I was sitting in a seat I had sat in before. Valentine’s Day, 2020. A table for one.

I wasn’t single, but my girlfriend (who later went on to become my fiancée, then my wife, then my ex-wife) was busy. Feeding, not breaking, hearts. To the lions, wolves and tigers twenty-odd minutes down the road at Longleat Safari Park.

This time my current, and hopefully final, fiancée had the generosity to come with me.

Both times I have been engaged, I was proposed to. I can’t tell whether that is a compliment or an insult. On one hand, at least one person has been so head over heels in love with me they wanted to spend the rest of their life eating tarts and drinking sweet sherry. On the other, both parties clearly felt I was incapable of popping the question in good time when left to my own devices. I digress. But if I had concluded, after this meal, that Briar was the second best restaurant in which I had eaten at Number One Bruton, it would be similarly hard to deduce compliment or insult.

My first time in said building — a corner spot at the base of the high street — it was Merlin Labron-Johnson’s Osip, since moved on (though not far, geographically speaking) to bigger and better things. Now it is home to Briar, run by Sam Lomas. Who, twenty years after setting up The Diced Carrot in his bedroom (aged 9), has also moved on to bigger and better things. First to River Cottage and agro-tourism guest house Glebe House in Devon. Then Great British Menu, where he radiated charming leprechaun energy (definitely a compliment not an insult) representing the north west. Like the editor of this publication, he grew up there but became a traitor to his people and flew south. Now he has his own gaff in Bruton.

This time, it wasn’t Valentine’s, although the restaurant would make a good spot for a date. “My” table especially; wedged in next to the bar, a cosy enclave within a dusky yellow cocoon, shelves sparsely lined with trailing pot plants and the odd bit of cheeky exposed brick. A little fancy but not fussy. And the food is great. Or at least, a lot of it is. Enough that, if you conspired correctly, you could curate yourselves a near-flawless meal. Start with the bread, some local cider (two bottles of best-in-class Wilding are available, but I plumped for a smaller bottle of the Burrow Hill sparkling from Somerset Cider Brandy Co; woody, aromatic and powerfully apple-y) and some cured fish. End with the brown butter cake. The rest you’ll have to plow your own path.

We began, in an event as surprising as Trump attempting to bully his country to footballing victory, with bread and butter (£4). Warm bread had about it the nutty, grainy aroma of a flatbread that has been slapped onto a hot tawa, though it was absolutely not flat. It could hardly have been more spherical. Perhaps the use of heritage grains was behind an aromatic steam that puffed out as the rolls were unceremoniously ripped apart. It would be in keeping with the sustainable, local mantra of the kitchen, which extends to a small kitchen garden up the road. A pot of gold to the side contained a sunshine yellow cubical pat of grassy butter, warm and ridged like a squat radiator, sudating grains of salt like beads of condensation.

Gougères (£6) were too crunchy. Almost savoury cheddar cookies rather than custardy, puffy domes of choux. Wee blobs of pickled walnut ketchup took the classic cheese and pickle vibe and ran with it. You’d be delighted with these at a wedding buffet but I got the impression Briar could do better.

Fried chicken (£9) came perilously cold and presumably not deliberately à la David Chang. More forgotten in the holding cabinet at KFC than two star bar food at Momofuku. It was also rather dainty, not quite popcorn chicken but certainly not Zinger proportions. That said, it remained beguilingly crisp and juicy, enlivened by a gentle prickle of black pepper in the mayonnaise dotted under thin veils of pickled cucumber. And the colonel certainly isn’t emulating Briar’s farm-to-table approach and sourcing his birds from named farms.

Over the course of a year of jet-setting in which the primary focus was shovelling as many local delicacies as possible into my ever-growing gob, I ate plenty of seafood. From the incredibly delicious — sweet, buttery sea urchin melting into grade 9 Korean sirloin round a bar hidden away in Sokcho Market — to the downright fetid. That would be fermented skate, also in South Korea. Fermented skate smells like a portaloo five days into Glastonbury. I’d rather sample festering festival faeces than put myself through hongeo-hoe again.

Back in Bruton, a dish of cured wild bass, green strawberries and red chilli (£11) was very much the polar opposite. A more beautiful, precise, pristine plate of food would unlikely be found even if we traversed the globe for another twelve months. And we only had to pootle a leisurely hour down the A37. Travel = overrated.

Each irregular rhombus of fish sat atop a slice of crunchy, fresh green strawberry, a ring of chilli delivering fresh, jolting heat and a cluster of fennel flowers tweezered on top. I tend to prefer the use of tweezers for removing errant ticks after hiking through Stourhead than excessive food poncery these days, but for dishes as accomplished as this I can make allowances.

If that level of cooking wasn’t quite maintained, and not just because to do so would have been nigh-on impossible, then a dish described as duck salad (£16) must take some of the flack. Hot smoked, the breast tasted eerily of ham, with similar soft succulence, and came fanned out next to a crunchy, piquant smacked-cucumber-esque salad knitted with herbs and chilli.

After several meals in Bruton over the space of a couple of summery weeks, I can tell you one thing with the confidence of a nuclear orange president trying to steal the Jules Rimet: the arty cognoscenti love an almond sauce. Ajo blanco with beetroot and cherries at the new The Old Pharmacy aka The Pharmacy was a thing of effervescent delight. Meanwhile, a chilled almond sauce at Briar came topped with nicely caramelised knots of roasted cauliflower, a small fistful of golden sultanas, more slivers of the nut and a welcome whoosh of mint (£12). A restrained sweetness that segued us nicely into dessert.

Chocolate marquise festooned with cherries, buttermilk ice cream and hazelnuts seemed a popular choice in the room. It’s a rare dessert that has me snubbing something chocolatey, but the promise of brown butter cake (£10) did just that. What a darling little thing it was. The shape of a flattened fairy cake, it was as buttery as you’d hope from its name, crisp around the edges and moist enough to send Nigella into raptures. The repeating sense of ye olde cereals reared its head, the combination with browned butter bouncing together like Romero and Martinez — two more who tried to cheat their way to the World Cup — and just as nutty.

A thick splodge of crème fraîche was ringed by cross-sections of pinkish-green rhubarb stem. Surfaces freckled with xylem, they proved just a little too crunchy and too tart for the genteel cake, which was as debonair as the silver-haired Bruton locals.

And as for this exact spot? Two excellent restaurants from two notably distinct, yet in many ways similar, young chefs. I’d be hard pushed to pick a favourite, but if I had to spend the rest of my life with one, it might just be Briar. I guess I’ll just have to sit tight and wait for Sam’s proposal.

All words by PXandTarts, photos by Meg Houghton-Gilmour

Briar, 1 High Street, Bruton, BA10 0AB

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

The news

Last month we reported that beloved Chinese dim sum joint Fresh Bakery was moving, but this is in fact not the case. Further intel has revealed that the team are retaining their original site and a new site. The new, bigger site, Mei Mei, houses the restaurant we know and love and is now open. The previous site is where production will continue to take place, ‘the bakery’ if you will, and will be renamed. Read The Bristol Sauce review of Fresh Bakery.

Rumour has it that Joel Viljoen — former owner of Orchard Coffee in St George, booted out earlier this year to turn the site back into a church — is buying local brewery Fierce and Noble. This hasn’t been confirmed, but the brewery is for sale on Zoopla. Hopefully God doesn’t decide to interfere with this one too.

Following a stint in Bedminster, Southmead’s casual Indian restaurant Thikanaa is preparing to reopen in a new location on Gloucester Road, on the junction with Hatherly Road and very close to Dave Giles butchers. Excellent news for those living nearby, who will now be able to get their hands on convenient, affordable and wonderfully satiating vada pau. Bad news for Southmead, however, which has lost one of startlingly few restaurants in the area which are actually worth going to. Read The Bristol Sauce review of Thikanaa.

Press

Aktar Islam’s Clifton restaurant Kush, which finally opened a couple of months ago after many delays, has been reviewed in The Observer. Reviewer Rebecca Nicholson was mostly impressed but found the service a little slow. Perhaps everything they do is slightly delayed.

