving food. And then there’s Ardito’s Kitchen at The Royal Oak.

The name will ring a bell for those with ears to the ground and noses to the wind. For the last 18 months or so, Ardito’s has operated as a pop-up in front of Lost and Grounded’s brewery/taproom, serving a concise but thrilling central and south-American offering including birria tacos and arepas.

The very same Jose Ardito can now be found delighting ravenous customers at The Royal Oak on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. The walls of The Royal Oak are flanked with TV screens showing the football, meaning that World Cup revellers need no longer choose between England and a damn good dinner.

Depending on which side of the table you were sat, it was either Spurs vs Chelsea or Man City vs Bournemouth a few weeks ago. Despite my loyalty the boys in sky blue, I wasn’t really paying attention — the birria nachos (£12), which arrived shortly after we did were really very distracting, loaded as they were with dense strings of soft beef, melted mozzarella, garlic mayo and fresh onion and coriander with a pot of birria consommé.

Being a food critic is one of the least healthy occupations out there, so I’m always relieved to be presented with a bit of vegetable garnish on any meat and cheese fest. With that in mind, I would have taken some pico de gallo or guacamole in place of the garlic mayo, but once I’d resigned myself to the fact that this was going to be an evening heavy on the meat and cheese and that #fibremaxxing could resume tomorrow, I took to the basket with vigour. In fact, all evidence of them was gone — and Spurs were predictably 1-0 down — by the time our delayed dinner date had even turned up. Though if he’d suggested ordering them, I’d have enthusiastically gone in for a second round.

Come to Ardito’s Kitchen to be fed well, but don’t expect variety. Next up were three birria tacos (£14), once again loaded with cheese and that Mexican stewed beef; so rich in flavour and warm spices you’d think the cow itself had been raised on molé quesadillas and cochinita pibil. When the birria is that good — as good as any I’ve had Guadalajara or Mexico City — you don’t mind that every menu item features it, because it would be a waste not to.

Rich ordered a burger because he wanted his meat and cheese wrapped up in a bun rather than a tortilla, and being the generous man that he is, sawed off a quarter and pushed it across the table. The chimi burger (£15), one of four on the menu, is your only chance at greenery — but to get to the fresh salad you’ll have to compromise on two beef patties, bacon, mozzarella, cheddar, chimichurri and garlic sauce. As long as you’re hungry, it’s no bad thing; the patties flaunted their dry-aged flavour with caramelised edges and a just-cooked centre.

Finally an arepa (£14) arrived along with a wave of mild panic; Spurs were on the brink of being relegated, too much birria had been consumed and now a thoroughly-stuffed pocket of corn dough had to be dealt with. Carefully. One wrong move and this pabellón arepa would burst its banks, leaving yet more beef, cheese, beans and sweet plantain all over the table. Taking one small bite was a perilous operation and confirmed what we already knew; it was utterly delicious because it was virtually a carbon copy of everything that had come before it. That said, arepas are very rare round these parts, and it’s great to see the Colombian flatbreads represented in the pubs of Clifton or, indeed, Colombian fare full stop.

There was no dessert; a blessing, as I felt ready to birth a birria baby. Haaland had scored, Spurs had lost, and yet both seemed irrelevant in the face of such artistry in the kitchen. Usual order had been restored.

Until now I have been fairly loyal to Gourmet Warriors when it comes to satiating my birria needs round these parts — and to be fair I expect Easton’s (and possibly the world’s) best pub The Plough, in which they are residents, will also be showing the football this summer. So now you’ve got not one but two very good options for watching football while consuming birria tacos.

As Jimi said in his column: ‘The winners, to my mind, are those kitchens that dial in to vividly flavoured comfort, operate within clearly established parameters and bring rigour, craft and surprise to something ostensibly simple.’ He’d love Ardito’s, and so will you.

All words and photos by Meg Houghton-Gilmour

Ardito’s Kitchen, Tuesday - Thursday, The Royal Oak, 50 The Mall, BS8 4JG

The Bristol Sauce is an AI free publication — all our work is written and edited by humans.

I take a hungry bite of a seared beef patty, fingers gripped on to the brioche bun like Alex Honnold in Free Solo. As I chow down, I keep one eye on the encroaching shadow. I keep my feet firmly planted, ready to swerve at any moment. And then it happens. A shrill scream is let out behind me.

As I turn, I register the shock on the small child’s face as a seagull swoops down into his tray of chips, taking flight with vinegar-soaked winnings in its beak.

I felt sorry for the little guy, whose cheeks are now red and wet, but he’s just learnt a valuable lesson. Those feathered lunatics are ruthless.

This isn’t a cautionary tale of seagull food theft, it’s a call for the dire need of protection from the elements for the Bristol street food scene. Is it asking too much to get some shelter from the rain? I don’t want my tau yew bak getting wet.

For years, I’ve been waiting for a dining hall to be built in Bristol and I pinned all my hopes on BoxHall. These prayers were swiftly crushed when the BoxPark team announced that they were no longer opening. Having originally penned the opening date for 2022 it was a slow and frustrating death.

Elsewhere, the council recently announced there’s a huge £5.5 million bill for critical repairs to St Nicholas market. If we lost St Nicks, then I would be seriously worried about the future of Corn Street. It’s already become ‘Little London’, packed full of neon-signed bars and chain eateries. If Matina goes, then what really is the point?

I don’t have big enough pockets to afford small plates and high-end dining all the time, but I do want to support independent businesses. An indoor food hall would offer a more affordable experience that you could use frequently. Evening meals in Bristol are expensive now, so the social cohesion that eating out together provides is hard to do on a tighter budget.

Many days of business are lost to poor weather in Bristol. Every year I witness outdoor markets get cancelled at key times, due to the unpredictable nature of English weather. Other UK cities like Liverpool, Birmingham, Edinburgh, and Cardiff have created infrastructure for the street food industry that protects traders from the outdoors and potential lost revenue.

At Christmas, I visited Edinburgh and spent my first evening dining at the street food market in the OMNi centre. A great place, bustling with people enjoying bao, barbecue and burgers. I indulged in some Peruvian pork belly with salsa criolla and aji verde, washed down with a Scottish lager. Top scran.

Recently, I was in Copenhagen where the vast size of Reffen blew me away. It wasn’t fully protected from the elements but was a great example of creating a food and drink destination that people flock to. I’d happily live in one of the huts, only to be lured out by the smell of Kurdish kebabs grilling.

I took a train from Copenhagen to Malmö for the day and stumbled upon the Malmö Saluhall, where cold pilsner and ramen were plentiful.

I moved to Bristol in December 2015. On my first night out, I headed to Yurt Lush at Temple Meads. A great spot for food and drink; the buzz of workers catching a pint before the last train was palpable. It was then I knew I’d made the right decision about moving to Bristol and I was excited to watch it grow and evolve. Now I walk around Temple Meads filled with a melancholic sadness.

I’m starkly aware of the constant missed opportunities in Bristol. There are so many inventive and talented people here that need a better place to call their food business home. I don’t care how many times we make The Sunday Times’ ‘best place to live’ list, we need to invest in genuine culture.

So, this is a call to arms. Build your student halls and drab office blocks but please consider giving us something decent for our food and drink scene. Build it and they will come — I certainly will.

All words and photos by Thomas Whitehead

Do you have a bone to pick with Bristol’s food scene? Get in touch.

The Bristol Sauce is an AI free publication — all our work is written and edited by humans.

Derived from Greek, Psychopomp are the spirits or demons whose job it is to escort souls to the afterlife.

Sonny Stores, meanwhile, is named after the eldest son of owners Pegs Quinn and Mary Glynn, and apparently also references The Godfather — not one half of the iconic ‘I Got You Babe’ 60s duo as you might (not) have thought, nor the nickname of Spurs’ legendary South Korean striker.

Sonny Stores initially started as a pizza operation during COVID but since 2021 has been knocking out puffy potato bread with hot honey and pancetta, and thick wedges of frangipane tart, studded with whatever fruit is at its best and moated by crème fraîche and burnt butter.

Psychompomp, the distiller, dates back a few years further, its signature woden gin first trickling out in 2014.

Differing origins, but the two share an appreciation for quality, locality and good things done quietly. As such, it made perfect sense when it was announced the former would be installing and manning the stoves inside the latter, particularly with Italian food having something of a moment in the sun — if it has ever really been in the shade. In the capital, the likes of Osteria Vibrato, Burro and Tiella are thriving. Incredibly, Jamie’s Italian has just reopened in Leicester Square, a comeback about as popular as scabies. Closer to home, Bacco has just launched on Gloucester Road and Pizza Pilgrims have just joined us from the Big Smoke.

The only evidence of the novel possibility of food within the small (obviously) micro distillery on St Michael’s Hill were two words: Sonny and Stores. Written in their now familiar typeface, they sandwiched the restaurant’s distinctive sunflower motif above the front door which was propped open in the tail end of May’s heatwave.

Inside, a small list of dishes was scrawled, scruffy and endearing, across a blackboard. Most of the remaining, apothecary-coded space was taken up by wooden shelves bolted together and lined with an array of potions to take home with you. Starting with a cocktail seemed, if not obligatory, then at least logical.

My first bite was perfectly poised to partner my negroni. For those attempting to trap the zeitgeist, it would have been equally good with a martini. A fried gorgonzola sandwich with guindillas and honey (£12) was salty, crunchy and fatty: drinking food. You won’t get the same ‘grammable cheese pull from gorgonzola as you might more malleable cheeses like mozzarella or robiola, but its distinctive tangy flavour more than makes up for it. And without wanting to sound too much like Winnie the Pooh, I’d have taken an even more liberal approach to the honey splodged on top as a sticky-sweet bridge between the piquant cheese and a brushpile of pokey guindillas. It was a cheese toastie that had been taken on a guided tour of Piedmont and come home speaking like the Mario Bros; a deceptively simple assembly that I will undoubtedly be attempting to recreate next time I stumble home after too many negronis.

A trio of prawn and mushroom crostini (£12) featured slices of charred bread so soaked in garlicky, buttery juices that had been spooned onto the unusual shellfish-fungi combo that they were essentially de facto garlic bread. No bad thing. In fact there was so much delicious residue left behind once the sweet, snappy crustaceans and plump, smoked shrooms had been polished off, I would have called for more bread had I not wanted to maintain at least the facade of match fitness. You never know when you might get a last minute call up from a desperate Thomas Tuchel.

‘Hot smoked pork rump, borlotti beans, salsa verde’ (£18) looked a thing of beauty on its oval plate. A shining, mahogany plank of pig was dappled in enough of the tricolour salsa verde (herbal green, the scarlet of chilli and garlicky white) to send William Sitwell running to nanny, sobbing “there’s sauce on my food”.

