Native Vine, Church Road: 'Never have I felt so held by a restaurant' - restaurant review
The Sauce's newest writer heads to Redfield
I’m not sure who is more thrilled at the fact that Caitlin has started writing restaurant reviews for the Sauce - me or her husband. As far as debuts go, this is akin to Taylor Swift, Taylor Swift (2006) - by which I mean instant masterpiece.
I’m lucky enough to work with Caitlin four days a week. Before her current job in PR, she wrote restaurant reviews for Bristol Property Live so she’s no novice.
Help me pay Caitlin for her work and support other up-and-coming writers - all while keeping you informed of where to eat - by becoming a paying Saucer. It’s only £3.50 a month, which works our at 88p a week - good value I think, but I am biased.
Thanks and happy Sunday.
~ Meg
Never have I felt so held by a restaurant. The staff at Native Vine must have known that in this post-clock-change world, what I needed was the kind of warm feeling you get from being gently guided through a series of lovingly-prepared small plates and an intriguingly obscure wine list.
I left feeling like I’d just hugged a good friend – not a bear hug, but a warm yet British embrace, perhaps accompanied by a couple of bisous.
Native Vine is an organic and natural wine specialist that also serves British small plates, and in Redfield has made its home inside Bristol Loaf, popular for its sourdough and loved by freelancers with laptops and yummy mummies alike.
With every wave of gentrification that washes over East Bristol, Church Road seems to collect brunch places and refill shops like Pokémon cards – joined as Native Vine is now by Crafty Egg, Preserve, and Southville Deli.
On a recent Saturday night, diners filled the main bar area which is all blonde wood, forest green tiles, and flattering mellow lighting. For an establishment run by someone with a fine art degree, such an interior makes total sense. I picked a table in the side room, which was less full and more macramé plant hangers than wine cellar.
We started with a thick and creamy rarebit made with actual stout and spread on toasted milk bread with pickles (£6), and a slightly underwhelming but well-balanced arrangement of rachel reserva goats cheese, salted almonds and chestnut blossom honey (£7.5).
Our waiter described most things on the menu as ‘delicious’, but seeing as she also told us not to get the bean and potato stew because it’s boring, I was inclined to believe her.
Next up was sweet roasted Kuri squash on an intensely dark, almost charcoal, umami black garlic paste, topped with mushroom crumb and small sticks of sugary apple (£9.5).
The brill with pear, treviso, fresh and punchy oregano, and beurre blanc (£11) was where things really took off. It was a delicate, extremely tasty dish that gave the impression of lemons without actually using any, as far as I know, and I was very pleased with my choice of a fruity Lo Petit Fantet d'Hippolyte Blanc from Château Ollieux-Romanis (try saying that three times in a row) (£7.5) to go with it.
We soaked up the beurre blanc with slices of Bristol Loaf bread (£4) so soft you want to lie your face against them.
The apex was definitely the slow-cooked barbecued ox cheek placed atop gherkin relish and beef tomato, drizzled with red Leicester sauce (£12). Calling it a naked burger would be like saying the American election result is unfortunate – accurate, but doesn’t come anywhere close to doing it justice.
Beck Ink by Judith Beck (£6) was a strawberry velvet red that only enhanced the indulgent flavours of the fatty, smoky meat.
The staff were attentive in the best way – whether offering to move us to a warmer corner of the restaurant after clocking me still buttoned up and scarf on by plate four, or amiably swapping out various ingredients for our vegetarian neighbouring table.
Native Vine’s penchant for picking unusual and unknown suppliers means there was a lot of pointing at the menu saying ‘what’s this’. What an excellent conversation starter - I might start doing this at networking events. Our waiters earnestly told us as much as we wanted to know about anything, detailing the amount of acidity in the cheese and exactly where in Bath it’s from, or eagerly fetching samples of orange wine and taking us through the different tasting notes.
Perhaps the result of this service was the only proper downside I can think of – that at times the courses felt like they took an achingly long time to arrive.
We finished with eve cheese (from Bath) and nectarine chutney with crackers (£7), lime and lapsang souchong truffles (£4), and a savoury, botanical Big Salt orange rosé by Ovum Wines (£8.5).
Native Vine has got it right. It was designed to be a wine bar fuelled by expert knowledge but not too far above itself to joyfully and un-patronisingly teach the average diner its ways. Its locally-grown, seasonal, independently-sourced ethos trickles down into its service, making it a welcoming and heartening place to eat and drink.
Let’s hope it and other places like it continue to exist alongside, rather than instead of, the multitudinous kebab shops and goods markets of East Bristol, preserving the diverse offering that makes it so fascinating.
All words and photos by Caitlin Johnson-Bowring
Native Vine, 217 Church Rd, BS5 9HL
Read next:
Blasé, Bristol Loaf: 'It takes great restraint not to take after Oliver Twist and run to the kitchen begging for more'
Have you ever heard of The Egg? I don’t mean the one that’s served with soldiers or fried with a side of bacon. The Egg is a short story by Andy Weir. If you’re wondering where you’ve heard that name before, he also wrote The Martian and a few other reasonably entertaining books.
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It's very exciting to read about all these places for my return visit to the UK!