Closures

Kuch, a Middle-Eastern restaurant on Whiteladies Road and not to be confused with the above Kush, appears to have permanently closed. The site is due to be turned into a martial arts space. Evidently there’s only room for one Ku(s/c)h in this town.

Easton’s Latin-American-inspired cafe Este Kitchen has sadly closed. No announcement has been made, but the restaurant is listed as ‘permanently closed’ on Google.

New openings

Red Tiger, the Malaysian restaurant that started life as a stall in St Nick’s Market, has opened a permanent bricks-and-mortar site on St George’s Road, very close to Brandon Hill. Following a soft-launch in mid-August the new site is in full swing, with a delightful menu featuring the likes of roti canai, belacan wings, tom yum fried rice and popiah goreng.

There’s a new restaurant opening on Whiteladies Road called ‘Feather’, in the site that previously belonged to VeBurger. A top local chef and Sauce intelligence officer reported that ‘they have good ovens and the lad who’s starting it is nice’. According to a job listing for the assistant restaurant manager on Indeed, the restaurant will be ‘built around fried chicken, poultry-led dishes, good wine, cocktails, and a warm, lively dining room.’ Feather will open next-door-but-one to another fried chicken restaurant, Coq, and will hopefully be less reliant on penis jokes.

Those saddened by the closure of Este Kitchen should take heart in the upcoming arrival of Los Dos Gringos in nearby Redfield, which will be a Colombian-inspired and entirely vegan cafe. Los Dos Gringos is set to open in the former Crafty Egg site and if the team’s previous market stalls are anything to go by, will serve Colombian hot chocolate and arepas, amongst other things.

Upgrade your subscription now to read about twelve more new openings across Bristol.

Read more

When was the last time you feasted at a restaurant? I mean really feasted. Walked into some swanky establishment and coolly announced that you will have one of everything. Thanks to VAT, the cost of living crisis, and the fact that the English view any level of self-assurance as gauche, I imagine that the answer is ‘never’.

Feasting in the modern age is something we do behind closed doors, if at all. We eat with abandon so long as it’s within our own homes, where it’s cheaper, unobserved, and where we can scoop spoonfuls of Nutella directly into our mouths without judgment. At home, all restraints are gone. There is no need to choose between having a starter or a dessert, to take hummingbird-sized sips of your £14 cocktail so it lasts the full ninety minutes. You don’t need to work out how many small plates it will take to fill the void.

When I think of what it is to truly enjoy a meal, I picture a medieval scene. An apple stuffed in the mouth of a suckling pig, fire-roasted swans, turkey legs clutched in ham-handed fists, all washed down with the blood of your enemies. While I’ve never been able to recreate this dream, Pinto is the closest I’ve come.

Pinto Thai Street Food is a tiny restaurant in Bristol’s little Chinatown, nestled between 168 Oriental Supermarket and a massage parlour. The interior is about as far away from a Tudor banquet hall as you can get. Sitting on the second floor of Nelson Street, Pinto shares its space with a butcher’s, a dim sum restaurant, and a dessert bar, ill-considerately named ‘Cream Lovers’. A wind chime tinkles in an artificial breeze, and streams of bunting sag in half smiles from the ceiling — Pinto is where I go when I want to feel properly sated.

Northern Thai cuisine is Pinto’s speciality, and it does the classics well. If you are looking for ingenuity, Pinto is not the place for you, but if you want authenticity, ineffable charm and a five-pound BYO policy — this is the place.

Being on the second floor, the window seats will appeal to the people watchers among you. A nearby rave appeared to be scheduled that evening and so during the course of our meal we saw a wizard, a man-baby, and a dominatrix all on their commute to the party. Bristol, please never change.

Always start your visit with a trip to the Tesco down the road. Buy white wine, a dry one if you can, but it’s more important that it’s cold. Your waiter will give you glasses and a cooler when you arrive.

I’ve become somewhat of a regular and I must admit that the service is as varied as the ensembles of the partygoers below. Sometimes it’s lightning, other times it’s glacial. Either way, you have the company of a bottle of wine, and while ordering may be slow the food comes quick.

We began with the papaya salad (£9.95) at spice level two. The restaurant functions on a one-to-three spiciness scale. One is boring, two is authentically Thai and three is for the sadists. Consider yourselves warned. No matter what else you get, always order the salad. It’s fresh and crunchy in an eminently drinkable lime and fish sauce dressing. It is violently delicious, which, as the dominatrix would have told you were she invited, is an addictive combination. The chilli will hurt you. You will say thank you.

The banquet continued with a beef Panang curry (£14.95), tender chunks of beef simmered in a thick lemongrass sauce, followed by a chicken khao soi (£13.95), a coconut-based noodle soup dish topped with pickled carrot and crispy noodles, which help stop your teeth from feeling redundant.

I should note here that between our humble party of two we managed five dishes, but Pinto works best when you bring a group and order recklessly. After an evening passing plates of noodles between friends, spilling sauce across yourself and the table, and laughing over unfortunate stains and glasses of wine, you begin to picture yourself somewhere between the War of the Roses and the Spanish Armada.

We also ordered a portion of pork pad ga prao (£11.95), a deeply savoury mince stir fry with bamboo shoots and green beans. If you go, make sure you order this dish with a fried egg on top. I forgot on this occasion and it’s a mistake I’m struggling to forgive myself for.

Our night ended with a plate of mango sticky rice (£7.95). I’m usually wary of tropical fruit in England. They seem to get homesick somewhere over the Suez Canal and make a grief-stricken promise to never ripen. This mango was good. Sweet, fragrant and paired well with the glutinous rice.

Is Pinto going to change your life? Unless your life goal is to buy a steak, a cake, a massage and a massaman curry all in one place, then no. But it is an experience. Maybe in a past life I was Henry the Eighth, maybe I’m just a bit of a glutton, either way I want to feel indulged at a restaurant, well fed and well drunk. I want to order without qualm and eat without care, I want to flick between spoons, chopsticks and fingernails. To tear and dip and spill with abandon, Pinto is the perfect place to let out your inner Tudor monarch.

All words and photos by Emily Coplestone

Pinto Thai Street Food, 2nd floor, Little Chinatown, BS1 2BJ

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

That will be just the job, I thought, eyeing up a mountain of lentil salad: fresh and light to counteract the heatwave. I’d come to the Bath Saturday farmers’ market to shop for a picnic and was all set to order a large portion, until I noticed the label over the bowl. ‘Unctuous’. The ick washed over me, the smug and ingratiating connotations of the word hanging heavily, taunting my hunger. What I had imagined as a crisp, balanced dressing now clung in thick droplets, cloying, viscous and quite off-putting.

Needless to say, I did not order the salad. I did, however, add unctuous to the list of Bad Adjectives Used in Menus: an increasingly large collection of descriptors that have stopped me ordering dishes.

Joining unctuous is succulent, which holds the additional accolade of dissuading me from staying in the establishment at all (see also: juicy). Staking their claim are fresh and house-made, rather stating the obvious: it’s what I’ve come to your restaurant for after all. Noah’s risks slipping into this trap; delicious, fresh and crisp feature on the menu more than once, and despite knowing this to be true about their food I still resent reading it.

An honourable mention must go to rich and indulgent, which when applied to a dessert immediately make me worry about a version of the pudding that may not be so, and conjure memories of the underwhelming chocolate fudge cake so abundant on the early noughties’ menus of my childhood, the ice cream (vanilla, of course) never quite extending the full length of dessert, leaving that lonely dry mouthful at the end. And let’s not get started on unnecessarily complicated synonyms — if I had any doubts about your crème brûlée, describing it as ambrosial has definitely not allayed them.

Any adjective begs the question: why try so hard to convince me that the dish is worth eating? Surely that must mean restaurateurs are worried the food might not be enjoyed and that’s certainly not a risk I’m willing to take. Or even worse, are they trying to tell me what to think about their food before I’ve tried it? How very presumptuous!

A well-written menu is an underrated thing. It must strike a fine balance between simply listing the components of a dish and over-selling with superfluous adjectives —it should leave you intrigued by and excited about the dish you choose to order.