Sadly, the pork itself was nearly impenetrable. Sawing, slashing and stabbing hunks off the rump eventually did the trick and those morsels with enough fat attached were, if not exactly delightful, then at least fine. A carpet of plump, creamy beans underneath was irresistible, having soaked up all the garlicky, porky juices as well as half an olive grove’s worth of verdant oil. Still, that’s as much consolation as winning the World Cup Golden Boot having gone out in the group stages; a feat achieved just the once, in case you were wondering.

I forgot to take a photo of the final plate — very unlike me; the irrepressible heat wasn’t only causing the odd error behind the stoves, where it must have been near getting-out-of-the-kitchen infernal — but it was a suitably quenching one. A bracing tumble of red chicory, slices of crunchy apple and slithers of ricotta salata (£11) was augmented by salted almonds and breezy fresh mint. Big hunks of bacon-y cooked prosciutto hogged the spotlight and made the whole thing rather too porcine. It’s a rare salad that doesn’t take to a cunning infiltration of piggy bits. Indeed, few concessions were made to vegetarianism — even gorgonzola uses animal rennet, which is nothing if not authentically Italian.

Any veggies thinking “oh well, I’ll just have to wait til dessert” would have been shit out of luck: all four flavours of Little Knuckles ice cream (£5), made back at Bedminster HQ, had flown out in the sun and been struck through on the blackboard. Pistachio, cardamom and orange would’ve been my pick, given ice cream is currently the only pudding option. No news on whether Sonny Stores’ redoubtable tarts or tiramisu will make the trip over the river as summer progresses.

Since dessert was off the table, at that point we called it, like the referee who didn’t let Bukayo Saka take Arsenal’s corner on the stroke of half in the Champions League final.

Service was genuine and generous all night, (probably aided by the fact that at times we were the only people in the building). And not just because of the (presumably deliberately) erroneous claim that we had arrived in time for happy hour, despite rocking up nearly half an hour after its advertised end. We certainly weren’t complaining about £6.50 Negronis made with woden, Italian bitter aperitivo and Aperitivo!Co Turin vermouth, nicely bitter and full of red fruit, or dark and stormies made with spiced rum from Circumstance, Psychompomp’s sister distillery.

It is a matter of record that I am a fan of Sonny Stores. I enjoy what they do and what they stand for. And, without wanting to bang the same drum as last time I reviewed one of their projects, hospitality is still suffering. This appearance, scheduled to run for the foreseeable future, wasn’t their best performance. But as the team settles in and irons out any kinks, it could easily become a prime spot to catch one’s breath half way up the hill. To take in the student shenanigans and football fans, all while supping bargainous negronis before or after watching Saka back in action or, indeed, as the ideal way to avoid the World Cup entirely. I can only hope happy hour is as elongated next time.

All words and photos by PXandTarts

Sonny Stores at Psychopomp, 145 St Michael's Hill, BS2 8DB

The Bristol Sauce is an AI free publication — all our work is written and edited by humans.

16. Hart’s Bakery, Temple Approach

Underneath the concourse of Temple Meads Station, in a Victorian railway arch, is Hart’s Bakery, which has become synonymous with Bristol’s bakery scene. Sweet and savoury pastries, sourdough loaves, stacks of cookies and shortbread make way for sausage rolls, filled focaccia and daily changing pasties. Try their classic custard tart, Saturday bread — an enriched dough shot through with caramel (only available on a Saturday) — and never pass up a cauliflower cheese pasty. If you’re travelling by train, you must factor in a visit.

Arch 35 Lower Approach Road, BS1 6QS | Tuesday - Saturday | hartsbakery.co.uk

17. Herbert’s Bakery, Montpelier

Established in the 1960s and originally owned by the family behind Hobbs House, Herbert’s Bakery remains a quiet, family-run Bristol institution. Tucked behind the Thali Café, another well-known Montpelier establishment, there have been rumours of closure and redevelopment. While it remains, go for pocket-friendly patties, sausage rolls, upside-down cake and sprinkle doughnuts.

Wellington Avenue, Montpelier, BS6 5HP | Monday - Friday

18. Hilda, various locations

Selling from a converted Piaggio Porter van, Will Prosser, the man behind Hilda, specialises in laminated pastries. Almond croissants, pain Suisse and cardamom-glazed Kouign-amann make regular appearances, alongside pain au chocolat and cinnamon breakfast buns. It’s the seasonal Danishes, however, that are a must. Multi-layered, often with delightful hidden elements — think soft-set jams, baked custards and poached fruits — and topped with herbs or edible flowers. Hilda pops up at Clouds in St Werburgh’s every Saturday and Cor, on North St, the second Sunday of every month and can otherwise be found at Whiteladies Road market.

Thursdays, Fridays and Sundays at Whiteladies Road, Saturdays at Clouds, second Sunday of the month at COR | instagram.com/hilda.bakery

19. Hobbs House Bakery, Gloucester Road

Run by fifth-generation bakers and boasting a seventy-year-old sourdough starter, Hobbs House Bakery is one of Bristol’s oldest bakeries. They use organic stone-ground heritage grains in their heritage loaf, marking their centennial celebrations. If it’s on the counter (and you’re omnivorous), don’t miss the chance to try their lardy cake — a rolled and folded sweet, sticky tea cake made using rendered pork fat and dried fruits which is more commonly found at their Nailsworth and Tetbury bakeries.

177 Gloucester Road, BS7 8BE | Monday - Saturday | hobbshousebakery.co.uk

20. Joe’s Bakery, Gloucester Road

A stalwart of Gloucester Road, Joe’s Bakery will have you covered for most of your baked good needs. From split-tins to sourdoughs and ryes, Joe’s also make great cob rolls and brioche burger buns. Turnovers, gingerbread and ring doughnuts with thick pink icing are always a hit, but you cannot beat their vanilla custard slice, which is truly the best in town.

45 Gloucester Road, BS7 8AD | Monday - Saturday | joesbakery.co.uk

21. Little Bagel Co., Clifton Triangle

Little Bagel Company, on the Triangle, is the place for New York-style bagels. Made in house, every bagel is fermented for eighteen hours, hand rolled, malt boiled and baked fresh every day. There are four types: plain, poppy seed, sesame and ‘everything’ style — so you can discover the perfect combination with the 24 fillings (over half of them vegan) on offer. Salmon lox and the salt beef Reuben are stone cold classics, but if they’re on, try their chopped cheese or steak and chimichurri special. Little Bagel also have a second site which is now open on Baldwin Street.

80 Queens Road, BS8 1QU | Seven days a week | littlebagelco.co.uk

22. Lunita Pasteleria, Gloucester Road

Further up Gloucester Road is Lunita Pasteleria, specialising in Argentinian pastries. If you love dulce de leche, a key ingredient in a number of confections, this is the place for you. Try the alfajores de maicena, cookies sandwiched with dulce de leche and rolled in coconut, or cañoncitos, tubes of puff pastry, piped with dulce de leche and dusted with icing sugar. There are freshly made empanadas too — my favourite is a beef and egg, served with a pot of chimichurri.

332 Gloucester Road, BS7 8TJ | Wednesday - Sunday | lunitapasteleria.com

23. Mark’s Bakery, Tobacco Factory

Mark’s Bakery (formerly Mark’s Bread) is one of Bristol’s original small batch bakeries. Focusing on slowly fermented breads, many of them sourdough, they have a daily special: ciabatta on Mondays to challah on Fridays. Sweet breads like their Chelsea and Belgian buns are also a forte, as are the seasonal Danishes. Now Mark’s is sharing a space with Five Acre Farm, you can pick up some locally grown produce to boot.

Tobacco Factory, BS3 1TF | Seven days a week | marksbread.co.uk

24. Mokoko, Brabazon

Spitfire Hangar is a community hub in the new Brabazon development, on what used to be Filton Airfield. On the ground floor is the newest and largest Mokoko Bakery — an independent local chain with bakeries across Bristol and Bath. Cakes, pastries and loaves are made daily on site. Try their mango and passionfruit cruffins if they’re on the counter (which I’ve tried at their Wapping Wharf bakery) — they’re pure sunshine. The walnut and honey caramel croissants are very good too.

Frise Street, Patchway, BS34 4AE | Seven days a week | instagram.com/mokokobakery

25. The Park Bakery, North Street

Taking its name from Victoria Park, where the original bakery is located, The Park Bakery has a second café on North Street — rather fittingly next to Ebenezer Gate Pocket Park. They have a great overnight loaf and granary bloomer, also used for their generously-filled sandwiches. Cinnamon buns with cream cheese icing and cardamom knots are both good choices but it’s their millionaire’s shortbread and caramel flapjacks that really steal the show.

49 North Street, BS3 1EN | Seven days a week | instagram.com/theparkbakery

26. Pinkmans, Bristol Cathedral

Another small, city-based chain, Pinkmans’ most central location is now in Bristol Cathedral’s refectory, after a fire devastated their café bakery on Park Street. They have quite a following for their sourdoughnuts, with fillings like pecan chocolate brownie or a light honeycomb mousse. Their cruffins are also good — especially raspberry and passionfruit curd or toffee apple, when on the menu.

College Green, BS1 5TJ | Seven days a week | pinkmans.co.uk/bristol-cathedral

27. Pipp and Co, College Green

Before the arrival of that ubiquitous American donut chain, there was Pippin Doughnuts, selling from their Wine Street market stall. Now Pipp and Co, with a premises opposite the cathedral, you no longer need to wait for the weekly food market. Mixed berry remains my favourite, with an excellent dough-to-filling ratio and lip-smacking tartness. Vanilla custard, passion fruit curd and cinnamon bear claws are also excellent.

35 College Green, BS1 5SP | Seven days a week | pipp.co

28. Small Goods, Temple Quay

Sandwiched between corporate offices and HMRC, Small Goods, in Temple Quay, makes some of the best doughnuts in town. Light, crisp, pillowy and bursting with filling; the flavours change regularly. House-made jams, poached fruits, flavoured custards, cheesecake centres, and tangy glazes are often vegan-friendly. Bostocks, brownies, focaccia and brioche buns are just some of the other offerings, if doughnuts aren’t your thing.

Unit 3, Temple Quay, 2 Glass Wharf, BS2 0EL | Monday - Friday | smallgoods.co.uk

29. Sotiris, Park Row

Underneath a striped awning and Aegean blue frontage, Sotiris Bakery on Park Row proudly declares its Greek baked goods. The place is compact but bursting with pastries, biscuits and baklava, plus Greek essentials for your store cupboard. Try their bougatsa for breakfast with a cup of Greek coffee or a wedge of spinach and feta spanakopita. Their chocolate tahini biscuits and wafers are a real treat too.

