Kuch, Whiteladies Road: 'Even the waitress couldn't keep up the pretence'
Is this decade-old Persian restaurant still worthy of national applause?
When Marina O’Loughlin, arguably the greatest food writer alive, visited Bristol seven years ago to find the restaurant she had planned on reviewing was closed; a small Persian joint on Whiteladies Road came in Kuch as a replacement and earned her favour. But seven years on, is Kuch still worthy of national applause? One of The Bristol Sauce’s newest recruits investigates — and I think I’ll be sticking with Sam Master Grill for a future Persian fix.
Eating out is always a gamble. You put your chips down on the menu, trust the kitchen to deal fairly, and hope the night goes your way.
Kuch, on Whiteladies Road, with its warm lighting and cosy atmosphere, felt at first like a good bet. Couples leaned close over glasses of wine: the kind of diners who look like they’ve won before. At the back, a hen party in glittering sashes whooped their way through a round of cocktails, already playing for laughs rather than flavour. The table was set, the cards stacked with promise.
Back in 2017, Marina O’Loughlin reviewed Kuch for The Guardian. She liked it, albeit with caveats about the scattergun service. For a small Bristol spot, it felt like a diamond in the rough. Eight years on, though, the rough is much more apparent.
The naan-o-paneer (£7.50) left us desperately wanting: a stale flatbread beside a pile of undressed herbs. Not chopped, not dressed, just twigs of dill, mint, basil, and tarragon, plus a walnut, a date, a radish. A whole spring onion lay across the top like a passive-aggressive garnish. A salad that hadn’t agreed to be a salad yet.
Next came chicken wings (£7), lukewarm and deeply apologetic, the kind of dish that turns up as though it wishes it hadn’t. A smoky aubergine dip (£6.50) felt like a small win: warm and bordering on tasty. Not something you’d seek out, but at least it didn’t sit dejected at the edge of the table.
Then came the main hand: poussin with barberry rice (£18). Where one expects a golden, roasted baby chicken — skin glistening, thigh gently yielding — we instead received two wings and a thigh. Just that. On a plate. The waitress called it “chicken,” twice, as if even she couldn’t keep up the pretence. Somewhere, a real poussin is out there — whole, golden, lovingly basted — wondering why its name was dragged into this mess. It was sent back and mercifully struck from the bill.
The lamb kofta (£15) might’ve been good when several pints deep from Jason’s Donervan — here it was dry, dense, vaguely spiced and served with no sauce, no yoghurt, nothing to soften the blow. When we asked for help (tahini, chilli, lemon, anything), the waitress looked startled, eventually producing a spoonful of yoghurt after baptising my dad’s lap with rice. At that point, slapstick felt like part of the deal.
And then — a moment of sun through the clouds. The hand-pulled lamb shoulder (£20) was tender, fragrant, shredding easily with a fork, and enough to remind us why we’d placed the bet in the first place.
A complimentary baklava arrived at the end, sticky and sweet, though no one had the appetite to celebrate. Tea was promised but never came. The wine (£26 and £32) was solid — the bill, £110. Not ruinous, but when most of the food tastes like a shrug, the numbers stop mattering.
So where does that leave Kuch? The atmosphere is still seductive, but the food falters. Marina’s cautious optimism now reads like a lucky streak from a different era.
That’s the risk of dining out. Sometimes you leave with pockets full, glowing from the magic of it all. Other times, like here, you walk out lighter in wallet, heavier in disappointment. The couples around us paid up and slipped back into the night, the hen party still laughing as if nothing could touch them. And us? We chalked it up as a loss. But gamblers always come back to the table. Because one day, you believe, the next hand might just change everything.
Kuch, 133 Whiteladies Road, BS8 2PL
All words and photos by S. L. Kinde
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I don't think Bristol's best eateries are found in the obvious places, such as Whiteladies Road, Clifton Village, city centre, ect ect. The gems, while not necessarily hidden, are in places often seen as grotty or out-of-the-way.
“like a shrug…” 🤭