Despite a few recent encounters, Bristol’s independent scene has mostly struck the balance: menus that show the chefs take their food seriously whilst allowing the diner to enjoy the meal without pre-conceived notions dictated by their description. Ragù’s inimitable tiramisu — which has somewhat of a cult following — is the perfect example. Listed simply as ‘Tiramisu, orange, nutmeg, cocoa’, it piques interest. How have they added the orange: peel or juice? Will it overpower the delicate creaminess, how will the nutmeg complement the richness of the cocoa? By the time it is served you are so captivated that all thoughts of sharing your pudding are forgotten. Any resulting frostiness with your aspiring pudding-partners is worth the enjoyment of each mouthful of cocoa-tinted, delicately spiced, intense yet mellow dessert; better than any notional version created whilst waiting. But here’s the irony: if the tiramisu was described like that on the menu, I’d give it a wide berth.

So, a plea to all those writing menus: keep it simple. Let your food do the talking.

All words by Katie Hobhouse, photos by Meg Houghton-Gilmour

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.

I’ve lived on or near North Street for eight years, and despite the area’s panoply of offerings for a Nice Meal Out (COR, Sonny Stores, Soukitchen, Other, etc), for too long it has been a Quick Lunch desert (a reliable Clark’s Pie has been one’s best bet since — well, probably since Clark’s opened some 80 years ago). Now: a new kid on the block, and a glimmer of hope. Bánh-Mì Càphê, an offshoot of Stokes Croft/Cotham Hill’s Viet Kitchen, opened in July to immediate queues out the door of people who presumably feel the same way as me.

This café slims the Viet Kitchen menu down to a clear, simple offer: four variations of bánh mì, the Vietnamese sandwich born from French colonial influence (and one of the world’s great convenience foods), and càphê, which is the Vietnamese word for coffee.

Present and correct in all of the sandwich options are the customary bánh mì trimmings: pâté, strips of pickled carrot and daikon, thick cucumber batons, coriander, chillies and spring onion. Watching the assembly line at work, I notice two things which straight away set this operation apart from most in the UK. Where most of the time a light smear of pâté is undetectable in the finished sandwich, here I watch them apply the gamey paste with appropriate generosity. They also include the traditional bơ, or ‘Vietnamese butter’, which, despite the name, is actually a stiff, yolk-yellow mayonnaise made without vinegar or lemon juice, and sometimes with oil perfumed from the frying of shallots and garlic: rich, unctuous and quite distinct from commercial mayo.

The clear menu highlight is the ‘fat pig’ special (£10.50), which is populated by wobbling, gelatinous chunks of pork belly and glassy crackling, alongside pork floss and Vietnamese cold cuts chả lụa (smooth steamed sausage) and thịt nguội (red-tinted lightly-cured ham), lubricated with a couple spoonfuls of roasting juices. It’s a sucker punch of pork, and moreish in the extreme.

The grilled lemongrass chicken (£9) is also very good, headily fragrant and punctuated with strips of paper-thin, chewy, blistered skin. Tofu patties (£9) are a nice idea for the vegan option, providing both crunch and velvety softness, but it’s here that we run into an issue — it’s the juicy animal fats that keep the meat sandwiches moist and bind their elements together, and there isn’t an equivalent element here. It tastes just a little… healthy. And while they’ve gone to the trouble of making a mushroom pâte, it is too similar in texture to the patties’ interiors, such that the two become indistinguishable.

Having been open for barely three weeks at time of writing, Bánh Mì Càphê is naturally still experimenting and dialling in its processes, and on my two visits I encountered both inconsistencies and improvements. On the first visit, the baguette looked great, but was on the drier side; rather than cracking open a portal into a yielding, soft interior, the crust shattered dustily. The second time around, a softer, more pliant baguette meant less friction to the overall eating experience, but not enough textural contrast.

Still, both examples had good structure, shape and colour, and were already superior to that of their closest bánh mì rivals in Bristol, The Hanoi Social, whose bread suffers from a much more toothsome, classically French crustiness. Bánh Mì Càphê has the advantage of an in-house bakery, meaning they can tweak and adjust as they go, and I believe their bread can get to a truly great place.

Heartening as well was a particular adjustment made between my two visits: my first sandwiches were filled meat-first, with garnishes lining the open mouth of the baguette; on the second visit, they had swapped places. To the casual observer, this may seem a trivial detail, but it has serious implications. Tendrils of pickled vegetables curling around each other, with leafy coriander poking out between violent interruptions of red chilli: this makes for an attractive sandwich, sure, but an impractical one prone to spillage, and as we know, spilled garnish = unbalanced sandwich. Reversing the assembly order not only makes for a much more architecturally sound construction, it also means that the tongue’s first point of contact is with the satisfying, umami-laden primary filling, before the jolting relief of acidity and herbaceousness restores balance.

To me, the cardinal principles of the craft of sandwich-making are good ergonomics (they are a food of convenience which should be able to be eaten on the go without making a mess), and considerate assembly (how do the selections and sequencing of bread, fillings and condiments create a coherent whole?). This little adjustment is a poor choice, perhaps, if you are prioritising the cosmetic demands of Instagram’s algorithm, but a really great one for eating. Sandwich Sandwich could learn a thing or two.

But look, after all this in-depth sandwich analysis, I’ve completely buried the lede. Bánh mì is only half of the name of this establishment, and where they really, truly excel is their coffee. Sacks of imported Trung Nguyen coffee beans sit proudly on display, and their menu has an impressive selection of lesser-seen variations on Vietnamese coffee, which is brewed heart-racingly strong such that it can stand up to lip-tingling quantities of sweetened condensed milk.

The South-East Asian palate is known for its love of intensely sugary milk drinks, but in the decade since moving away from my native Thailand, my tastes have mellowed slightly, and I now seek a more tempered sweetness. If this sounds like you too, then your drink of choice should be the salt coffee (£6.50), which is topped with a cloud of creamy, heavily salted foam. Try the layers separately for a bracing clash of opposing tastes, then mix together to create a harmonious dessert-drink of exquisitely complementary yin and yang. I approach it initially with caution — caffeine has not historically agreed with my digestive system — but it is addictively good, and I can’t resist downing the lot.

Also delightful is the coconut coffee (£6.50), where the base coffee is topped up with a blended coconut milk ice-slush — endlessly crushable in a heatwave. These are expensive drinks, yes, but this is perhaps a blessing in disguise: I couldn’t otherwise be trusted not to risk my gastrointestinal health on the daily.

As business names go, Bánh-Mì Càphê’s is about as does-what-it-says-on-the-tin as it gets. A menu as small and streamlined as this is nothing if not a clear mission statement, and a promise that they are committed to the details; which, despite some areas for improvement, they demonstrably are. It already feels like an essential part of North Street, filling a much-yearned-for gap. Rejoice, and may your lunches never be dull again.

Bánh-Mì Càphê, 181 North Street, BS3 1JQ

All words and photos by Ben Kulvichit

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

It was the hands that did it. Hands always get me. Brow furrowed in concentration, eyes sharp, and hands — those hands — laying fine slithers of vegetables against each other with such tenderness. The moment lasts for seconds but I’m left reeling all night. What else can those hands do? The thought of it makes me shiver in impossible anticipation. Don’t go there. Dangerous.

But those hands. There’s something so inherently sexy about a chef, isn’t there? But everyone knows everyone in Bristol and everyone would know immediately. It would probably be pinned in the WhatsApp groups. I want to be able to walk into wine bars on my day off without the waves of anxiety. But I do love starting my shift and noticing those furtive glances. The way you accidentally tease my fingers as you hand a plate over.

I read recently that electrons can tell when they’re being observed, just as I can tell instantly when you’re in the same room as me. My cheeks flush and I hate it. You must know. Surely. I feel exposed, like a full moon on a clear night. We sit next to each other at family meal and our thighs brush. I want to tell you about the book I read and about ideas and about food I’ve eaten and about places but you’re so busy. Getting you alone is like trying to explain the concept of pronouns to my nan. And I shouldn’t, I mustn’t. It’s a terrible idea. Plus, following you into the walk-in fridge would be downright creepy.

Instead I lie awake until the early hours, tossing and turning. I imagine every scenario ever. Murphy’s law right? If it can happen, it will. And it could happen. The forbidden-ness makes it all the more exciting.