16 Park Row, BS1 5LJ | Seven days a week | sotirisgreekbakery.co.uk

30. Wilson’s Bread Shop, Chandos Road

Run by the Michelin-starred Wilson’s team, a few doors down from the restaurant, Wilson’s Bread Shop is housed in the old Redland Bakery. Country sourdough, focaccia and Icelandic rye are staples here with guest loaves from time to time. Cookies, choux au craquelin, flan patissier and layer cakes also grace the counter but it’s the Hokkaido milk buns with house koji-cured bacon that draws queues.

18A Chandos Road, BS6 6PF | Thursday - Sunday | wilsonsbristol.co.uk/the-bread-shop

All words and photos by Ishita DasGupta

The Bristol Sauce is an AI free publication — all our work is written and edited by humans.

If you haven’t seen ITV’s The Heat, which premiered to tumbleweed and static in February, you’re not missing out on much. It’s like Love Island has gotten its claws into MasterChef, but all the contestants, despite being fresh out of sixth form, are supposedly professional chefs. Multi Michelin-starred Jean-Christophe Novelli presides over a rotating series of kitchen disasters while Olivia Attwood narrates, occasionally popping in to witness the carnage first-hand. One of the first chefs to be sent home is Tom Lodge, who was so busy lusting after a fellow contestant that he managed to burn caramel twice and had the restaurant evacuated on his watch when the fire alarm was set off. If there’s one thing The Heat doesn’t imbue you with, it’s the confidence that any of the contestants can cook.

That said, Tom Lodge, with his bumbling, ever-optimistic outlook, unrequited crush and inadvertent comic timing had grown on us by the time he was kicked out, in a sort of David-Brent-origin-story kind of way. But, no matter how endearing he was, if there was one thing I wouldn’t do, it would be to put Tom in charge of a restaurant. Much less two.

It made our upcoming visit to the newly arrived Crave Bristol, of which Tom is the ‘creative director’ all the more exciting. Like Disneyland, we were very much hoping to meet one of the characters.

According to front of house extraordinaire Tibor, Tom was in charge of the ‘concept’ and creation of dishes at both Bristol and the original site in Exeter, but left a week ago and is now pursuing a career as a TV chef. Perhaps the Crave team saw sense and realised that Tom’s Z-lister pull isn’t quite what they’d hoped.

At Crave Bristol, it is senior head chef Sebastian Merry who is actually wielding the pans, which is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it’s not Tom, a curse because though I have no doubt that Seb can cook having very much enjoyed his food at two of his previous ventures - Cloak and Dagger, then Flipside. When he opened his own restaurant A.b.o.e I was less convinced.

With us on this particular Wednesday evening was second-time Craver and The Bristol Sauce’s first founding member, Steve. Steve is everything you could possibly want in a Saucer — he knows his shit about food and, especially, wine, eats and drinks with abandon and is very funny. Full marks for Steve.

If being sat on the terrace in the shade on a balmy day overlooking the Downs almost made me forget my misgivings about Crave, then service that delivered at a similar rate to tectonic plate movement brought it flying back. Once our drinks materialised, they were good; the lightly spiced picante (£12) with its hint of micro-coriander winning first place over the slightly too saccharine clarified pina colada (£12).

Steve wanted boquerones (£8) with his focaccia (£4.50), which isn’t something I’d normally order. Don’t get me wrong — I love boquerones — but one can discern next to nothing about a chef or a kitchen from a plate of tinned fish. Yet I was glad of these slithers of delicate fish as the focaccia was dry and devoid of any character — it had me wishing that Seb would bring back his poorly-named but ultimately delicious crack butter.

We ordered pork croquettes (£8) at the same time as the other snacks but they didn’t appear until a good forty minutes later and somehow they’d managed to forget the pork. This is the first time I’ve encountered vegetarian-friendly pork croquettes and hopefully the last.

On the other hand, the octopus dish (£11) did contain cephalopod and a skilfully cooked one at that. I have my qualms about eating octopus (I’ve literally got one tattooed on my arm) but I’ve felt a bit better after learning recently that they’re currently so overpopulated in UK waters they are munching their way through all of our lobsters. Still, there’s nothing worse than ordering your favourite animal and witnessing its massacre on the plate; torturously overcooked or drenched in something inedible. That was not the case at Crave. Whoever was in the kitchen had cooked the octopus to a deeply satisfying crisp exterior while the inside remained supple and served it on a simple bed of grilled red pepper and courgette. A suitable end indeed for an animal that has been dining out on hefty crustaceans.

The octopus’ sea-bedfellows prawn and unidentified white fish also told a tale of two halves. The white fish was dense and chewy and the ceviche (£13) it was sat in lacked the punchy citrus that should make your mouth pucker slightly, but the prawns (£16) almost made up for it; hefty sweet curls piled generously on top of a slice of bread and drenched in cafe de Crave butter. I say almost because despite having been mostly de-shelled, they hadn’t been deveined, which is just plain lazy.

And then vegetables in various forms and to various degrees of success. A grilled hispi (£11) with a slew of mustard mayo, crispy onions and fried sage topped the podium. In second place was the beetroot and goat’s curd salad with sea buckthorn (£11) — the root vegetable had gratifying bite but the curd was missing its signature tang, perhaps overrun by the sweet and citrus of the sea buckthorn.

The panzanella (£11), like the menu itself, had too much going on. Listen — I’m all for putting bread in a salad. The optimum form of salad bread is croutons. Chicken fat croutons, if we’re being specific. Failing that, panzanella is a stellar way of eating carbs under the guise of health and virtue. In fairness it wasn’t the bread in this panzanella I took issue with; it was the unripe tomatoes and swathes of leaves. Leaves! In a panzanella! The only leaves that should be in panzanella are basil, anything else and you dilute all that is good and proper in this waste-not-want-not creation. I would have rather had half as much with fewer intruders.

For dessert, we swerved the chocolate cremeux (£9) knowing full well that it is the same dish Seb had on at A.b.o.e as the ‘rolo finesse’. Good as it was, and presumably still is, we were remiss to eat the same thing again when there were new sweet items on offer. This was a mistake. The prosecco poached fruit with lemon curd and candied almond pavlova (£9) had a similar level of depth to Akito, Tom’s teammate on The Heat who insisted on referring to himself in the third person. A Biscoff and chocolate torte (£9) for all its promise was two dimensional and lacking in the caramelised joy of the sweetly spiced biscuit.

Can I wholeheartedly recommend the food at Crave? No. Did I have a great time sat on the terrace, drinking wine and chatting shit with top Saucer Steve and my fiancé? Yes. If there’s one man that makes Crave, its neither Tom nor Seb. It’s Tibor. The service picked up considerably once Tibor arrived on the scene, and from then on every time he came to our table we took the opportunity to chat with him as he shared astute recommendations on wine and food pairings. He is the epitome of hospitality and reason enough alone to go and spend a sunny afternoon on the terrace.

One of Tom’s lines on The Heat stayed with me: “when it comes to food, I’m not into bullshit”. Neither am I Tom, which is why I can’t give Crave full marks. But Tom, and Crave for that matter, are a testament to the fact that you can enjoy something while knowing objectively that it isn’t that good, and that as long as you’ve got the former to counter the latter, all is well.

All words and photos by Meg Houghton-Gilmour

Crave Bristol, 52 Upper Belgrave Rd, BS8 2XP

The Bristol Sauce is an AI free publication — all our work is written and edited by humans.

A one-off: Bravas’ 14th birthday party, Cotham Hill

Celebrate Cotham Hill’s beloved pocket of Spanish sunshine with sangria, margs and live music. Bravas is turning 14, and after a difficult year battling the council to retain their outdoor seating, a celebratory shindig is well deserved. To soak up up the sangria there’ll be a collaboration menu from Bravas and

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I often lament, mostly silently but sometimes loudly, the dearth of fresh, hot, homemade, walkable, street snacks in our country. And, allegations of mass data gathering under the guise of health technology aside, I think the ZOE lot make good points about eating well — keep it fresh, whole, and high quality. Therefore, an Italian slash mediterranean bistro café in Bedminster selling homemade arancini the weight of a small shotput for a reasonable price (£7) — and much more — is my dream come true.

Zena’s (long ‘e’, as in pizza) sits amongst the massage parlours and bed shops of West Street and, drenched in a technicolour avocado-and-grocery-mural, is a corner of equatorial sunshine on overcast pebbledash terraces. Owner Mehdi named the restaurant after his mum. It means beautiful in Arabic.

Cannoli is imported to Zena’s from Sicily and the rest of the food is made from scratch onsite, which would be impressive for a small team running this petite joint six days a week, but the team is wholly, solely, Mehdi. There were employees once but for the last two years it has just been him cooking the food, baking the bread, making the coffee and serving his locals he knows by name. “Sometimes it’s a lot”, he says, with a grin.

Mehdi makes his arancini in the east Sicily style, shaping them into massive teardrops, or mini mountains; they are thought to be inspired by the outline of Mount Etna. A thick outside crumb crust holds a gooey rice filling that nestles ragu, truffle, salami, or quattro formaggi.

Fun language fact: east and west Sicilians are deep into a centuries-long feud about the linguistic gender of these delectable deep-fried rice balls. In the west, they are spherical and feminine — arancine — while in the east they are conical and masculine — arancini. People feel extremely strongly about it, thanks to a combination of colonial history and past invasions intertwined with local dialect and identity. Many a travel blog tella the dangers of using the wrong gender on either side of the island to order the iconic Sicilian snack. Such passionate cultural argument reminds me of the time I brought a look of pure WTF upon my Italian friends’ faces when I ate a mozzarella ball at dinner concurrently with salad leaves, on the same plate, rather than one after the other. I never truly got to the bottom of why this was such a heinous crime, so if any Italians can enlighten me, I would welcome it.

Zena’s pizzas are Neapolitan-thin with a soft base broken up by big bursted yeast bubbles and laden with whatever topping you fancy. Gluten free is also an option — just ring ahead to give Mehdi enough time to prepare the dough. Having not rung ahead for my gluten free friend, I waited in a mild panic as Mehdi checked his stocks, but all was well, and my gluten free friendship survived to live another day. I, and she, are delighted to share that the gluten free pizza at Zena’s is actually good, which as most know is a rare miracle. Neither shattering in structure nor cardboard-y in flavour, the dough is supple and tasty enough to perhaps not even give the free-from game away.

I highly recommend rounding off dinner with a chunky, cigar-thick cannoli stuffed with creamy ricotta — also gluten free and available in a rainbow of flavours — and a bitter espresso to cut through the sweet.