On your days off I wonder where you are and who you’re with. The rota shows an insight into your life, but provides me with little else other than windows of overlapping excitement.

Is it that I want your power, your influence? Is it that I want your knowledge — how you can turn something so humble into something amazing? Do I want to be seen by you or with you? Would those hands be so careful, so precise, with me?

I’m writing this as a means of exorcising my demons. Or rather, demon. Does some small part of me hope that in having it published you’ll read it and realise my undying horniness for you? Yes. I lie awake thinking you’ll slip me a note during service that reads ‘I’m taking you for dinner’ and we’ll go arm in arm to Caper & Cure or perhaps Dongnae where we’ll relish every bite and then each other — locking eyes over an injeolmi.

It will end badly, that is certain, and we’ll have to avoid each other for the rest of our careers, which will be hard in Bristol village. Maybe I’ll move to Australia. Maybe you will. But in this naive, heady state of the first rays of sun, harbourside beers and you with your hands — that all feels worth it. Perhaps you’ll even make me breakfast the next day…

All words by a Secret Service Agent, illustration by @slakarts

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

The Pharmacy represents exceptional value, even after you’ve factored in the hour drive from Bristol. If you’re over that way, perhaps for a nosey around the Hauser & Wirth gallery or a stomp around the Dovecote, then I’d enthusiastically recommend popping in. If you find this recommendation to be a good one, or you enjoy reading about it, please consider supporting our work by making a small monthly contribution. If you can’t afford it, don’t worry — the people paying are paying so that you can read for free. It’s a great system, and one that keeps our content out of the hands of advertising.

God loves a trier, but she’s less keen on a rebrand. Particularly if it’s an alleged abuser and sex pest trying to reBrand himself as a born again Christian.

Let’s just say — a rebrand can go either way, and they rarely save a dying business. But it’s unlikely God has even noticed a recent sneaky little rebrand in Bruton, where The Old Pharmacy has become The New Pharmacy but it’s just called The Pharmacy and it’s not actually even a pharmacy. It’s a restaurant. The exact same restaurant as before, minus the word ‘old’ in the name. They haven’t even bothered to change the sign above the door.

Same staff, same space, same food. So why bother? According to the staff in there on a recent Thursday evening, the rebrand was necessitated by the incorporation of a new events business, Pharmacy Field Kitchen. Right.

However apparently pointless, it seems to have worked for The Pharmacy, as the PR team managed to get this non-story into a national publication which sufficiently piqued my interest enough to book a table and see what all the fuss is about.

After all, The Pharmacy is the sister restaurant to nearby Osip, which was elevated to the second best restaurant in the country by the National Restaurant Awards just weeks ago. The £165pp tasting menu at Osip is a bit out of my reach at the moment (please subscribe), but a trip to the New Old Pharmacy offers excellent value for money, and as I said, God loves a trier.

It’s a good job that the food wasn’t in the scope of the rebrand, because it’s just as piquant as ever. The menu, scrawled on a dusty blackboard at the back of a simple, olive green room, is only seven items deep. Landrace sourdough (£5) has been sensibly shipped in from nearby Bath, and was served in four thick wedges with a pot of butter. There are few better ways to start a meal.

Giardiniera (£10) was a tumble of crunchy, lightly pickled vegetables from one of the group’s two working farms, and the person serving it doubled as a grower — and thus was able to provide not only excellent gossip from the surrounding hospitality scene but also some hot tips for raising a horde of vegetables.

The beauty of such a small menu is the glee in declaring ‘we’ll have the lot!’ like a young Harry Potter when propositioned with ‘anything from the trolley?’ The only thing we didn’t order was ‘le grand aioli’, because to be quite frank paying £23 for a plate of aioli is absurd. The beetroots with ajo blanco and cherries, and the grilled peaches with peas and basil salad (both £12), however, represented unbelievable value.

These plates laugh heartily in the face of anyone declaring the farm-to-table movement a vapid trend; food this fresh is undeniable and you better hope it’s here to stay. Beetroot with cherry is not a novel pairing — the earthy umami of beetroot brought to life by its sweet, similarly inky bedfellow — but at The Pharmacy the apothecaries have further heightened it with a velvety and nutty ajo blanco and farm herbs. Peaches and peas, however, is not a combination I’ve encountered before and one I hope to see far more of — both sweet but brought round with an umami broad bean purée and sharp basil. As a sometimes jaded diner, to come across a new combination is unusual. I sat up in my chair and took note.

Then sardines, flash-grilled and burnished before being doused in salsa verde and gooseberries and served with a wedge of toast (£15). Every careful fork scrape and surgical pick to avoid those pesky little bones was rewarded with a mouthful of meaty, invigorating flavour — all the better smeared across toothsome sourdough. Unimprovable.

Dessert was the only area that this dispensary lacked in; only one option and a cop-out at that. I have a lot of time for fig leaf — it’s an excellent negroni-enhancer — and while a fig leaf ice cream with currants (£9) would make for a lovely side to a dessert but can it really stand up as a dessert in itself? We were pondering this when we discovered that the kitchen had anticipated our complaint and snuck some biscuity crumble in the bottom for texture, which was appreciated, but still didn’t quite raise this to the level of a tart or the brown butter cake a few doors up at Briar.

The bill was comfortably under £100, which made me realise that God is indeed aware of this place after all — these days, a meal this good for two with drinks at such a price is nothing short of a miracle. And in Bruton, no less, where simply stepping out of your house for a coffee and a croissant could set you back a year’s wages. I expect we’ll see a chapter dedicated to the New Old Pharmacy when they eventually get round to publishing the New Old Testament, at which point it will no doubt inspire vast pilgrimages — so take our word for it in the meantime and get there first.

The Pharmacy, 3 High Street, Bruton, BA10 0AB

All words and photos by Meg Houghton-Gilmour

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

A one-off: Matty Grove at The Scrandit

Matty Grove has a serious case of chef-to-watch syndrome. He’s currently head chef of Caper & Cure and Carmen Street Wine, he’s constantly popping up in industry newspapers sharing nuggets of insight and wisdom and I have a feeling that later this year

Read more

You could be forgiven for never having heard of La Cubana, the newest addition to Bristol’s slowly emerging Latin food scene. This multi-hyphenate venue and eatery is situated confidently in a nook on Greenbank Road in Easton; one of Bristol’s most culturally diverse suburbs. Learning that Indira Román (a multi-hyphenate herself in regards to her career as an established singer and bandleader in Bristol) had taken over this space, tucked up cosily alongside an organic whole-foods shop, it sang to me of a potential unearthing, the promise of something desperately needed in today’s culinary climate.

Community spaces are disappearing. This is a food-focused publication so I’ll spare you the gory details but I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention something which is evident upon even a cursory glance at our dwindling public assets. Food is the great communicator. A gel that brings us together and one that I truly believe in. A shared meal prepared with love is one of life’s simple pleasures. And I believe that the building of community through food is a simple and honest way of fostering conversation between people that transcends language. Enter Indira and her team.

Cuban anthropologist Fernando Ortiz Fernández described the nature of Cuban identity and culture being in a process of permanent renewal and flow using the metaphor of ajiaco; a thick stew, rustic and hearty, boiled over a long period, with its ingredients eventually dissolving to become part of the whole. Formation, disintegration, integration. With cultural contributions ranging all the way from Europe, Africa, China, and the indigenous Taíno, the Cuban kitchen is defined by the constantly shifting community that inhabits it. Upon entering La Cubana on a golden summer evening and feeling the welcome pull of our hosts, I feel but one of these constituent ingredients slowly becoming part of the whole.

The air is warm and close, desperate for a storm to break. After a day spent running errands in Broadmead mid-heatwave (not advisable) we are hungry and carry with us a yearning for respite. We thus find ourselves sat on a veranda outside La Cubana, drinking in the slow mounting buzz of activity around us. An assortment of various musical instruments are being marched past our table (one of which is a full-sized wooden marimba). Directions are being hollered over our heads in Spanish between Indira and the musicians about to play. Parents tend to their small children, the clamour of gorging and crying and shouting and laughing bring to mind a ship’s crew, hoisting in preparation for that storm.

The two-piece band begins to play a slow, syncopated cumbia and to that rhythm our servers are just as easy and colloquial, offering their favourite dishes and cold things to quench in equal measure. We order a pint of local lager (£5) and a glass of lime and maté (£4). The latter is everything you want on a balmy summer’s evening and I would happily down five if it weren’t for the the vast amounts of caffeine in it — this writer is of the age where he has started to value his sleep. While we ponder the menu (tonight they’re offering a mixture of Cuban and Colombian small plates) friends stop to chat as they pass by on the street, peering over the beds of resplendent alliums, marvelling at how much we all feel like we’re on holiday.

The food arrives and the chat is paused. First to be tucked into is the ropa vieja (£9.50) widely held to be Cuba’s national dish. In Spanish, ropa vieja means “old clothes” but what we have here is a bowl of shredded beef, well-seasoned with a generous portion of rice and black beans. Simple, wholesome, and designed to fill bellies. For those who enjoy a touch more in the heat department, there is Cholula on the table, which I apply liberally. I can definitely see how this has come to be a staple, yet I’d be lying if I said I didn’t long for a bit more of the star ingredient, greedy as I am.

The croquetas de mi abuela (Indira’s grandmother’s croquettes) (£6.50) come with a light and refreshing salsa to cut through the fried mixture of sweet potato and corn. If you are used to Spanish-style croquetas, typically made with a savoury bechamel as a foundation and stuffed with anything ranging from cheese, ham, or even fish — these are not them. These are sweeter and lifted with a generous amount of mint. Home-style food done well is where I live in more ways than one, and I am won over. In spite of a certain cognitive dissonance, my body telling my brain that all it wants is a salad after a day of much sweating, the salt, the sweet, and the oil are gratefully received.

Enchilado de camarones con tostones (£10.50) is by far my favourite dish on show here. Not to be confused with the more chilli-centric (as the name suggests) enchiladas of Mexican origin, enchilado de camarones is a Cuban seafood stew of prawns cooked in a sofrito of tomatoes, peppers, and onions. Like with the ropa vieja, I would’ve loved for there to simply be more of everything, as it is delicious. I must admit that I am still wrestling with the idea of there being a ‘small plates’ culture here in Britain, where restaurants tend to charge ‘large plate’ prices for smaller portions, with no obvious benefit. The tostones for me are, however, a highlight unto themselves: green plantain fritters, fried golden — the perfect tool for mopping up leftover juices.

Another highlight are the chicken tamalitos (£9.50). Cornmeal dumplings, filled with chickpeas, olives, and piled high with shredded chicken do just the job of finishing us off entirely. At this point, I am in desperate need of another drink and am enthusiastically recommended the lemonade. It arrives fragrant with mint and pineapple and just the right amount of sugar (a fair bit). Anyone feeling harangued by the heat this summer with frayed nerves in need of a balm, look no further. Speaking of sugar, if there is anything of La Cubana’s reputation that precedes it, it is their tres leches cake (£5). A gargantuan portion served with a generous glug of condensed milk (having already been topped with whipped cream) — calorific consciousness here is rejected with gleeful abandon.

As the carb-induced stupor sets in, I am happy. The food here satisfies and that is indeed what it is meant to do. For all of the trend chasers and influencers looking for the next big ‘grammable bite, put your phones down for a second and enjoy the thing less tangible, why don’t you? A true neighbourhood restaurant, frequented and supported by the people that make up that neighbourhood is becoming a rarity and I think it deserves to be celebrated on the occasions, these quintessential moments, in which we are afforded it. Indira and her cohort are thankfully providing a venue that makes such occasions possible.

All words and photos by Jason Jay Pridham

La Cubana, 3 Greenbank Road, BS5 6EZ

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

The news

Any summer newsletter should start with ice cream and so here we are. Sonny Stores’ ice cream brand Little Knuckles will be appearing on Corn Street outside St Nick’s market from Wednesdays through Saturdays until September. The team have commandeered a bike, so you can be assured that by purchasing a scoop of macadamia, orange and olive oil you’re supporting a pedal-powered local business. Cool.

Bristol’s premiere steak brand Pasture technically already went international when the team opened a branch in Wales, but they’ve now got their sights set on Europe. The Barcelona branch of Pasture will open early next year, as the group have secured a £4.5m refinancing package from Barclays. They’re not the only Bristol restaurant to put down roots in the Spanish city — burger joint Asado also has a second site there too.

Beloved dim sum purveyor Fresh Bakery has closed, but fear not — the team are on the cusp of opening a new restaurant just next door. MeiMei will open imminently, though the reason for the move remains unclear.

The Local on North Street has new owners in the form of the experienced and inventive team behind Shredenhams (the skate park that has taken over Debenhams — huge improvement imo) and fellow Bedminster dive bar The Dame. The Local has already had a bit of a face lift and according to a recent Instagram post, we can also expect upcoming DJs, live music and community events.

In further pub news, the White Bear also has new owners. The St Michael’s Hill pub has been taken over by the same folks that run the Hope and Anchor on Jacobs Wells Road and the Lion in Cliftonwood.

Press

Enormous congratulations are in order for team WANGS who not only made it into the Good Food Guide’s 100 best local restaurants, but at number seven were also the highest awarded in the whole of the South West. Also on the list from Bristol were Dongnae and the Lido. Well done all!

Closures

Bristol-born cafe chain Grounded is no more. All eight sites across Bristol and in Keynsham, Corsham and Chippenham have closed with immediate effect, although two in Bristol have reopened under new ownership. Grounded Fishponds has become Turners and is run by the same general manager as before, and Grounded Brislington is set to become Grain.Grape Cafe, run by a local family, but isn’t open yet.

In Old Market, Mexican brunch spot Tocayo has temporarily closed. Though the listing on Google states the closure is permanent, the website reads: ‘We’re temporarily closing the doors of Tocayo to restructure and stay strong in the current climate. We’ll reopen in October 2026 with a fresh new concept. In the meantime, you can still enjoy all your favorite brunch dishes and coffee at Chido Wey’. Here’s hoping that Tocayo does indeed reopen and is stronger for it — after all, there’s nowhere else in Bristol where one can procure the essential Mexican breakfast item chilaquiles. Read The Bristol Sauce review of Tocayo.

New openings

Could the owner of two of Bristol’s most successful restaurants be planning a third? Mark Chapman, co-owner of COR and RAGU shared an intriguing Instagram story on July 17th, appearing to show a loosely drawn floor plan of a restaurant with the caption ‘keep dreaming next project’. Speaking to The Bristol Sauce Mark was painfully cryptic: “it is what you think it might be”. We’re taking that as a very positive sign.

It seems the new Interlude Coffee with be opening in the very near future, if recruitment posts on the store’s Instagram page are anything to go by. The new spot is at number 51 Colston Street, in the site that previously belonged to skateboarding store Fifty Fifty.

Also in coffee news, the new Full Court Press roastery has opened in the Dings — complete with a coffee bar where you can enjoy a vast number of freshly ground varieties just metres away from where they have been roasted. This is Full Court Press’s second site; the first on Broad Street has gained a seriously loyal following in the 13 years it has been open.

Upgrade your subscription now to read about 11 more new openings across Bristol.

Read more

Someone said to me recently: “I don’t usually go out for pasta, because I think ‘I can just make that at home’.”

Now I’ve heard some ridiculous things in my time, but this really takes the biscuit. Let’s just dwell on that statement for a moment.

You could — in theory — make almost anything you eat in a restaurant at home. You’ve completely missed the point there. Not only are you not going to get the lovely service, the drinks, the years of expertise, the creativity of the chefs and not having to do the washing up at home, I also highly doubt that you’re going to go to the effort of finding free range golden-yolked eggs, kneading them by hand with double zero flour to make a dough, running it through a pasta machine several times until it’s almost translucent, cutting it to size or shape and then emulsifying it with a sauce. You’re probably not going to whip up a couple of small plates for starters or a tiramisu for dessert as well. And if you did, you’d be so damn tired and stressed from all of that, that you wouldn’t be able to hold a conversation over your magnum opus dinner for more than two minutes.

So the point is moot. You should be going out for pasta because the fact that a bowl of silken brilliance arrives in front of you laden with heart-wrenchingly good sauce without you having to break a sweat is little short of a miracle, and one that no, you cannot ‘just make that at home’. And now that I’ve convinced you that you should be going out for pasta, I’m going to tell you where to go.