The closest you can get to a glass of catarratto here is a strawberry energy smoothie, but no matter — feel free to grab a beer from Christmas Tesco opposite (you know, the one with fairy lights strung up year-round) to enjoy with your spaghetti al ragu, beetroot gnocchi, burger and fries, or avocado toast. While he serves up a good slice of Sicilian authenticity, Mehdi’s menu is truly wide-ranging. Top-to-toe Sicilian it is not, but, to be fair, no one said it should be. It is exactly what it wants to be, and for that, we love it.

All words and photos by Caitlin Johnson Bowring

The Bristol Sauce is an AI free publication — all our work is written and edited by humans.

The news

Bristol brewery Wiper and True have taken over the Arnolfini’s cafe and bar. Posting on Instagram, the brewery announced on 14 May that they have taken over the space and will be partnering with FED to serve food and drinks throughout the day. The inside is currently being refurbished, but the outside is open for business for anyone who wishes to enjoy a sunny harbourside pint while the weather is nice!

The Gallimaufry are opening an events space above the pub which will host workshops, parties, football screenings (just in time for the World Cup) and supper clubs. The renovations are currently ongoing but it sounds like they hope to be opening the space soon.

The team behind Greytone Coffee in St Paul’s have opened a roastery which is now supplying their cafe. The roastery is based in Montpelier, less than half a mile away from Greytone, and the beans roasted there are available for purchase in the cafe.

The couple behind Tapps on Whiteladies Road and The Shakespeare in Redland have started growing their own produce to supply the wine bar and pub. Greenwoods Garden is in Cardiff and will feature polytunnels, fruit trees, salad beds and herbs.

Chandos Road wine bar Barroux has opened its courtyard garden just in time for the warm weather. It can seat 18 people and gets the sun until 6.30pm — perfect for early evening drinking. Read The Bristol Sauce review of Barroux.

Restaurateur Dan O’Regan teased on his Instagram a few days ago that BANK in Totterdown will be bringing back breakfast on Saturdays. The venue originally opened as an all-day venue, but stopped doing breakfast after a few months. Now they’re bringing breakfast back as part of a wider refurb later this summer.

After spotting a sign for Thikanaa on Bedminster Parade last week I got all excited that the Southmead-based Indian restaurant might be opening a second site, but no. They’ve apparently been in temporary residence in Ganesha while some problems with the Southmead site were resolved, but they are returning to the original site imminently. Read The Bristol Sauce review of Thikanaa.

Sam’s Master Grill has moved a few doors down from its original site and had a serious facelift. The new spot is just before the arches and the decor is (sadly) a world away from the kitsch waterfalls and plastic plant garlands of the old site, but the staff are still wearing the signature Britney mics so all is not lost.

Closures

It seems Bedminster’s Knife and Fork Cafe is no more. The Sri Lankan spot on Bedminster Road is reported as temporarily closed on Google Maps and the staff posted on Facebook in February saying they were temporarily closing due to maintenance issues. A sign in the window shows that the site is available to let suggesting the closure is permanent. Read The Bristol Sauce review of Knife and Fork Cafe.

New openings

Aktar Islam’s Kush in Clifton Village is now taking bookings! The restaurant is still in its soft launch phase but the menu reads very well: bone marrow with paratha, Goan pork xacuti, chicken liver fry and corn ribs stand out among many superb sounding dishes.

Bath butchers/sandwich shop Green Street could soon be opening a second site in Bristol. The Walcot Group run Green Street as well as other South West favourites such as Solina, Walcot House and Little Walcot in Frome. The list of venues on their website now includes Green Street Bristol ‘coming soon’. We suspect this will not be the Walcot Group’s only venture into Bristol in the coming months…

There’s a new tapas bar on the brink of opening in

Upgrade your subscription to read about where the new tapas bar is, plus seven more openings.

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Thanks to the following people who answered my questions for this article:

Dan O’Regan (Dan) — Co-owner of BANK and Lapin, and author of Notes on a Napkin

Verity Foss (Verity) — Co-owner of Oowee

A marketing manager (MM) of four independent restaurants in Bristol, who wished to remain anonymous

A content creator (CC) with ~10,000 followers on Instagram, who wished to remain anonymous

Have you worked with content creators? If so, how have you found the experience and was it beneficial for your business?

Dan: “We’ve worked with content creators at both BANK and Lapin, although we’ve never paid anyone to come and eat with us. Lots of influencers have booked tables of their own accord, paid in full, and posted about it. A handful have come in as our guests after we’ve reached out to them.

“What I get a lot of, and I mean a lot, are cold DMs asking for a free meal in exchange for a post. Small creators with no prior relationship to either restaurant, often with significantly smaller followings than our own restaurant accounts. There are also visitors to Bristol sending blanket emails to anywhere with a kitchen. I know they’re blanket because the same pitch often lands in my personal Instagram inbox as well as the restaurant pages. The bloody cheek of it. I’ll never work with anyone who pitches like that.

“When I do send an invite, it’s because I think it’ll genuinely move the needle for us, and I do it on a pretty limited basis. The results can be tough to gauge, to be honest, so I tend to be cautious. I also tend to only invite people I know to be decent. An inconsiderate table can have a real impact on the other guests in the room and on the service as a whole, and a smooth shift will never play second fiddle to a creator’s visit. The people I’ve dealt with have almost always been pleasant, polite, and happy to let service unfold around them.

“Some visits have produced a noticeable uptick in bookings. Others haven’t. I’m wary of anyone who claims to guarantee grandiose results.”

thomfoodery’s comment from Instagram: “In the 10 years I spent as a food blogger (I started writing before Instagram existed) I charged one restaurant (£650. Not an independent) for a video. One. But I spent THOUSANDS. The majority of food content creators see it as a hobby and passion project. Growing their following and getting some local recognition/fame is the appeal — not money. There is no money in doing restaurant reviews 😂 Only a handful will get big enough to end up making more than they spend, and those are the ones who went full time after years of providing value to independent restaurants with their own money. If a restaurant contacts a creator, of course the meal should be covered. If they offer a small fee on top, that money will generally go straight back into hospitality.

“I’d put good odds that most Bristol food influencers put WAY more money into the independent food scene than the author of this piece (Meg) does. And yes, there are some rotten eggs. I have managed Instagram accounts for local restaurants for years and I see them in the inboxes like vultures, asking for “collabs” with nothing to back it up. It’s frustrating, and I get why restaurants feel frustrated and burned by it. Don’t even get me started on engagement pods. But that’s it, a few bad eggs. Same as any industry. Probably not as many in journalism.

“Done right, working with the right creators can transform a business overnight. The spike in footfall from a viral video might only last weeks or months, but the long-term impact can be significant. I’ve seen it happen. I’ve done it myself. I have the messages from grateful restaurant owners to prove it. This piece raises some valid points, but it also reeks of a food journalist with a degree who’s bitter that someone with a few thousand followers, pizza hanging out of their mouth and a LED light in their hand, has more reach and influence than they do… and probably ever will!”

Verity: “I think the main creator we’ve consistently worked with is Bos Finesse, and honestly I’ve always been really happy with the content produced. The work we’ve done together has mainly been paid campaign content around launches or specific products, where he creates videos focused on the campaign itself rather than a “review” as such. You really do get your money’s worth in terms of the quality of the video and the amount of time and effort him and his team put into the content. He also regularly posts about us off his own back when he wants content for his page, and that’s never been in exchange for anything.

“What I personally think he does well is balancing paid campaign work with authenticity. He’ll still go out and review places independently and often buys the food himself. I think that balance is important and, honestly, I don’t think you can really fault his ethics or authenticity as an influencer.”

MM: “We’ve invited them in for everything from launch parties to helping promote happy hours. We’ve seen varying levels of success, though overall I’d say it’s impossible to attribute any uptake in business to a content creator, and any claiming to be responsible for this are being irresponsible and undermining the hard work of the restaurants themselves. I’ve seen our restaurants suddenly be ‘put on the map’, so to speak - higher search volume in the locality, more direct messages on social media, an uptake in followers.

“This is great for engagement, though rarely translates to real footfall. We take our influencer campaigns with a pinch (or handful) of salt, and are aware that they can help raise awareness amongst a local audience but cannot directly affect the business measurably. I’d say our most successful ones have been unpaid campaigns using micro influencers, outside of the clique of Bristol food influencers we all know."

“We’ve also experienced a strange phenomenon when inviting creators in on a free-meal basis with no fee. Minutes after sending off carefully written invites to a select few handpicked creators, we received an influx of messages from across the city asking to be invited in. It seems that they must have had a group chat and tossed in ‘this restaurant is giving away freebies, dm them’. I get that work has to be found and it’s great they have such a supportive network, but to a smallish restaurant it can feel like the vultures descending and taking advantage.”

Prior to this article, did you know that restaurants are equally culpable for failing to declare ads under the DMCC Act’s guidance?

Verity: “If I’m honest, I didn’t actually know this until reading the article. I always assumed the responsibility sat mainly with the influencer rather than the restaurant itself, so it was definitely eye-opening.”

Dan: “Honestly, no. I had no idea, so I've learnt something already from the piece.”

Do you trust the engagement you see on influencers' posts?

Verity: “I’ve always known to pay more attention to views than likes or comments, but I genuinely had no idea about engagement pools and some of the practices mentioned in the article. It would definitely frustrate me if I paid for influencer marketing and later found out the engagement wasn’t authentic.”

Dan: “I’m a restaurant-goer as well as a restaurateur, and I’m always looking for reputable sources to add places to my list. That includes influencers. Some I trust, some I don’t.

“I’m pretty au fait with the local accounts, and I see the same names cropping up commenting on each other’s posts. Obviously that does something for the algorithm, but it doesn’t tell me much else.

“When I’m looking at an opportunity, I’ll ask for a breakdown of the following by location, then look at the engagement and views with that in mind. At the end of the day, fifty million views don’t matter if they come from the other side of the world. I need views that are likely to convert to reservations. What we’re interested in is a smaller, focussed local account with a following that actually shows up. Basically, not all engagement is the same, and working out which is which is part of my job.”

MM: “This is a tricky question. I trust the numbers to an extent but don’t use them to measure an influencer’s success. Scrolling through Bristol’s food creator profiles in turn uncovers the cronyism of it all — the same 5-10 creators commenting on each other’s posts, sharing and supporting one another. Don’t get me wrong, this is great for them! However, it undermines the authenticity of these promotions to me. There’s only so many times I can see the same creators drooling over their pal’s post and saying they literally cannot wait to go. Will they actually book in without an invite? Speaking from experience, I highly fucking doubt it.”