You cannot book at Solina, you simply turn up and wait for a table — or go and find a drink in a neighbouring pub or bar and they’ll text you when it’s time to come back. And the likelihood is you will have to wait, for Solina is a poorly kept secret on the streets of Bath and suitably popular with a healthy cross section of the city’s residents.

The focaccia (£4) which you haven’t had to bake yourself, can be paired with one of two dips — white bean and truffle with confit garlic (£2.50) or sun-dried tomato and butterbean hummus (£2.50). Now if you’re sun-drying your own tomatoes, I will eat my words. Perhaps I’ve underestimated you, and you also have a fleet of pigs snuffling out truffles as I write.

If not, then I’d recommend both the focaccia and the white bean dip at Solina; the two marry together in an excellent display of bounce, salt, umami and oil. We split a single good squash and taleggio arancino (£3) — the menu reads arancini but we are not so easily fooled by Italian pluralising — and then move on to a roasted porchetta dish with anchovy dressing, shallots, capers and mustard leaves (£12).

Whatever I’d imagined this porchetta dish to be, it wasn’t. I was expected a curl of pork belly, perhaps some crackling — something bronzed from the oven. This was more like a vitello tonnato but made with pig instead of cow, and very soon my assumptions were long forgotten and instead I was fighting with Chris to get the last swoop of the plate.

The burrata with fennel, olives, asparagus, almonds and chilli (£10) was less successful — the only dish of the night that tasted like it had been made at home. Not my home of course, I’d do a far better job. This tasted like someone had lost their way in Waitrose, grabbed the first ingredients that came to mind and put them together on a plate without any seasoning. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t good either.

But no matter, for the thing we were actually in Solina for — the pasta — rocked up so swaggeringly confident that nothing else mattered. We’d had a terrible time reducing the ten pasta dishes to just two; it seemed such a crime to neglect a cuscini ravioli with pea, mint, ricotta, asparagus and lemon butter sauce, much less the classic rigatoni with beef shin ragu.

I reassured Chris: ‘don’t worry, we can just make them at home’ — and so we settled on a gargati with creamy pork and fennel ragu (£14) and a tagliatelle with Cornish crab, datterini tomatoes, chilli, garlic and parsley.

The pasta I make at home is actually quite good, if I do say so myself, but I very rarely go to the effort of making my own dough and digging out my pasta machine. What I will make myself is a pangrattato; a crisp breadcrumb topping that I’ll infuse with lemon zest, garlic, chilli or herbs. I’ll make too much, garnish my pasta liberally with it, and then save whatever’s left for pimping the next day’s salad. It’s good to have routines, especially when they involve adding extra carbs to your carbs.

The good folk of Solina have also caught on to topping pasta with bread, and our creamy pork ragu gargati was sprinkled with the stuff, like a Mr Whippy covered in hundreds and thousands. It added bonus texture to an already delightfully rich and unctuous dish. I wish I could make that with these two hands. I’d barely eat anything else.

The crab tagliatelle was similarly successful and a wise choice to contrast with the pork — lighter, fresher and slightly sweet. My only wish would have been for more crab, but that’s probably not Solina’s fault but rather a consequence of the octopus invasion that’s encroaching on Britain’s shorelines and disrupting the food chain.

Sadly we ended on a bum note; a too-soft and muted apple and hazelnut crumble cake served with crème fraîche (£8) that would have had you sent home on Bake Off for crimes against crumble.

Now, you might have been convinced to go out for a plate of superlative pasta that’s also very reasonably priced, but I know what you’re thinking — to go all the way to Bath as well? I mean it’s only fifteen minutes on the train, but yes, it’s an additional obstacle in the pursuit of good pasta. Though I’ve heard salacious rumours that The Walcot Group, who are to be held responsible for this excellent pasta, have got their sights set on Bristol for further expansion. We’re already spoilt with Little Hollows, Magari and Pasta Ripiena, but I say the more the merrier. Your excuses for not going out for pasta are getting wobblier by the second.

All words and photos by Meg Houghton-Gilmour

Solina, Grand Parade, Bath BA2 4DF

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

Why highlight women-owned businesses? Although women make up more than half of the workforce in hospitality, very few make it to leadership positions. Fewer still get recognition from the likes of Michelin — by my count there are currently 11 restaurants with one or more stars in the UK that are run by women. That’s 11 out of 230.

There is no silver bullet to solving this problem because it is complex and multi-faceted. In no small part, women often have to leave the profession or are overlooked for promotion due to juggling family life and antisocial hours, and the balancing act not being accounted for in male-dominated spaces, spaces which can also be incredibly hostile to young women especially.

A map like Sally and Kayla’s, which platforms and celebrates women-owned businesses, is part of the solution. There are a few Bristol businesses on there, but it is not exhaustive. Neither is this list. But hopefully it will go some way to drawing attention to the problems that persist, and encourage people to support the women who are breaking through. Here’s some of Bristol’s best women-owned spots.

Chez Candice, Boiling Wells

Chez Candice is a bit of a Bristol Sauce all star — it makes it to almost every list I write. Run by one-woman powerhouse Candice Bryant, Chez Candice serves loaded flatbreads, sausage rolls and superb tarts for lunch out of a converted horse box on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. Read The Bristol Sauce review of Chez Candice.

instagram.com/chez_candice

Box-E, Wapping Wharf

Possibly the purveyors of Bristol’s best-value tasting menu, Box-E is co-owned by Tess Lidstone, who runs the front-of-house operation. Despite raising two daughters and running a restaurant, Tess also manages to find the time to do a host of charity work including supporting the likes of Square Food Foundation.

boxebristol.com

The Blaise Inn, Henbury

Working away in the kitchen of Henbury’s Michelin Bib Gourmand pub The Blaise Inn you’ll find head chef Louise McCrimmon whipping up a delicate fish dish, elevated pub classics or one of Bristol’s best Sunday roasts. There are few better places to eat after a stomp around Blaise Castle estate. Read The Bristol Sauce review of The Blaise Inn.

theblaiseinn.co.uk

Catley’s, St Anne’s and Clifton Village

If we were all as driven, talented and mad as Hannah Catley, we’d have our work done by 11am every day ready to put our feet up and have a good gossip, or, as Hannah does, go and show the men up in the gym. As owner and baker behind Catley’s HQ in St Annes and Catley’s cafe in Clifton, Hannah often wakes at 3am to laminate dough before doing a barista shift, a masterclass and then a gym sesh. Has the chocolate and caramel tart suffered from her insane schedule? No it has not.

catleys.co.uk

Mey-ze, Chandos Road

New(ish) to Chandos Road is Mey-Ze, a Mediterranean meze bar run by Ece Seval. With a handful of outdoor tables for al fresco people watching over a few sharing plates, Mey-ze offers a predominantly vegetarian menu inspired by Ece’s Turkish heritage.

meyze.co.uk

Radical Roasters & Oh My Pie, Easton

If you like your coffee strong and your women stronger, head to Radical Roasters in Easton — a micro-roastery-cum-cafe that churns out incredible drinks in an inspiring, community-oriented space. If available, pair one of your drinks with a slice of local baker Amy Symond’s ‘Oh My! Pie’ creations, such as the quick to sell out and thus much-coveted cherry pie.

radicalroasters.co.uk | ohmypieco.co.uk

Carouse, Totterdown

Make your way up the Totterdown hill to be rewarded with a glass of something from Carouse, run by Faye Buckle. Though relatively new to the area, Carouse has already become a local favourite for interesting wines and local beers plus fun events including tastings, music and run clubs.

carousewines.co.uk

Spirited, North Street

On North Street head to Spirited for tastings and cocktails from Katy Kennedy in this bar, tasting room, events space and shop. This is a particularly good spot for lovers of whisky!

spiritedbristol.com

Same Again, Finzels Reach

Same Again is co-owned by Pippa Guy, who made history in 2017 as the first female senior bartender at the legendary American Bar at The Savoy in London in over 100 years. She’s now running Bristol’s best cocktail bar with partner Seb. Get the Headshot and thank me later.