CC: “I've not seen or been invited to an engagement pod since before lockdown. I don't think they're an issue, even if there was, it’s more to curb Instagram’s continued attack on engagement. Most of the food creator community have become very good friends through their love of food and naturally will message and like each other’s posts because friends pop up on your feed more often, there's absolutely no conspiracy. The issue years and years ago was buying followers which I feel was a much bigger issue for venues.”

Say a restaurant owner reading this is trying to decide whether to spend £500 on a creator versus £500 on a Meta ad. What's your honest case for why they should choose you?

CC: “Meta ads and creator content have a completely different impact.
If a restaurant was to use a Meta ads, what content would they be using? More than likely content already created by a content creator or freelance food photographer, a lot of restaurants don’t have time for creating content. I always personally add their content to a Google drive for them to access as it’s as much their content as is it mine. Meta ads are personally annoying and are often scrolled past by viewers. People have been following certain creators for a long time and will hopefully engage more.”

Do you think there are problems within the influencer industry and if so, what are they? Have you ever witnessed them firsthand?

CC: “I feel there are problems in any industry and understanding the industry, but mainly transparency. Firstly most influencers do it for free food. Unless they're full time and rightly so charge for their content like any other freelancer in any chosen industry.

“The onus is on everyone in the industry, creator, venue and viewer. A creator should declare ads, a venue should request and check it's been declared and viewers should question whether is an ad, if they feel it could be.

“I've always been aware of ASA and CMA guidelines, always have ad in bold and declare ads. I feel it's a good thing for more powers for it to be enforced.”

What are the positive and negative effects of influencers promoting restaurants, do you think?

Verity: “I think one of the negatives is that it can become difficult to know what’s genuinely great when everything online is being presented as amazing. It can also mean restaurants with bigger marketing budgets outshine smaller independent places that may actually serve better food, simply because they can’t afford influencer marketing.

”I also think there can sometimes be a snowball effect where everyone suddenly jumps on one restaurant or brand, while other genuinely good restaurants get overlooked. Occasionally the hype can become bigger than the actual experience itself.

”That said, I’ve also seen some genuinely brilliant restaurants and hardworking owners completely transform their businesses through influencer marketing. Some places really do blow up overnight from one video, and that’s the positive side of it — seeing good people and good brands finally get their break.”

Dan: “‘Influencer’ is an interesting term, and we all kind of know what it means, but in practice it’s anyone with influence. A journalist, a celebrity, a respected chef: they all fall into a similar bucket when we’re talking about who can shape what people think of a restaurant.

“For me, it comes down to authenticity and motivation. An opinion that can be bought and paid for, regardless of how the person actually feels, doesn’t carry any weight. Someone with integrity, whose audience can trust them, is much more interesting. Of course, there’s always a question of bias in any paid arrangement, but the best creators only work with places they enjoy and genuinely rate.

“A good influencer can tell a story, and help get new eyes on a restaurant. Yes, that can mean a few extra bookings on the night, but it can also help diners find a new favourite, or encourage someone to try something new. Whether we like it or not, influencing is how a lot of people make their decisions, and we can embrace that when it’s done well.

“The problem comes when there’s a shroud of mystery over the circumstances, or a lack of integrity behind the scenes. Deception is unfair to the person on the other end of the content.”

Charlievivante on Instagram: “The fundamental issue seems to be around the same misunderstanding, which is the difference between a food blogger and a food influencer. One writes for the love of it and occasionally accepts an invite. The other is a marketing tool you can pay to use, just like hiring a PR person or running Meta ads. It’s a transaction, not a scandal. It seems to me that most people on all sides of the argument don’t understand the difference, including the influencers themselves, and the murky distinction is part of what leads to this faux outrage. I built my entire freelance career from food blogging. Now clients pay me to tell people what they do is great. Am I now part of the scandalous group of people asking for payment for work? The majority of people named and shamed here are hobbyists, people with a nice Instagram who’ll often do hundreds of pounds’ worth of work in exchange for a free meal. I’ve worked with many of them on client campaigns. The ones who weren’t any good simply weren’t asked back. Anyone not declaring a paid partnership hasn’t got a leg to stand on, and that’s a real issue, but overwhelmingly it’s the small fish who’ve been picked on, not the actual villains. I’m also genuinely surprised at some of the businesses cheering this on, given that plenty of them have used influencers and bloggers in the past, including me. If you’ve been in this industry long enough, you understand how marketing works. This city is absolutely spoiled for people offering to do a lot for not very much, if you choose to use them. So why is hospitality still an industry where working for free is considered normal? Why is someone charging for their time and talent treated like some kind of bombshell?”

Leah.jay on Instagram: “Brilliant article 👏 I personally don’t see an issue with posting the names and fees of those contacted. If they back their fee privately with small, independent businesses then they should be able to back it publicly with the people who view/are influenced by their content. When I’m choosing a restaurant to eat at I will compare menu costs to pick one within my budget for that meal. Why would we expect restaurants not to be able to do the same when choosing how to spend a limited advertising budget? The whole influencer scene is widely unregulated and as someone who regularly eats out in Bristol this is a very useful balancing exercise between restaurant, customer and influencer. For balance, I also don’t see anything wrong with influencers charging for their time. They are entitled to remuneration for the time taken to visit, film, edit, post etc. Just all feels a bit smoke and mirrors sometimes and that’s as someone who just likes to eat nice food, must be a nightmare for indie businesses to navigate who are struggling to stay afloat as it is!”

MM: “For me the main positive can be authenticity and accessibility. I think people traditionally turn to content creators for realism. They want to see someone like them, with no contacts, no expensive setup, no marketing plan, and no celebrity budget, giving their honest opinions on something they actually care about. This can be extraordinarily successful, and I think is the main reason our micro-influencer campaigns perform better than when we use big creators. It’s easier to imagine yourself sat in a restaurant if someone ‘like you’ proves they can do it first. It’s a different effect than a food critic’s review, which usually presents the dining experience as something aspirational.

“On the flip side, the main negative is inauthenticity. Scrolling through a single account and seeing them enthusiastically declare each and every single restaurant to be ‘maybe the best in Bristol’ before reeling off the same copy pointers about price and seasonality, completely undermines what people look to these creators for. If I pay an influencer hundreds of pounds to promote my restaurant, there’s not a chance in hell they’re going to share truly honest opinions on it if disappointed.

“I saw comments on the Instagram post of part one of this study compare themselves to food critics and writers in defence of asking for pay, which I find laughable. Not only is this a slap in the face to people who’ve dedicated their lives to studying food, restaurants and the art of hospitality, but it also leaves a bitter taste in the mouths of the restaurants. When we invite an influencer in, it’s never a ‘free meal’ — it’s staffing, prep time, ingredients, interruption in service and more. I think a lot of these influencers are forgetting that they need these restaurants more than the restaurants need them.”

A final word from Meg — It seems to me that influencers are an important part of promoting restaurants and other hospitality businesses. When I think of a modern hospitality industry without them, it is clear to see that for many businesses it would be a lot harder to get discovered, and for many diners it clearly inspires excitement and inspiration when it comes to where to eat. But, as with any industry and especially one as nascent as this, there are serious issues with transparency, gaming the system and breaking the law at the expense of businesses and followers. You are reading this because you care about the hospitality industry and eating out — and therefore our aims are the same: to make sure that that industry flourishes. It can’t do that if there isn’t honesty, trust and transparency. It can’t do that if there are people regularly exploiting businesses for their own gain. You are aware of the costs and forces at play now — so you can make informed choices whether you are a restaurateur, restaurant-goer or content creator.

My intention with this article was to offer transparency and clarity where there was none, for anyone that may find it useful. Though it has been at a substantial personal cost, I have achieved that aim.

If there’s anything else you think The Bristol Sauce should investigate, please let us know.

The Bristol Sauce is an AI free publication — all our work is written and edited by humans.

Part one certainly incited a lot of conversation, which is a positive thing. This is a conversation that needs to be had. I’d like to reiterate that my concern is not that influencers charge for their services — people should be paid for their time and skills. My issue is that the average punter does not know who has been paid or incentivised, and who hasn’t. My issue is that restaurants are paying for content which is, in some cases, having its engagement artificially inflated.

In response to part one, many people have noted that they only provided rates because I asked for them. This is true — I did ask, in the guise of a new independent restaurant, and without them saying so, there was no way of me — or indeed any other new independent restaurant — knowing that these influencers do not always charge. I’d also like to point out, as per part one, that ten influencers (almost one third of the responders) did offer to create content solely in exchange for free food and drink.

But as I wrote above — conversation is a good thing. It is good journalistic practice to offer subjects the right to reply when there is an allegation of wrongdoing. As such, there will be a part three to this series, published this Thursday in place of a review, where we will hear from some of the influencers.

If you enjoy the work of The Bristol Sauce and want to show your support, please consider becoming a subscriber. If you’ve come from further afield or don’t want to become a subscriber at the moment but still want to show your support, you can buy me a coffee/pint/Suzuki Jimny here. Thank you!

For part two of this experiment, I wanted to know whether influencers actually drive footfall to restaurants and for that, I needed places that existed.

I chose three restaurants, each based in a slightly different area of Bristol, and asked them to contact the same three influencers. I have categorised the influencers and restaurants as follows, but to protect them, all the participants (willing and unwilling) in this experiment remain anonymous.

There’s a common misconception that influencers work for free, and are just ‘gifted’ food and experiences — and there is clearly a proportion that do operate like this. But many do not realise that the person who has just unearthed a new ‘hidden gem’ serving ‘the world’s best burger’ has sometimes been paid hundreds or thousands of pounds to do so. And the food and drinks are free as well, of course. For many influencers, this is very much a full time job, and often a well-paid one at that — or at least a lucrative side hustle. There’s nothing wrong with charging for your time and skills, as long as the person watching the content knows that it’s an advert.

But I did not know if these influencers were consistent in how much they charged. Had they quoted a price to Sake, my fake restaurant, because of a perceived value, or did they charge the same across the board? This is why I wanted to check the fees across three different restaurants — each serving a different cuisine, and possibly with a different perceived value.

I was relieved to see that these three influencers quoted the same across all three restaurants; they are consistent. It’s worth noting that the restaurants are all independent — some influencers charge more for chain restaurants, which seems fair.

I then worked with one of the Bristol restaurants to plan an influencer campaign, and the restaurant agreed to share the data found for use within this article. The influencers were all paid by the restaurant directly in this case as part of their campaign.

I worked with the restaurant to devise a system of measuring the impact each influencer had on bookings and spend per head. Measuring such impact is challenging but great care was taken to make the data as accurate and reliable as possible. We offered the followers of each influencer a small freebie that could be traced back to said influencer and that was redeemable over a two week period following the content being posted.

There were pros and cons to this approach. Firstly, there’s no guarantee that the people influenced would redeem said freebie, and the freebie was of relatively low monetary value, so it wouldn’t have been a deciding factor in people wanting to go to the restaurant. We needed this to be the case so that it wouldn’t skew the numbers, but it also could mean that people forgot about it or considered it unimportant and not worth redeeming.

We had each influencer post their videos with at least a two week buffer period before the next, to minimise crossover, and had the small influencer post first, then the medium, then the big.

We did not ask the influencers to mark the video as an advert, as we wanted to see what they would do naturally. The small influencer marked the video as #paidpartnership at the bottom of the caption and both the medium and the big influencer put ‘ad’ at the beginning of the caption.

So what influence do they actually have?

The big influencer brought nine people with them on their visit when they came to film. The restaurant had not specified how many people they could bring or how much they could spend. The staff reported that such a big group combined with the influencer wanting to film made the service more difficult logistically.

The big influencer also posted their video over a week later than they had said they would. This didn’t massively impact our plans, but it’s worth highlighting because if the restaurant had been following a specific marketing plan this could have caused a disruption.

None of the influencers tipped the staff. There was no food waste reported.

The average spend per head at this restaurant is £19.87. We cannot say for certain if the small and medium influencers actually drove traffic to the restaurant, and it is entirely possible that the tail of their influence is longer than two weeks. The big influencer did drive traffic, but on this occasion, not very much. According to our experiment, the total cost to the restaurant was around £1340 (made up of the cost of paying the influencers and the cost of the food and drink), and drove 15 redemptions of the freebie which we can reasonably assume is about the equivalent of £298.05 worth of custom. We also checked year-on-year data from the restaurant — which had not changed — and asked for staff testimonials about whether they had noticed any increase in custom, and they reported that they did not.

The owner of the restaurant said: “We’ve been running restaurants for a long time, long before content creators were the main source of food media, when newspapers and magazines had the ability to make or break your business with a review. We have always had really good relationships with the content creators in Bristol, big and small, and most have done posts or supported us for free outside of specific campaigns.

“We understand there is a lot of time that goes into creating the content and that it’s a full time job and therefore their time needs to be charged for. Unlike traditional media you don’t tend to see a specific uptick in business directly off the back of an influencer campaign but it works as part of a greater marketing eco-system, one which I believe is good value on the whole for food businesses, but certainly great value for the food scene in general. Outside of the specific impact on any one business what the rise in content creators, especially some of the bigger ones, has done for Bristol’s food scene in general in creating a landscape for businesses to enter is a huge value add and one that I hope continues to grow.”

There may be other benefits of using influencers, such as a restaurant’s uptake in following on social media from their posts. In this instance, the restaurant reported that they gained 6 followers in total from the three influencers’ content.

It’s worth noting that it’s entirely possible that if the restaurant was new, the uptake in visits would have been higher. The restaurant in question has been around a while and is probably familiar for most people in Bristol, and so might not have driven the same amount of traffic as something perceived to be new and exciting.

Though the same can likely be said from any form of marketing or PR, there’s also the problem that while commissioning a big influencer may drive a short increase in traffic, it drops off leaving the restaurant back at square one. I have heard instances of restaurants recruiting extra staff to manage such events, or running out of menu items leaving long-term customers disappointed, all in the name of unsustainable and ephemeral trade.

There’s also the disruption to other customers to consider — particularly if the influencer brings a film crew or ring lights (the lights used to better illuminate food and faces in the absence of good lighting), it can be disturbing to fellow diners. This also could be illegal, as restaurants are private property and therefore technically permission is required for filming. Likely if the influencer has entered into a contract with the restaurant this will already be covered, but it’s worth noting that the restaurant is required under the UK’s data protection laws (GDPR) to warn customers that filming is taking place with signs around the restaurant. As a frequent restaurant-goer, I have been filmed in restaurants many times without my permission. If I was to find such content online, I’d have the ‘right to erasure’ which would mean the influencer would have to remove the clip that contained me in it. According to this article by SRipLaw, influencer activity falls under commercial filming, which means that they have a responsibility to get permission, including possibly release forms, from anyone who may appear in their content. I wonder how many of them have considered this.

To help understand the results of my multi-part experiment, I needed to get to grips with the laws that govern this world. I was fortunate enough to be put in touch with a regulatory solicitor for food and retail who was able to shed some light on areas that my research couldn’t.

Advertising in the UK is regulated by the Advertising Standards Authority (ASA), the Competition and Markets Authority (CMA) and Trading Standards. The ASA has clear and comprehensive guidelines on influencer marketing. The ASA’s guide states: If an influencer receives payment or any other incentive (requested or unsolicited) from a brand, or they are otherwise personally or commercially connected to the brand (e.g., owner, employee, shareholder, director or have any other commercial or personal interest), any content featuring or referring to the brand will need to be obviously identifiable as advertising. This is a requirement under consumer protection law, enforced by the Competition and Markets Authority (CMA) and Trading Standards Services.

The data in part one suggests most influencers I spoke to are aware of this requirement — though perhaps not in great detail. In all other industries, it is the responsibility of the business or individual to know what the law is regarding their work, and influencing should be no different. According to our lawyer, it’s expensive to prosecute which is why it rarely happens in the case of individuals. Trading Standards would be the ones actually prosecuting, but they have limited time and tend to prioritise things that are dangerous rather than things that are misleading.

The lawyer said: “the ASA can’t fine people themselves, but they can warn people, make them take down the content, and repeat offenders get put on a ‘naughty list’. If someone repeatedly offends, Trading Standards would enforce it. We’d be looking at sanctions such as warning letters, enforcement notices, up to prosecuting and getting fined in court. There has to be public interest in taking them to court. That’s why they don’t usually pursue one post that’s misleading.

“The CMA has additional powers. They can fine up to 10% of turnover without going to court. But this is unlikely. What they can also do is make them sign an undertaking, which is a legal document they sign saying ‘I will not do XYZ’, and then if they breach that the consequences are more severe.

“The ASA have AI mechanisms to search for key terms to find adverts that are misleading.

“We have seen the ASA pick on burying the ad notice in the hashtags and in the read more section, that’s in breach of the guidance. The guidance is what the regulators use to decide what’s misleading.”

Interestingly, the ASA goes on to confirm that the restaurants or brands the influencer is working with also have a responsibility to make sure the content is clearly marked: ‘When a particular ‘advertorial’ is found to breach the Code, both the publisher (i.e., the influencer) and the brand will be named in the ASA ruling.’

But what does obviously identifiable as advertising actually mean? Many influencers bury the word ‘ad’ in the hashtags, knowing that not many people will click to see the extended caption of their post, let alone read each of the hashtags.

I’m afraid that #guest, #invited, #PR, #gifted and other similarly ambiguous additions don’t cut it either — unless it says ad or advert at the start of the content and on each photo if on stories, it is breaking the law. None of the other words mean anything legally. It’s my opinion that social media platforms such as Instagram and TikTok are not doing enough to make the labelling of ads clear. It is likely both the restaurants and the influencers who are hesitant to be overt with their labelling; restaurants might want the content to look like an organic recommendation and influencers don’t want to look like straight up advertisers.

Upon further research, I discovered that the CMA published ‘fake reviews guidance’ in July of 2025, which the detail-oriented among you can read here. This guidance provided further answers I was looking for.

The guidance makes clear that it is against the law to post an advert that has been ‘incentivised’ without declaring it is an advert. The guidance clearly indicates that incentivising includes being given freebies and is not limited to monetary payment. It also states that any label placed below the ‘read more’ section in a caption or in the hashtags is against the law.

Thus it is both the responsibility of the influencer and the restaurant to make sure that the content is very clearly marked as an ‘advert’ right at the beginning of the caption and/or image/video. It also means that incentivised Google reviews from influencers, which are now often being included as part of content packages as we saw in part one, are also against the law.

Perhaps one of the most important takeaways from this guidance is that the responsibility lies just as much with the restaurant owner or ‘trader’ in the CMA documents as it does with the influencer, and it is them that would also be liable for fines if these laws are broken.

The lawyer added: “in short, under the DMCC act, there’s a general catch-all rule that if it’s likely to cause the average consumer to take a transactional decision that the consumer would not have taken otherwise — so basically it’s if anything you do would change a consumer’s purchasing decision that is potentially an unfair practice which is unlawful. There’s a lot of practices that are always banned, such as not declaring an ad.”

When I ran the experiment in part one, with the fake restaurant Sake, I discovered that many influencers are artificially inflating their engagement and leaving comments on other influencer’s posts in a mutual agreement to fool the algorithm.

According to our lawyer, this is more of a contractual issue: “the restaurant in question would have to take the influencer to court over the contractual arrangement. It would be fraudulent misrepresentation, which gets them damages/right to end the contract. It’s contractual sanctions as opposed to criminal, and it’s a clear contractual issue if the people ‘engaging’ are not local. But it could also tip into misleading consumers, which may itself fall under the fake reviews guidance of the DMCC Act.”

The lawyer also confirmed that if an influencer guarantees positive coverage before having an experience, that would fall under the DMCC’s guidance on fake reviews and could be punishable in a criminal court.

The ASA publishes recent rulings every Wednesday on their website. Some recent judgements include a TikToker being ruled against for saying a meal kit was made by Michelin-starred chefs in fact it wasn’t, another for swearing in an ad which is against the CAP code and one for promoting Lidl bakery items on Instagram which are unhealthy: “The CAP code required that persons must not pay for ads for an identifiable less healthy food or drink product to be placed on the internet”.

New legislation, which came into effect earlier this year, restricts advertising of certain foods, including burgers, pizzas, ice cream, pastries and cakes. Organic content is allowed, but anything paid-for — which includes ‘gifted’ meals — is covered, meaning in some cases it is now illegal for influencers to promote unhealthy food. The exemptions to this include small-medium enterprises with under 250 employees. This means that small independent businesses do not need to adhere to these rules, but any larger businesses do. Thus, an influencer promoting a burger from Danny’s Burgers is allowed, an influencer promoting a burger from Five Guys, which is a chain, is not.

Many of the ASA’s rulings are against celebrities including Kerry Katona and Arabella Chi. The increasingly blurred line between being a celebrity and an influencer is one to pay close attention to, and the ASA is likely more concerned about this because of the higher numbers of followers that celebrities tend to have.

So what have I learnt from all this research? The lack of transparency with which the influencer world operates is troubling. Influencers are a significant part of many industries now, not just restaurants, and what I have established is at play in Bristol will be very similar across the country, and indeed in other parts of the world. Some influencers clearly operate in a way that is transparent and meaningful, but others are knowingly or unknowingly breaking multiple laws, misleading consumers and exploiting businesses in an industry that is already on its knees.