instagram.com/same.again.bristol

Toastie Queens, Wapping Wharf

A new addition to Wapping Wharf celebrates one of the best categories of food: things in bread. The clue is in the name — this spot is run by two queens (they have crowns and everything), Shaz and Deb, and even better is also serving Radical Roasters coffee.

instagram.com/toastiequeens

Dongnae, Chandos Road

Recently awarded the title of the 12th best restaurant in the UK at the National Restaurant Awards, Dongnae is co-owned by Kyu Jeong Jeon, who you’ll frequently find firing things on the grill and dishing out banchan behind the pass. Kyu is also responsible for Dongnae’s back garden full of homemade ferments, which is one of many reasons the food here is so memorable. Read The Bristol Sauce review of Dongnae.

dongnae.co.uk

Wilsons, Chandos Road

Another Bristol Sauce regular, Michelin-starred Wilsons is co-owned by Mary Wilson who is chief grower of all the produce and an all round wonderful human being. Wilsons is my favourite restaurant in Bristol and there’s nowhere I recommend more frequently. Read The Bristol Sauce review of Wilsons.

wilsonsbristol.co.uk

Corks, Cotham and North Street

Whenever I need a nice bottle of wine or a rare spirit — I go to Corks. Even if they haven’t got what I’m looking for, more often than not they’ll recommend something even better or order it in for me. They also do great tastings — keep an eye on their Instagram for upcoming dates. Corks is co-owned and co-run by Rachel Higgens.

corksofbristol.com

Bravas, Cotham Hill

Bravas is part of the Season & Taste hospitality group, which currently encompasses Bravas, Gambas, Condesa and Cargo Cantina. Imogen Waite is one half of the couple behind Season & Taste and she oversees much of the group’s operations; ensuring that some of Bristol’s best restaurants for Spanish and Mexican fare run without a hitch.

bravas.co.uk

Terra, Montpelier

If you’re into hand building some pottery while enjoying a particularly good cup of coffee, Terra will soon become a firm favourite. Run by three artists Izzy, Goobie (Gaby) and Joby (Josie), Terra is an accessible and inclusive space where you can embrace your creative side in inspiring surrounds.

terracafe.co.uk

WANGS, Montpelier

The WANGS team are going from strength to strength — following being the first Bristol restaurant to start cooking in an authentic Chinese charcoal roasting oven, they’re now also the Good Food Guide’s best local restaurant in the south west. None of their endeavours would be possible without the guidance of co-owner Sandy, who has been holding down a career in finance while running the restaurant and also growing a tiny human. That’s before we even get onto head chef Emily Xin Xin Chan, who’s responsible for this neighbourhood spot becoming locally-famed for dumplings, turnip cake and night market fried chicken.

wangsnoods.com

Ahh Toots, Christmas Steps

If you ever want to experience the best kind of decision paralysis, head to Ahh Toots, where the counter is laden with beautiful cakes, cookies, tray bakes and basically every kind of sweet treat you could possibly hope for. Run by head Tooter Tam, Ahh Toots is a great place to wile away a morning of afternoon while indulging in something delicious.

ahhtoots.com

Coffee Club

A delightfully Bristol-y institution, Coffee Club operates out of a shipping container in Bristol Marina and is co-owned and co-run by Lucy Atkins. Head down to check out the neighbouring Banksy over a cup of Radical Roasters coffee.

coffeeclubbristol.co.uk

Emmeline, Spike Island

If something good is happening in the food world in Bristol that helps people and brings them together, there’s a good chance that Shona Graham has had a hand in it. She’s also the owner of Emmeline cafe in Spike Island, which serves a delicious array of healthy food, great coffee and inspiration.

emmelinespikeisland.com

The Olive Shed, Harbourside

Celebrating 25 years later this year is The Olive Shed, owned by Anastasia OShea, a scenic spot on Bristol’s harbourside known for tapas and prime sunset-bathing.

theoliveshed.com

The Pony, Chew Valley

The Pony in Chew Valley is co-owned and co-run by Holly Eggleton, who runs the front of house team with general manager extraordinaire Emma Mays. Between them they run a tight ship, which is nothing short of a miracle consider the number of events they host and projects they run across Bristol.

theponychewvalley.co.uk

Jikoni, The Station

Tucked away inside The Station in central Bristol is East African cafe Jikoni, co-owned and co-run by Iman Salat. A lunch here will see you laden with extremely good value dishes including slow cooked goat, crisp lentil bajia and coconut curry chicken kuku paka. Read The Bristol Sauce review of Jikoni.

jikonieastafrica.co.uk

Sundial Kitchen, Totterdown

The Sundial Kitchen in Totterdown is known for hearty, healthy brunches and lunches as well as being a great event space. Co-owned and run by Chloë Hunt, Sundial is a particularly good option for plant-based pals and is also dog-friendly!

thesundialkitchen.co.uk

Co-Exist Community Kitchen, Easton

Co-Exist Community Kitchen is a non-profit, so it has no owner, but it does have a team of incredibly, dedicated women running it: Ari Cantwell, Kelly Sealey, Becky Millington, Aileen Small, Mel Fu and Ella Wysocki. A cookery class, run by people from a wealth of different backgrounds and cultures, is a great gift or something to do as a date or with friends and all proceeds directly support the charity.

coexistcommunitykitchen.org

Tiffins, Tobacco Factory

Jay Jethwa started Tiffins in 2003, from which she sells regional Indian vegetarian, vegan and gluten-free foods from the Gujarat region at the Tobacco Factory Sunday Market. Jay also runs cooking classes where you can learn to recreate her dishes at the Tobacco Factory.

tiffins-bristol.com

COR, North Street

If I got heart palpitations when I heard that Mark and Karen Chapman were renovating and opening their first restaurant while also expecting their first baby, I can’t imagine how they were feeling. We needn’t have worried. Under the watchful eye of Karen, COR has quickly become one of Bristol’s most beloved restaurants and the team have now opened a second site in the form of RAGU in Wapping Wharf. Read The Bristol Sauce review of RAGU.

correstaurant.com

Kask, North Street

Also on North Street is the home of natural wine in Bristol — Kask. Co-owned by Natalie Taylor, Kask specialise in organic and natural wines without any stuffiness and do some brilliant tastings. For those in north Bristol, Kask2 on Zetland Road will be closer.

kaskwine.co.uk

Laura’s Pizzas, Bishopston and Totterdown

Laura has become a bit of an icon in the Bristol pizza takeaway world for her top-notch Neapolitan creations, often with toppings sourced from Italy. She’s been so successful, in fact, that last year she opened a second site in Totterdown so as to expand her delivery radius.

lauraspizzas.co.uk

Tiger Mum, Bishopston

Few things about Chef Wizzy can be predicted, other than the fact that whatever she decides to serve up on any given day will stop you in your tracks for all the right reasons. Now operating out of what’s essentially a garage in an industrial unit on Merton Road, a trip to Tiger Mum will remind you of the inherent wonder in being a bit rough around the edges.

instagram.com/sky_kong_kong

Adelina Yard, Welsh Back

When Olivia Barry, co-owner of Adelina Yard, appeared on Great British Menu for the second time in 2022, it was as part of the show’s first ever all-woman line-up. Not only did Liv win the South West group on the show, you too can win by making a beeline to Adelina Yard to try her cooking.

adelinayard.com

Hart’s, Temple Meads

Laura Hart is a Bristol baking legend and the woman behind one of our most-beloved bakeries, Hart’s. The Saturday bread is worthy of forming your weekend around. We’d also highly recommend going to get one of chef Issy Cox’s amazing weekday lunch creations.

hartsbakery.co.uk

The Metropolitan, Whiteladies Road

Both The Metropolitan on Whiteladies Road and The Downs Cafe, of which the location shall remain a secret, are run by Mel Hancock, who is involved in just about every aspect of the businesses. The Metropolitan is a great stop for brunch and serves a menu that defies normal boring breakfast fare — the ox cheek hash is particularly enticing.

metropolitanbristol.com

Drizzle, Christmas Steps

Specialising in loaf cakes and named after the popular lemon drizzle, this cafe on Christmas Steps is owned and operated by Francesca Grout. Stop in for a coffee and a slice — best paired with a fresh mag from nearby Rova Editions.