It may not seem like a big deal if you go and get a burger that’s not very good because some bloke on Instagram told you to, but I think on the whole this speaks to a bigger concern — it is getting harder and harder to discern what is ‘real’ and what is not on the internet, and that’s only likely to get worse.

Behind everything you see online there are forces at play — algorithms, big businesses, political allegiances, investments and undisclosed money. The practices I have outlined in this piece are true across all industries; not just hospitality. Beauty and misleading supplement advice are already more strictly regulated by the ASA, the CMA and Trading Standards, as they are more likely to be dangerous.

So what can you do if you want to limit the impact that this content has on your life? Aside from deleting social media entirely, there are steps you can take to protect yourself somewhat. Unfollow people who might be giving you ‘recommendations’ without being transparent. Question why someone is telling you to eat somewhere or buy something. Ask people whose content you enjoy to be clearer about where they have received freebies or a payment. And, if worst comes to worst, you can report people you believe to be flouting the rules to the ASA here.

To any influencers reading this — whether you consider yourself an influencer, a content creator, or just someone that is occasionally ‘gifted’ things such as free stays, free food or products — please remember that you have a serious responsibility to not mislead the people who have placed their trust in you by following you. Lead by example.

As mentioned in the introduction, part three will give some of the influencers addressed in this investigation the right to reply, along with further thoughts from restaurateurs. That will be coming this Thursday, 21 May. Subscribe now to be the first to read it.

References and further reading:

https://policyreview.info/articles/analysis/undisclosed-brand-partnerships-platform-policies

https://sriplaw.com/blog/why-social-media-influencers-cannot-claim-personal-use-when-their-accounts-are-commercial/

https://www.asa.org.uk/codes-and-rulings/non-compliant-social-media-influencers.html

https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/social-media-endorsements-guidance-for-content-creators/social-media-endorsements-being-transparent-with-your-followers

https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/fake-reviews-cma208

https://www.asa.org.uk/resource/less-healthy-food-and-drink-advertising-guidance.html

https://britishfilmcommission.org.uk/guidance/regulations/

Extracts from the DMCC Guidance:

1.1 There is a new banned practice relating to reviews in the Digital Markets, Competition and Consumers Act 2024 (DMCC Act). It sets out behaviour that is automatically unfair and illegal. It covers fake reviews, concealed incentivised reviews and requires traders not to publish consumer reviews (and information derived from them) in a misleading way. Traders publishing reviews must also take steps to prevent the publication of fake reviews and reviews where incentives are hidden, as well as information derived from reviews which is false or misleading.

2.9 A review conceals the fact it has been incentivised if:

(a) a person has been commissioned to provide the review, and

(b) that fact is not made apparent (whether through the contents of the review or otherwise).

This would include missing, obscure or hidden disclosure of the fact that the review has been incentivised.

2.10 Commissioning can take many forms and is not limited to making monetary payments.

Examples of commissioning include, but are not limited to, being asked to write a review in exchange for:

(a) money, 

(b) commissions,

(c) discounts or vouchers,

(d) leases or loans free of charge or on more favourable terms than those offered to the general public,

(e) products given free of charge (‘freebies’),

(f) free stays,

(g) invitations to events etc.

3.3 Anyone who engages in the commercial practice of either submitting or commissioning banned reviews will be in breach of the banned practice. This includes professional reviewers, journalists, content creators (such as bloggers, influencers, online streamers, celebrities, social media personalities)

3.5 Where it is permissible to post a review that has been incentivised on a platform, the review must be clearly identifiable as incentivised. This must be made clear to anyone engaging with the review, so that it is apparent that they are viewing incentivised content. Usually, it will be necessary for the reviewer at least to label the review prominently as incentivised, namely, as an advert. The label should not have an ambiguous meaning or be placed where it might not be seen.

When I cast my mind back to being a university student some fifteen years ago, I remember being hungry. This isn’t me attempting to make platitudes concerning a hunger for knowledge or anything quite so nauseating. I mean, like, literally hungry. All the time. Short on cash and graced with the vestiges of a teenager’s metabolism, I obsessed over food. Like many of us, it was at this point that I was metaphorically press-ganged into learning how to cook. Grateful as I was and am to have this skill foisted upon me out of sheer necessity, the desire to nourish myself was not all I longed for. I became obsessed with eating out and subsequently, the food hall culture of Auckland City; tantalised through plate glass by steaming hot bowls of things-in-broth.

The Chinese diaspora and the formative effect its cuisine exerted over me from an early age is something I have discussed on this platform before. And it must be said that student living proved a sufficient hindrance in my continued enjoyment of it. But whenever my meagre maintenance loan would allow, I would indulge in one of my favourites, Lanzhou la mian or Lanzhou-style beef noodles: hand-pulled wheat noodles served simply with stewed beef, consommé, and fresh herbs such as coriander leaf and spring onion. I believe the simplicity to be this dish’s badge of pride.

Walking up Park Street on an oddly chilly May evening, I’m reminded of why I wouldn’t usually do this on a Saturday. We spot three separate hen parties trudging their way up and down Bristol’s main student thoroughfare, one half of one of the groups dragging the other half, screaming mercilessly about nothing that any of us can decipher. Groups of vape-toting lads leer menacingly out of sports bars at the passersby, hollering football chants at a volume equal to the hens and I’m beginning to ask myself if we’ve made a mistake.

Thankfully, we are eventually afforded solace from Bristol’s own version of la passeggiata by newly arrived restaurant, Lanzhou Hand-Pulled Noodles. A blue and white neon haven welcomes us, flanked with red vinyl chairs reminiscent of a North American diner. The place is packed with students, faces obscured by the plumes of steam emanating from the bowls in front of them.

We are proffered English-language menus and order quickly, the wintery air and expedient schlep up the hill have exacerbated our appetites to the point of maddening desperation. Black plastic buzzers beckon us back to the till within minutes, where three big bowls of the eponymous beef noodles are placed on the counter fresh from the stove (£12.50).

The setup here reminds me of certain French bistros, where metal gastros are filled with room temperature accoutrements, ready to be doled out in a self-service style. Presented are five sides (£2 for a mixture of your choosing): shredded potato and dried chillies passed through oil, retaining a pleasant crunch, kelp salad, abundant with umami, boiled peanuts, tofu skin, and blanched bean sprouts, both deceptively spicy. In the centre and pride of place is the largest bowl of chilli oil I have ever seen, hypnotically red, and so deep it appears fathomless.

The result is quite overwhelming. Where once there was hunger, now the indeterminable pang of worry that we may have indeed over-ordered resides. Blisteringly hot and resembling an actual mountain in terms of quantity, I am taken back to those food halls in delightful reverie. All that we hear for the next ten minutes are the sounds of satisfied slurping filling the room. This is comfort food for the student masses. And us.

For a stab at variety we have ordered a dry, soupless version of the beef noodles and a stir-fried chicken iteration (£9.80). The chicken dish has much less in the way of heady aroma when compared to the beef, but I might suggest this to someone slightly less adventurous with their ordering, satisfactorily savoury, oily and accented with celery. To cut through the richness of the meal we are brought three glasses of a delicious sour plum drink (£2) which we’re told is quite traditional and we quaff it back eagerly.

Not content with simply following the path well-trod, I order the one thing on the menu which isn’t translated into English. This turns out to be a cold pig ear salad (£5.40), dressed with garlic paste, chilli, and coriander leaf. I dress it further with black vinegar and soy sauce (available on every table), intermittently returning to it between large mouthfuls of beef and broth. Cartilaginous and resembling the flavour of unsmoked bacon, I wouldn’t venture that this would sit well with a general western audience but I enjoy it immensely.

As I have my face inches from my bowl, seemingly tethered to the table by way of noodle, I notice someone sit down with us out of the corner of my eye. Mr. Yu, the proprietor, a bemused smirk on his face, contently makes himself at home at our table. He wants to know how I’m getting on with the pig ears and informs me that the reason they’re on the menu is for one regular customer who requested them. If that isn’t community spirit, I don’t know what is.

At the time of writing, this place has no listing on Google Maps and zero social media presence; a rare anomaly in today’s culinary landscape. Mr. Yu hopes that addressing this in the coming weeks will improve trade. The only mention of this place online is a lone Bristol24/7 article positing that it should be open soon. Well, it now is. And by golly, am I happy about that.

All words and photos by Jason Jay Pridham

Lanzhou Hand-Pulled Noodles, 85 Park Street, BS1 5PJ

The Bristol Sauce is an AI free publication — all our work is written and edited by humans.

I’ve been working on this piece since last September, which is the longest I’ve ever spent writing an article. Influencers are frequently in the news, and there’s almost as many opinion pieces about them as there are content creators themselves. In recent months, everyone from Gordon Ramsay to Jeremy King has had something to say on the subject. But there are astoundingly few facts available.

And so I set out to uncover some. That’s what this piece is: facts, not opinion. I shall leave you to make your own judgement about who you choose to follow, where you choose to eat, and why.

Though similar research to part one has been carried out by my friends at The Hunger in America, as far as I am aware the research in part two has never been done before and an investigation of this depth into influencers is globally unprecedented. With that in mind, if you find the following information interesting and useful, I hope you’ll share it. I think it deserves to be known and referenced widely.

I’ve been very lucky to have had a lot of help in the writing of this piece. I’d like to offer my utmost thanks to all those who helped in the research, community proofreading and checking of the article, in no particular order: Jon Robinson, Anne Marie Taylor, Tamara Collin, Miguel Alzugaray, Earnest Graham, Mark Endicott, Jonathan Swain, Michael Hawkins, Natalie Lewendon, Luke Hussey, Jen Forster, Henry Bell, PXandTarts, and the staff from the restaurants mentioned in part two.

I haven’t put either part of this investigation behind a paywall, because I think revealing this information is in the public interest. That said, if you live in Bristol and you want to support the work of The Bristol Sauce and see more investigations like this, please consider becoming a subscriber. If you’ve come from further afield or don’t want to become a subscriber at the moment but still want to show your support, you can buy me a coffee/pint/Suzuki Jimny here.

This piece is long, and so I’ve divided it into two parts - the second will be coming on Monday, 18 May. But I think it’s well worth reading, so I hope you’ll stay with me. Enjoy!

Influencer (noun): a person active on social media who is able to influence people’s opinions or to persuade them to follow a particular lifestyle or buy a particular product.

Influencers. Whether you love them, hate them or love to hate them, the chances are that unless you’ve been living under a rock, you have — at some point — been influenced — particularly if you like going to restaurants. In the last few years, the practice of influencing has exploded. Statistica estimates that the global amount spent on influencer marketing reached over $32 billion (£23.7 billion) in 2025; three times what it was in 2020. Influencers have an outsized impact in the restaurant world, where attention is key and margins are slimmer than ever.