instagram.com/drizzleloaf

Cibomatto, St Anne’s House

Serving ethically-minded Italian lunches to the people of St Anne’s from Tuesday through Saturday is Cibomatto, co-owned and co-run by Elisa Bozzarelli. Expect salads, focaccia, fresh pasta and some serious Italian desserts.

cibomattobristol.co.uk

The Good Measure, Chandos Road

In the last decade, Kelly Sidgwick, co-owner of the Good Measure and the King’s Head, has put a huge amount of effort into promoting women brewing beer and the encouraging of women drinking it. Many of her ‘She Drinks Beer’ events take place at this cosy Chandos Road drinking den.

instagram.com/thegood_measure

Littlefrench, Westbury Park

Littlefrench, Little Shop & Pantry and Clifton’s 1 York Place are all co-owned and co-run by Nessa Bird. Littlefrench is one of my favourite spots for an indulgent French meal — I’d highly recommend the guinea fowl.

littlefrench.co.uk

Root, Wapping Wharf

Putting beautifully-treated vegetables centre stage is Root; one of Bristol’s best and most consistent restaurants which is co-owned and co-run by Meg Howell. Now with branches in Wells and Bath too, Meg juggles managing the operations of three restaurants while simultaneously raising three kids.

rootbristol.co.uk

Lupe, North Street

For a craft beer on North Street, you’ll struggle to beat Lupe, which is co-owned by Emily Penney. Served alongside an Asian-inspired pub menu from Eatchu, this is a very happy place to spend a few hours indeed.

lupebristol.co.uk

Clouds, St Werburgh’s

Before she opened Clouds, Anita Cheung built up a loyal following for her dumplings touring the Bristol markets as Ah-Ma’s Dumplings. Ah-Ma’s is still going strong, but Clouds has enabled Anita and her team to expand the menu with great results.

cloudsbristol.co.uk

Marmo, Baldwin Street

For a seasonal, refined Italian plate with a beautifully sourced glass of wine, you can’t do much better than Marmo, and once you’re in there, you won’t want to be anywhere else. That’s partly the work of Lily Sterck, the co-owner who runs the front of house. Don’t leave without trying the gnocco fritto.

marmo.restaurant

Ruby Hue, Finzels Reach

As close to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory as you’ll get in Bristol, minus the child abuse. Head to Ruby Hue’s, co-owned by Ru Scanlon, for unbelievable bars of chocolate and chocolate-based drinks with a view of the bean-to-bar process.

rubyhue.co.uk

Jeans Bistro, Gloucester Road

Last but certainly not least is another of my favourite restaurants on this list. Jean’s Bistro is run by Jirarat Reis who hails from the Isaan region of Thailand known for bold flavours, sharp spice and fresh herbs — all of which are present and correct in her restaurant on Gloucester Road.

jeansbistro.co.uk

All words and photos by Meg Houghton-Gilmour

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

Good afternoon Saucers. Today’s review takes us to the site made famous by Only Fools and Horses, which now houses one of Bristol’s best fish restaurants. Philip Sweeney reports. A reminder that if you’ve ever had a good meal as a result of something you’ve read in these digital pages, and you can afford to do so, please consider becoming a paying Saucer. Thank you!

Noah’s is a difficult place to review excitingly. I could just say ‘great fish restaurant, premises excellent, food excellent, service excellent’ and leave it at that. There are no recipe novelties, witty deconstructions or wannabe media chefs to headline.

There’s hardly any faults worth making a thing of: let’s see, the salt could be upgraded, the bread’s a touch lacklustre... I must be able to find something wrong with the furniture, maybe? No, thoroughly tasteful and appropriate — discreet green banquettes and smart crossback chairs, the discriminating person’s version of the old French cafe seat. It would be even better with tablecloths, but I’m almost deranged on the subject of linen, and it could add a quid or so per meal, so I can’t really make that one stick.

Noah’s product is cleverly pitched, a short menu that covers everything from classic battered cod and chips, to a bargain lunch offer including a mug of tea (£14.50), to silver mullet and grilled lobster. My last meal there included as good a piece of fish as I’ve had anywhere in the last couple of years, and as a widely-travelled sophisticate, I can assure you this includes more places than my local chip shop. Several more.

Noah’s fish comes up from Brixham, Poole and Newlyn, and for the cod and haddock down from the North Atlantic like everybody’s. Though did you know that cod is still caught in the south-west, including the Bristol Channel, the latter only by anglers? Whatever, if it’s as good as Noah’s, I’m not bothered if it comes from the Bedminster Asda. The dish mentioned earlier, by the way, was a whole trimmed grilled sole (£27) so immaculately firm, white and meaty, bathed in such a simple and exact beurre noisette scattered with tiny capers as to be, well, excellent. Sorry, this is getting boring as I predicted. Back to the premises.

In fact, Noah’s does have a stand-out idiosyncrasy: the building, which must be one of the most satisfying architectural stories of modern Bristol. What started as a transport caff under the much-hated spaghetti junction imposed on the Cumberland Basin in the 1960s has turned out to be one of the city’s longest-lived and most oddly attractive restaurants. The Cumberland basin back then was a greasy spoon Mecca. What is now the Chef’s Table was the legendary Browns before starting the neighbourhood’s elevation to fine dining in the 1970s as Howard’s. And serious archaeology this, a round patch of concrete on the ground the other side of the bridge control tower marks what was once a circular glass-sided cafe, now in effect a greasy spoon Stonehenge.

The latest incarnation of Noah’s has been clad with wood planking and some new portholes have replaced the original rectangular windows. I’m surprised English Heritage let them get away with that, but the splendid view of the basin and a glimpse up the gorge to the Suspension Bridge is still there, albeit between the flyover support pillars.

Even the newly smartened and canopied terrace at the back has its bit of view, of the red brick bonded warehouses. Make that iconic red brick bonded warehouses. The interior is light, spacious, and judiciously laid out: there seem to be no bad tables. The place is deservedly praised in guides and reviews, so often quite full, but never feels crowded or impossibly noisy. Even a rather loud party of Italians the other evening failed to drown out the hum of civilised conversation, and what the hell, they were just being Italians, and clearly knew good chow when they saw it.

The service, we’ve already established, is excellent. Just enough staff, all working hard and attentively. No trying to be your mate, or urging you to explain how you are, just pleasant efficiency. Last visit, I asked for an aperitif as I sat down and the glass was on the table before I’d had a chance to pick up the menu.

To return to the food. The cod and chips I tried were almost faultless, chips possibly lacking a final edge of crispness, and the popular end of the fried fish spectrum is honoured by the mug of tea business and the Sarson’s Malt Vinegar on the tables — nasty stuff but undeniably authentic. At the higher end, I’ve had good salt cod croquettes (£3.75 each) with slightly tart aioli and tasty fresh grilled sardines (£9.50 for six).

Expert friends have commented that the wine list could be improved. It’s true that it’s very short, but there’s something satisfying about a short but well chosen selection, and I’ve never failed to find something decent to drink. On this occasion a cool white Corsican Vermentino (£8.85 a glass, £36 a bottle).

Noah’s desserts are also limited but effective, ranging from things like sticky toffee pudding and clotted cream ice cream (£6.50) down to a single scoop of ice cream or sorbet for £2.75. The drinks list gets a bit frisky at this point, including a vanilla flavoured sweet red wine from Uruguay, no less, and a Cornish limoncello (£6.50). Which makes sense: now Hampshire is the new Champagne, why shouldn’t Cornwall be Amalfi.

For all Noah’s success, the question unfortunately arises as to how many more years it will survive. The council have a Draft Plan – cue groans - for the Cumberland Basin, which they now call the Western Harbour, involving massive demolition and new building. If it ever happens, a new much-hated urban disfiguration may obliterate the belatedly-loved institution created, ironically, by the last much-hated urban disfiguration. Complicated old world, but just about worth living in as long as you can get a bit of fried cod and a Cornish limoncello.

All words and most photos by Philip Sweeney

Noah’s, 1 Brunel Lock Road, BS1 6XS

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

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

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.

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

Share

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.

A celebration: Ten years of Wapping Wharf

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

Read more

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

Read more