There are many opinions circulating about influencers, but few facts. There is limited transparency about the costs associated with this type of marketing and the impact a restaurant can expect, and Bristol’s local hospitality scene is no exception. This leaves restaurateurs and business owners exposed. Given that they already have to be experts in hospitality, HR, accounting and marketing, the additional pressure of monitoring and tracking the impact of an influencer campaign on the bottom line will soon become ridiculous. As such, I thought I could help.

With this in mind, I have conducted an experiment. The intent of this experiment is not only to help those running restaurants, but also to inform you, as diners, about the forces at play behind your social media algorithms.

I had a plan of my own, which I’ll reveal in part two, but while enacting it I came across a brilliant piece published in the States about influencers: ‘Eat, Pay, Love’, by Earnest Graham and published in The Hunger. Reading Graham’s work gave me the idea of creating a fake restaurant in Bristol, which he’d done in Chicago with the aim of finding out how much influencers were charging and whether they would guarantee positive coverage.

I messaged Graham to check he was happy with me replicating his work in the UK and he was incredibly supportive, even offering to help proofread my piece.

So I started by creating a fake restaurant — a very good looking one, I might add — called Sake. I set up an Instagram page for Sake, which I populated with pictures from my trip to Japan last year. I created a website and launched it, with a custom domain and email address for my made-up manager, Joss. I wrote a menu, a very enticing one — so enticing, in fact, that within an hour of the website launching I had a journalist emailing Joss to ask for exclusive coverage in national papers. I’ve since taken the website down, as it was expensive to maintain the domain, but the Instagram page remains live, if anyone wishes to look it up.

I used Sake’s Instagram profile to reach out to 48 influencers based in Bristol and the surrounding area. I sent an identical message to each:

“Hi [Name],

Hope you’re well. My name’s Joss, I’m contacting you from Sake, a new modern Japanese restaurant coming soon to Bristol. We will be serving a refined, innovative menu from chefs who have worked in some of the best restaurants in the world. You can view the sample menus on our website.

Our marketing team is drawing up a list of creators ahead of the restaurant’s public launch to build awareness and momentum. We are reaching out ahead of time to help us plan our content strategy.

We’d love to explore a potential collaboration where you visit Sake, enjoy the menu and create content to share with your audience.

Could you please share your current rates for a dedicated post or story (Instagram, TikTok or both) and let us know:

• What’s typically included in your content package?

• Do you offer any guarantees regarding tone or messaging (i.e., a positive representation of the experience)?

Thank you very much,

Joss Waite, General Manager”

I got responses from 33 of the 48. Even though I’d asked for their rates, I wasn’t expecting so many to charge and I was surprised by how much the prices varied. I suspect there is little transparency even between influencers, so benchmarking is probably nigh-on impossible. I’m glad to present an opportunity to rectify that:

Some key things to note about the above graph:

1. There were ten influencers who agreed to create the content only in exchange for free food and drink, usually for two people. I have not listed these on the graph, but their follower counts ranged from 600 to 24,000. Five of these influencers said they would post without labelling the content as an advert, which is illegal, and another was ambiguous.

2. For the remaining 23 influencers, it was assumed that they would get free food and drink on top of the monetary payment.

3. The prices quoted did not include any bartering by me/Joss, and there is a chance that influencers would be willing to compromise on pricing if a restaurant asked.

4. The influencers may have mentally attributed a certain value to my fake restaurant, which was designed to look ‘high-end’, and may have inflated prices accordingly.

Creating the fake restaurant revealed more than just the fees that these influencers charge. Firstly, as soon as I started messaging them, many began commenting on my posts and sharing things to their stories – before I’d agreed to commission them. For a restaurant on the brink of opening, messaging every influencer in the book and asking for a quote seems therefore a great way of creating ‘noise’ without having to spend any money. For the diner, however, it’s misleading. What might look like genuine hype is in fact a load of people for whom anything between £50-£700+ is on the line from a business lead that they want to keep warm. As we’ll see later, misleading consumers is illegal in the UK and could lead to penalties for both the restaurant and the creator.

Several of the influencers I contacted included a Google review in their content package, with some mentioning how many views their Google accounts get. This bodes badly. Google ratings are one of the most prevalent benchmarks of restaurant quality, but now it is clear they are being bought. This is also against the law as it breaches the Digital Markets, Competition and Consumers (DMCC) Act 2024.

For restaurants interested in commissioning influencers, know this: follower counts do not necessarily guarantee views. This can work both ways — videos can end up with way more views than follower counts would indicate, or far fewer. It is often determined by how much engagement a video or post gets immediately after it is posted, which then determines how much the algorithm pushes it. Engagement, in this case, is anyone liking, commenting, reposting or sharing the post.

In the above images, you can see that Jack has just under 42,000 followers. Some of his videos have had as many as one million views, and he has pinned these to the top of his page so that his highest view counts appear first, which may be appealing to potential collaborators. Jack’s videos generally get more views than he has followers, though they fluctuate from 14,000 to 36,000 views just days apart.

Jack is not alone. Em Webbs Food, pictured above, generally gets only a fifth of the views on her videos that her follower count suggests. Hannies Hungry has just under 5,000 followers and views vary between 500 and just a few thousand. Restaurateurs should be careful to look for average views and not followers.

This might be why some accounts feel justified in charging so much more than others. However, one of the highest chargers on the chart — Natalie Brereton — has an average of around 8,000 views on her nine most recent videos at the time of writing (though most of these videos are about pop culture and not food).

As I spent time scrolling through Sake’s feed, I was struck by how many of the influencers were commenting on each other’s posts. I became fascinated, in a sort of horrified way, about how much of this was just one big circle of faux influence.

As you can see in the above photos, the top comments are almost always from other influencers. So who are they actually influencing? Perhaps they are doing this informally, to show support to their fellow content creators. But research suggests something more sinister may be at play. I encountered messaging groups on Instagram with members based all over the world who swap likes and comments on each other's posts. These groups get flagged and deactivated by Instagram, as the parent company Meta is presumably aware that this fools the algorithm.

Creators have got around this by writing messages to the group in which letters are replaced by numbers to prevent automatic detection. These ‘l1kes’ and ‘c0mm3nts’ groups can be found quite easily — simply search ‘engagement groups Instagram’ on Google — and they do not seem to have any geographic restrictions. This means restaurateurs may think they are getting good engagement from Bristolians when they commission a video, when it is in fact a set of people with no intention of ever visiting their restaurant who could be based anywhere in the world. This, too, could be illegal in the UK. Depending on the agreement with the restaurant, it could be in breach of contractual law. False engagement could also be misleading to consumers.

This is very apparent when you examine some influencers’ engagement-to-view ratios. Average engagement rates (the number of comments, likes and shares a piece of content gets) on Instagram generally hover around 2-3 per cent. Ciaone_UK_foodie, who appears to be based in Bristol and has ‘DM for collabs’ listed on their profile, seems to be smashing the engagement. Take a look at the screenshots below:

Here we can see that this influencer got 876, 832 and 782 views on their last three videos, at the time of writing. Look at the likes and comments on the same three videos:

The first video has 876 views, and 143 likes. That is a 16.3 per cent engagement rate, before you bring the comments into the equation. The second video is 15.6 per cent and the third 12.3 per cent, also without comments — this is well above average for engagement.

Furthermore, if you dive into the comment sections, it is abundantly clear that almost all of the engagement is coming from other influencers. Often they don’t even bother with words.

In the process of conducting this research, I interviewed an influencer — one of the ones who had also been approached by Sake — and the general manager of a Michelin Guide restaurant for their perspectives on the phenomenon of influencing. Their thoughts are peppered through parts one and two of this article.

The reason all of this matters is because when influencers reach out to restaurants, or respond to messages about packages, they often back up their prices with statistics about their followers, views and engagement levels. It is clear that in some cases, these statistics may be at the very least heavily inflated. If a restaurant that had commissioned an influencer became aware that this was the case, then the influencer would have broken the law and be in breach of their contract.

Another concern was that so many of the influencers who responded to Sake were happy to guarantee positive coverage. Responses ranged from saying that they’d bring negative feedback directly to the restaurant and that anything that went online would be positive, to assurances that they would not post anything if the experience was negative. Only one influencer responded that if the experience was bad, they would say as such online and would expect to get paid. Whilst this shows the influencer has no wish to mislead followers with exclusively positive reviews, it also creates an odd situation: a restaurateur paying for negative marketing. Only this influencer, out of the 33 that responded, would be willing to share any negatives with their followers. Others said they wouldn’t post and wouldn’t expect any payment. Most said that this had never happened to them.

Astoundingly, several influencers responded that they wouldn’t visit a restaurant they wouldn’t enjoy. This suggests that they are able to see into the future, and even more amazingly, into the future of a restaurant that doesn’t exist. One influencer said the following:

“Regarding the content, we always offer a positive representation of the experience, as we carefully select brands we genuinely believe in to keep our page a positive resource for our audience. To maintain full integrity and transparency: if we were to have a genuinely negative experience, we would terminate the contract, refrain from posting any content, and would not accept payment for the ad. We’ve never had this happen with a paid collaboration because of our careful selection process.”

When questioned on their ‘careful selection process’, they said: “we examine the menu, the vibes, the way the food looks, any other reviews we’ve heard of, any info from word of mouth about the restaurant and then go from there”. This is remarkable, given that the restaurant they selected in this instance has managed to pass the ‘careful selection process’ despite the fact that it is entirely made up.

Whether some of these influencers can actually tell the difference between a good and a bad experience is also uncertain. Watching their reels through Sake’s Instagram, I came across one line that stayed with me: “the authenticity of that slap factor is just insane”. You can’t argue with that.

On a personal note, spending time on Sake’s Instagram was thrilling at first, giving a fascinating insight into how this world works, or doesn’t work. But before long I started to feel really depressed by it. It was like driving past a car crash — it was horrible to watch but I couldn’t look away. Every video was almost identical, and the whole thing started to feel like an episode of Black Mirror. The more I realised that many of the influencers were just in one enormous circle, influencing each other with the same regurgitated content and charging restaurants for it, the more miserable I felt at the state of the world and social media. It was a relief to log out of Sake’s account and back into my own, which is filled instead with videos of cats and people falling over.

Creating Sake had given me an enormous insight into the world of influencing in Bristol — the fees at stake, the inflated statistics, fake engagement, and potential law breaking.

But I wasn’t done yet. I wanted to know whether these influencers could actually drive footfall in the real world, and for that, I needed some real restaurants…

Part two of The True Cost of Influencing is coming on Monday, May 18. Subscribe now to be the first to read it.

All words by Meg Houghton-Gilmour

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